Three weeks later...
Since the fateful day that the raven had come from King's Landing bearing not only the news of Jon Arryn's death, but also the news that his father was journeying north with the King to Winterfell, Tybolt had been training in the practice yard harder than ever; having been unable to see his father for almost a decade, as his heir he desperately wanted to impress him – being in peak physical condition could certainly do no harm. It was because of this that Tybolt was sweating away in the yard, hacking and slashing at Robb, who desperately held his shield above his head in a paltry attempt to hold back Tybolt's onslaught; it did little to stop the crashing blows from Tybolt which splintered the wood, sending shards flying into every corner of the courtyard, and sparks flying from the metal boss at the centre of the shield when Tybolt's sword struck it. Beginning to feel the strain after fifteen solid minutes of sparring, Tybolt summoned all the remaining vestiges of his strength and, with a mighty roar, raised his leg and kicked the centre of the shield with all his might, sending Robb flying several feet backwards.
"Not bad Stark." Tybolt panted, bending over at the waist and grabbing his knees to catch his breath. "Not bad for you that is!" he added with a wry grin, as he straightened up, still panting.
"Fuck off Tybolt." Robb huffed, as he picked up the twisted, shattered remains of his shield, causing Tybolt to give a short barking laugh once he saw Robb's disgruntled face. "Why don't you go and find a whore to dip your wick in, you pillock."
Recovering from another bout of laughter, Tybolt replied in typical sardonic fashion; "Why Robb, I do believe you have confused me with my dear brother Tyrion! Surprising given the difference in our height!" At that, a loud laugh came from the corner of the courtyard. Turning to see who it was, the voice spoke before they had a chance to say anything more.
"He beat you well and good Robb, didn't he! Gods but you have a lot more training to do before you could even dream of beating us!" Jon said with a laugh.
"That he does Jon, that he does. And, when my family finally arrives, you'll be able to tell the difference between me and Tyrion!" he said, both he and Jon cracking up with laughter at the last remark.
"Oh ha-ha, very funny. Laugh at poor Robb why don't you." Robb grumbled.
Barely recovering from the last remark, Tybolt, quick as ever, quipped back; "Why, I think we will!", sending both he and Jon into yet another fit of laughter. This time though, Robb cracked a smile, and shook his head. Robb's poor insults coupled with his recurrent confusion of Tybolt's character with that of his brother Tyrion had been the cause of many a joke between the boys as they grew up, and Jon and Tybolt had both promised Robb never to let him forget it.
"Fine then, laugh if you must. But-" Robb began, before being cut off by a cry from above.
"The King! The King is coming! He can't be more than an hour's ride away!" the voice shouted. Shielding their eyes from the sun as they looked up, they saw that it was Bran, balancing precariously on the top of the First Tower. As he began to climb down, the three brothers-in-arms turned back to each other.
"Well." said Tybolt. "You may see the difference sooner than you thought" he said with a grin.
…
Just over an hour and a half later, Tybolt stood in the courtyard next to Robb, waiting for the King to arrive. As was expected of the noble children, they were all dressed in their finest raiment; Tybolt wore his usual garb, a crimson doublet with golden lion heads for buttons, black leather trousers, knee-high brown leather boots and an ermine fur-lined crimson half cape fastened with a golden lion brooch; Robb wore much the same as Tybolt, though in place of the doublet, he wore a brown leather jerkin with grey direwolf heads for buttons and instead of a half cape, he wore a long grey cloak; Jon, as per usual, wore all black leather, though he was stood towards the back of the party (to openly present a bastard to a king would cause great offence – even if the presenter were a great friend of the king); Sansa wore a beautiful, form-fitting and elegant Tully-blue dress with simple white sleeves that highlighted her developing womanly curves; Lord Stark wore the same as Robb and Lady Stark wore much the same as her daughter Sansa, a Tully-red sash around her waist being the only difference. Bran and Rickon both stood in line wearing, again, the same as Robb and their father. They all stood together, quietly waiting for the King. All except Lady Catelyn that is – she, of course, stood anxiously peering around the courtyard for any sign of her unruly daughter, the little rascal that was Arya Stark.
"Where is she Ned?!" she said anxiously. "She cannot be late for the arrival of the King! It would not reflect well upon our family!" she said insistently, tugging gently on her husband's arm.
"Quiet Cat, I'm sure she'll turn up soon." Ned replied firmly. As he said that, Arya came running into the courtyard with a helmet on her head, and ran straight to her place in the line next to Bran; before she got there, however, Ned stopped her, took the helmet off her and passed it back to Ser Rodrik Cassel. Catelyn then quickly pushed Arya's hair behind her ears and wiped a bit of dirt off her nose before pushing her towards Bran.
"There. I told you she'd turn up Cat. You worry too much." Ned said to Catelyn a frustrated look passing across his face, just moments before the clatter of iron-shod hooves began to echo around the courtyard.
From the moment he could hear the horses, Tybolt strained his neck to try and see the procession, a decade's worth of anticipation for seeing his family again almost released; and then, after an agonisingly long wait (or rather what felt like one – in reality the wait only lasted a few minutes) he saw them. The King. And his father.
They rode together at the forefront of the long, lumbering procession, dressed resplendently in the colours of their respective houses, sitting astride great destriers that snorted in the cold air and shook their manes with impatience and stamped their hooves on the cold stone cobble of the courtyard. Robert looked exactly as Tyrion had described him in his letters; he was tall, fat and his red-face was half covered in a thick bushy black beard, yet he exuded an atmosphere of power and strength, despite his gargantuan size. Dressed in the finest silks and animal pelts, sweating away underneath the many layers he was a shadow of his former glorious self. But it was not just amusement Tybolt had for Robert; as he looked upon the man who had torn him from his family and sent him to freeze in the cold North, bile began to rise in his throat as the repressed hatred of his King began to bubble up and boil over. As the emotions he had felt since that fateful day began to overwhelm him, Tybolt's hand moved slowly towards his sword as his lip curled in anger. Just seconds before his hand reached the hilt, he caught the eye of his father who was staring intently at him; feeling the warning in his father's gaze, Tybolt shook himself from his anger before he could do something he would no doubt regret.
"Careful, Tybolt. His time will come. Be calm. You are a Lannister of Casterly Rock; do not bring disgrace to the family." Tybolt thought to himself. In an attempt to keep his temper, Tybolt took the chance to see his father properly for the first time in ten years.
Tywin, was everything that Tybolt had thought his father would look like. Tall, strong, handsome for his age, and a stern look upon his face, Tywin Lannister was everything that Tybolt thought a Great Lord should look like. What he wore was almost the complete opposite to Robert; he wore a crimson hardened leather cuirass embossed with a roaring golden lion's head, crimson leather pauldrons, again embossed with a roaring golden lion's head on each shoulder, a black steel gorget, red steel vambraces, gauntlets and greaves, all inlaid with gold and then, finally, a flowing crimson cloak, hung around his shoulders that was so long it covered his charger's rump. He was, in Tybolt's eyes, magnificent.
Then came the rest of the procession, with all the pomp and circumstance that was to be expected from a royal visit. Hundreds of fluttering banners, all straining to be the highest, to be seen, all a multitude of colours and emblems, filling the dreary grey walls of Winterfell with life and cheer, the clatter and noise of a hundred hooves, the jangling of the armour and swords and shields of a hundred knights and outriders and sworn swords – and as soon as Robert reigned in his horse, it all fell silent. So deathly silent that Tybolt almost felt that he could hear the blood rushing through his veins as he watched the great big oaf of a king step down from his horse onto a wooden block, unable to dismount his horse like any other man because of his great size and weight; Tywin's graceful dismount almost made Tybolt laugh at the gaping difference between the two men.
Robert's approach though, quickly made Tybolt mask his mirth and put on a cold, stony expression that betrayed no emotion, one that his father would no doubt be proud of. As Robert stomped towards Eddard, the Lord of Winterfell knelt before his king, followed by everyone else in the Stark retinue. As he knelt, Tybolt raised his eyes to the King and saw him motion with his hand, causing Eddard to stand, followed quickly by everyone else.
Robert looked Ned up and down as if inspecting a statue, before speaking.
"You've got fat." he said.
Ned looked down at Robert's bulging stomach and then back to his eyes, as if he was mocking him. There was a brief, tenses silence, until Robert burst out laughing.
"Nine long years Ned! Where have you been?" Robert said, placing his hands on Ned's shoulders before pulling him into an embrace.
"Guarding the North for you, Your Grace. Winterfell is yours." Ned replied with a smile. Robert chuckled and went to embrace Catelyn.
"Cat! It's good to see you!" Robert said.
He moved down the line to Robb and looked him up and down. "You must be Robb. Good lad." he said before moving on to Tybolt.
"Gods, another bloody Lannister. Tyben, isn't it?" he asked.
"Tybolt, Your Grace." Tybolt replied with a small smirk. Robert only grunted in reply and moved down the line, greeting each of the Starks in turn, before he turned back to Eddard.
"Take me to your crypts Ned, I want to pay my respects." he said gruffly.
It had gone unnoticed to Tybolt that his sister Cersei had exited the wheelhouse and had approached the line herself, so Tybolt almost jumped when she spoke.
"We have been travelling for a month my love, surely the dead can wait." she said.
Robert merely cast her a look of distaste before speaking again. "Ned." he grunted, before walking off towards the crypts.
Robert's callous treatment of his wife, of Tybolt's sister, almost made Tybolt lose his temper again, as his anger flared up at the disrespectful way his family had just been publicly treated. Tybolt, however, managed to stop himself from saying anything and stayed quiet until Robert and Ned had left. Once they had, and the rest of the King's retinue had begun to disperse, Tybolt walked towards his father, a smile upon his face, ready to greet the family that he had been separated from for ten years.
"Father!" Tybolt said as he stopped in front of his father. "Mere words cannot describe how happy I am to see you again!" he said, the hint of a tear beginning to well up in Tybolt's eyes. Oddly enough, Tywin's eyes were also glistening.
"My son. You are a man grown." Tywin said with a smile. "You look like a true Lannister." he continued. Tywin began to walk into the castle and towards where his chambers were, and gestured for Tybolt to follow him. "I am very much looking forward to hearing about your life here at Winterfell Tybolt. I am interested to know how you have found being away from your true home at Casterly Rock." he said, looking to Tybolt to see what his reply would be.
"And I am very much looking forward to telling you about it." Tybolt replied.
"Good." said Tywin. "But that can come later. Right now, I wish to bathe and change my clothes, we can speak after this infernal feast we're having thrown in our honour." he said. "Oh and Tybolt, one more thing." he said, stopping Tybolt who had begun to walk away. "I have a gift for you. Though it'll have to wait for your nameday when we return to the capital; I do believe Lord Stark will be bringing you with him as his ward. And, if you're anything like what my...informants...have told me, you are sure to like it." he said. Seeing that Tybolt had acknowledged what he said, he began to ascend the stairs to his chambers.
"Father -" Tybolt called out. Tywin stopped and turned to look at his son and heir. "It...it is good to see you after such a long time. It is good to see you all." he said, a small, single tear running down his cheek.
Tywin smiled and nodded his head. "It is good to see you too my son."
Hi everyone, it's me again! I cannot apologise more for how long it has taken me to write this chapter but I have just started sixth form and I have been completely swamped with work and a teeny weeny bit of procrastination. I am so, so sorry about this, but now that it is the Christmas holidays I am going to try and write as much as I can for the story, same goes for "A True Baratheon".
Anyway guys, I hope you liked it, leave a comment telling me what you think and where I can improve. Also, I wasn't too sure about the way in which Tybolt met his family. Should I re-write it?
I'll do my best to get another chapter out by the end of the month, it'll be longer than this one hopefully, or maybe two chapters about the same length as this.
Hope you enjoyed it.
