Bryce:
He had been waiting outside the Kingspyre Tower when his lord emerged from it, taking long furious steps, an annoyed look on his face. Like a good squire, he fell in behind him, having to half jog to keep apace.
"Something's the worry, my lord?" He asked.
"When is it not, Bry? Nobility and their egos," he said, not even turning his head to him, "It'll do the world a lot of good if all were a little humble."
Talk of humility didn't become the lord of Storms End, Bryce thought, but he kept his peace.
"Ask Rolland to inquire our Prince's whereabouts," his lord commanded, "In the meantime we shall entreat with the lions."
He made a note to remind his half brother so. But his mind stuck on that comment, nobility and their egos. This was a common refrain Lord Robert was wont to use among those he considered his confidants. He remembered saying him saying that time and again as they had grown closer, his Lord and his multitude of Squires, going about their merry mischief and riding with him through the Stormlands on many of the Lord's progress they took throughout the Stormlands.
Since he had first arrived along with a number of other heirs and spares and bastard born sons, they had bonded together over many and more. Sometimes it was sneaking wine from under the watchful eye of old See Harbert, sometimes it was sparring in the yard, though that always had the same outcome of the winner among the squires being beaten black and blue by his lord. Sometimes it was smoking that strange herb that left them all either half-paranoid or mellow in fits of giggles, sometimes running away from the lessons of Maester Cressen, sometimes riding about scaring the herd of a sheepherder or affair with the clothes of wenches bathing in river Slayne.
Then there was that matter of pillow house, the tallest of all buildings in the makeshift town that had sprouted near 2 leagues away from Storms End, filled with Artisans, labourer and guildsmen to see the wishes of their lord fulfilled. The one that had seen old Ser Harbert wroth with his grandnephew and earned then all an earful on what and what not was proper and expected of gentle folk.
There were other brothels there in that still unnamed town but this pillow house, named 'Highfalutin', was reserved only for those of noble origins. And the courtesans there, he having learned better than to call them whore when his lord had clapped the Wensington squire under the ear for doing just that, charged 10 silver stags for one night, where 3-4 copper sufficed for the rest. But they all were truly a beauty to behold and exotic all the more, this dusky girl from the Dorne, that redhead of the North, other wenches from as far away as Tyrosh and Old Volantis, their madam herself coming from the Summer isles, and the things they did made him think they earned every one of them. And it was no matter anyways, as all their payments were made from Lord Robert's coffers himself. He was sure his lord had earned the undying loyalty of the lustier among them just for that. Which considering most were red blooded men on the cusp of majority meant all of them.
But that was not what truly inspired his loyalty, and that of his half brother to his lord, nor what had earned them both his confidence in return. It was the bonding of minds that came with his and his brother engagements with the writings his lord had commissioned from the Signet Presses and the strange contraptions he dreamed up nigh everyday. He for his part thought his lord touched by both the Crone and Smith, Warrior and Father besides. While Rolland took up more practical aspects, reading of Infinite Summations and books on Sums and getting down and dirty with contraptions and machines, he liked reading on the more philosophical of the books, reading of the Is-Ought distinction and of the Rule Utilitarians, though try as he might, he could not find neither Lord Hume, nor any other that were supposed sources of these incredible thoughts.
That had what made then lord Robert's confidants, as his lord had said, Pampered pricks with sharp pointy sticks I have aplenty. It is sharp minds I seek.
It had started with him telling of the macadam roads now being paved across Stormlands, to giving them reins on different plans, which had all reached its zenith, when one day on the roof of the drum tower of Stormlands, while all three were very deep in their cups, his lord had confessed with welled up eyes that all this was just a way to distract himself with the deep sorrow he still felt since the day he saw his parents drown in Shipbreaker bay. Some men drown their sorrows in mead, some in gambling, some with the prattle of the Septons while some with whore flesh. I drown it in the work. Work that is the first thought on my mind when I get up before the sun, and the last when I fall to bed dead tired, long after the rest of the Castle is deep in their dreams. Lest my mind have any space to be clouded by darker thoughts.
He had said that in confidence. Soon after that he and his half-brother were made privy to more dangerous sorts of scheme his lord had sought.
For their part, they had not just rested on their arse as their lord tried to shape them into good men. Rolland had many times improved the designs of his Lord's contraptions, sometimes even seeing them to fruition from the half baked ideas that his lord had scratched up on parchments. He for his part had sought to keep his lord engaged and abreast of the goings on in Stormlands, particularly of the political kind.
In fact it was he who had made aware his lord of the grievances his own father had against the lord of Storms End. His father had thought him and half-brother being hostage against his good behavior, when the marcher lords had grumbled because of improving relations with the Dornish. His father, being the most powerful, having grumbled the loudest. His lord had smacked his palm on his forehead at that, berated himself for not seeing it. And had done much and more to earn back their loyalty since then.
He was brought back to the present when he saw a hooded figure getting near them, his hand finding the pommel of his sword on instinct.
"The lion is poised my lords," The hooded figure said, his face obscured, the Lord and squire having come to a stop at that, "my lord pays his debts." With that the hooded figure gave his lord two pieces of folded up parchment and departed.
Seeing his quirked bow, and his hand on his sword, his lord relented, "Peace Bry, I was expecting that. I mean not a hooded little shit in particular," he said, waving the parchments, "But these. I awaited these eagerly."
With that he opened the both of them, reading the first and folding it back again, a small smile forming on his lips. Then onto the second, reading that as a smug look and mischievous glint in the eyes that he knew his lord to carry when something good came, took ahold of his face. He then made a turn to the right towards the Castle gate, tearing up the second piece all the while, which he promptly tossed in the fire as they passed a brassier.
It was a while later that they reached what was at the center of the encampment of the Westerlands. A massive red pavilion, bigger than any he had seen, bigger than any pavilion had any right to be, awash with lion motif. As they made for its entrance, the men in red cloaks standing guard, parted, one of them holding open the flaps. As they were bade enter, he saw the occupants of the massive pavilion, there sat Ser Kevan Lannister, along with a beautiful blond woman, if a bit old and given to plump, which he reasoned must be Lady Genna Frey. In the corner stood the newly minted Ser Jaime, resplendent in fine doublet. And then there was perhaps one of the most beautiful sights he had ever seen. Lady Cersei sat demurely by her Aunt, a heart shaped face accented by the stray bangs that fell from her intricately done golden hair, green emerald eyes that promised mischief, full lips, a graceful slender figure with a crimson dress that accented her womanly curves. He spared a look towards his lord, who seemed to share his assessment judging from how he just stared dumbly at the daughter of Lord Tywin. At his light elbowing, lord Robert seemed to recover and move ahead with their introductions. As was his want, he shook the arms of men, and kissed the hands of the ladies. He didn't miss the shy, blushing look that Lady Cersei gave his lord as his lips pressed against the back of her hand.
"So the stew?" Began Lady Genna.
"Why is everybody so impatient about the stew?" his lord asked, "Didn't get anything to eat on the road, my Lady?"
At that both the twins of Casterly Rock looked confused, whom the Lady Genna, had now turned towards, "Well now, out with you both! Elders have to talk now."
Lady Cersei looked like she was about to raise an object to it, when Ser Kevan turned towards her and said quietly, in a tired tone, "Listen to her Cersei," then turning towards Ser Jaime with what he thought was a pleading look. A look of understanding passed over Ser Jaime, who took the hand of Lady Cersei and let her outside, the latter furiously whispering to the former in hushed tones.
So focused was he on that, that Bryce failed to noticed Lady Genna was now squarely looking at him.
"And he?" She asked.
"Has my confidence," his lord declared, "Bry, go pour us some wine."
He did as he was bid and presented filled goblet to all the three sitting around the table, him then taking his place besides his lord. Taking a deep drag, Lady Genna started, "So the stew."
"Goes along," his lord said, in a lower tone, "Spices are in. Along with the white garnish. Though the Silver Ladle proves troublesome."
"And the question of the red cook not being involved?" That was Ser Kevan
"They bought. Hook, line and sinker."
"Good, good." Concluded the lannister Knight.
"What of this neverending parley you and the red cook dreams of?" Asked Lady Genna, a look on her face he couldn't quite place.
"We'll cross that bridge when we get there," his lord said, putting down the goblet, which he saw, was barely perused, "There is another matter. I believe the Hand has you abreast of the situation."
At that a worried look came over Ser Kevan's face, while an angry look on that of his sister. "It's all we've done to keep that fool from presenting himself to his royal majesty," Lady Genna said, with particular venom in the last words, "Fool or not, I won't have my sweet Jaime waste his life away so!"
"Of course, my Lady," Lord Robert said, "After all his golden prick and that trout cunny is to secure our alliance." Hearing that Ser Kevan grimaced quite visibly, perhaps not used to having his golden nephew being referenced as such.
"Yes, yes," The Lady continued, "But what to do? Jaime is nothing if not headstrong. It's nigh impossible to dissuade him when he has his mind set on something."
Lord Robert, now had a smug look on his face, and pulled the parchment he had earlier stashed from his person and handed it to the brother and sister sitting across. They unfurled it and began to read. Lady Genna grew considerably pale as she read along, while Ser Kevan somehow looked even more worried.
"Say," began his lord,"Does that look like Ser Tygett's hand to you?"
"Yes, but . ." Ser Kevan seem to falter mid speech.
"Is it true?" Lady Genna asked, nay, demanded to know.
"Of course not," that seems to bring them both to peace, "But it will do the job when you show that to Ser Jaime."
At that both brother and sisters gawked at his lord, before turning to each other. For the first time since Bryce had laid his eyes on him, the Lannister Knight smiled a small smile. The Lady, however looked wroth as she said, "Tis a cruel thing to do!"
"Cruel? Maybe," His Lord replied, "Necessary? Definitely. The problem will resolve itself."
At that his lord got up, "I'll leave you both to it." and without further word made for the flaps. He turned back to the Lannister, gave a quick bow and hurried after his lord. As they exited the tent, they saw the golden twins standing ten paces away.
As they neared them, his lord began. "There is some grave news from the Rock, Ser Jaime, Lady Cersei" He said quickly to those two, the lord's mask on his face, "Ser Kevan will tell you more."
His Lord did just what he had done inside the pavilion and left without a word. And just like in the tent, he made two quick bows and hurried after his lord. When they were thirty paces from the pavilion, his lord slowed down a little, and began "Bry, what did I use to say about Ashara?"
"That she is, and these your words, the finest piece of ass this side of Narrow Sea."
"Not anymore." His lord turned towards him, with a sly look.
"Did Lady Cersei usurp Lady Ashara's throne?" He returned with a mischievous smile.
"Got it in one, Bry."
They were half and one hundred paces from the pavilion, when he heard a commotion and both Lord and Squire stopped and turned towards its source. He then saw Jaime lannister riding hard on his steed, his spurs dug so hard into the beast's side, Bryce thought he was like to draw blood. He saw as two red cloaked guards ran after him, while a few paces back he saw Ser Kevan mounting his own steed, barking order to pursue the newly minted knight, while Lady Cersei screamed for her twin to come back. "There's the Jaime I know," His lord began, "Act first, think later. Come, I want to meet Ned."
A/N: Ned's next. There are three plots, the Royal Plot ft. Rhaegar and his peep, There's Southron Ambition plot ft. STAB spearheaded by Jon Arryn and Rickard, and then there is the golden plot by good old tywin. All are working in concert, all want to pull one over each other and all think Robert is loyal, truly loyal to their cause. Also, in my head Cersei is hella hot, even more hot than Ashara, who is more of a haunting beauty than hot. Try and imagine the hottest blonde you can think of and then raise it to the power of 10