Hi!

I bet some of you thought I'd died but no!

I recommend you re-read the story from the beginning. I've added new scenes in chapters 2 & 3 as well as tweaked/added new details to all the chapters. Some of you with good memories will notice that the beginning of the tourney scenes have been moved into this chapter but they have been changed and edited heavily to incorporate feedback in and my revisiting the scenes.

Enjoy!

Chapter 4: The Hand's Tourney – Part 1

A week later …

Royal Box, Tourney Arena, Red Keep, King's Landing, Seat of power of House Baratheon (Baratheon/Lannister) in the Crownlands, Capital of the Seven Kingdoms

The summer sun soaked the open tourney arena that had been constructed to accommodate the last event of the celebrations – the melee competition. The nobility of King's Landing mingled with the visiting party from the Stormlands and various Lords of the Realm that had enough coin to acquire a seat and ambition to be seen. The crowd surrounded the dusty arena, sitting on wooden benches that ascended in height with each row back. The royal family took up the prime position in the middle of one of the longer sides, on a raised platform with plush-looking chairs.

All eyes were on the contest in the middle, though to those who appreciate the art of duelling it was more like a graceful dance.

"Come on brother!" Tyrion yelled, enthralled by the action, standing in his seat.

"What is taking Uncle Jaime so long?" Joffrey huffed, folding his arms in his chair beside his mother.

"Ser Barristan is a Kingsguard, my Sweet," Cersei offered, her eyes never leaving her twin.

"He's old," Joffrey exclaimed, swatting at a fly in the stifling heat.

Robert slapped the end of his chair arm, "Shut up boy and watch, you might learn something."

Joffrey shrunk into himself at the reprimand but dragged his eyes up just in time to see Jaime parry a strike, grab Barristan's sword wrist then rest his sword point on the older knight's armoured shoulder.

The crowd erupted into cheering and clapping. This had been by far the longest match and the most evenly fought. Barristan nodded at Jaime and the sword point dropped to the ground.

"A well-fought fight," Renly stood to clap.

Tyrion peered around Robert, to note Stannis sitting silently between his brothers but replied to Renly good-naturedly, "Yes but Ser Barristan was always slowing down."

"Men half his age can't keep up with Ser Jaime's skill yet I just witness him do it for near the time it takes me to run around the Red Keep," Renly said.

Tyrion conceded the point but internally contested the notion that Renly would run anywhere. He shifted his attention straight ahead, across the now empty arena to where the already half-drunk young and rowdy Stormlander nobility were cheering for the heir to Storm's End to appear. They were a boisterous bunch and dominated the stand with their numbers. How he wished he could cross sides and join them in their cups.

Osric Baratheon had been impressive so far in the tourney, defeating one of his father's own knights in a frantic back and forth that ended with a vicious helmeted headbutt that seem to hold a story Tyrion was not yet privy to and another bout that sent Ser Preston Greenfield of the Kingsguard to Pycelle with a few teeth missing courtesy of Osric's iron mace.

The gossip of the Court this past week had supported the young knight's performances so far in the tourney. The lad had barely been out of the practice yard since his arrival in the Red Keep a week ago and kept company with his Storm's End contingent, not yet venturing out the walls of the Red Keep to taste the delights the streets of King's Landing could offer.

All that practice will be for nought. No one beats my brother, Tyrion mused.

Same time …

Competitors Tent, just off the side to the Tourney Arena, Red Keep, King's Landing, Seat of power of House Baratheon (Baratheon/Lannister) in the Crownlands, Capital of the Seven Kingdoms

Brus's dirty laugh filled the tent, "Did you see the look on Massey's face after you made him yield?"

Brienne shifted her attention from where Osric sat with his torso bare as Pylos applied balm to the bruises forming on his right side, just below his ribs, "Ser Justin did not look pleased to have been beaten by me."

"He was livid to have been beaten by a woman!" Brus said gleefully, "Serves him right for being a Crownlander twat."

"You fought well," Osric praised with a small smile as Pylos moved on from his blackening side to examining his still-healing broken nose.

"Thank you," Brienne said, appreciating the compliment and knowing Osric had pulled the strings for her to compete in the first place.

"Shame you didn't defeat Ser Barristan. I can only imagine what the bards would have done with that," Brus said, leaning back on one of the solid tables that had Osric's cleaned weapons placed upon it.

"I seem to recall you losing to the Knight of Flowers in the first round," Brienne threw back.

"He kicked sand into my eyes!" Brus protested, "and he was lucky the Mountain withdrew from their contest after he killed that Ser Hugo from the Vale or he would have been split in two."

"It was Ser Hugh," Brienne corrected.

Osric grimaced when Pylos applied too much pressure to his nose.

"Hey, baby maester be careful there," Brus reprimanded, "He's the fighting pride of the Stormlands."

"You know my name is Pylos and I'm not a maester yet," the grey-robed scholar replied, not even turning around.

"Let him work, Brus," Osric warded off, "It's my fault for letting Ser Preston Greenfield get a strike in."

"You repaid him in kind with a mouthful of smashed teeth!" Brus exclaimed, settling beside Brienne but the excitement of the tourney was blazing in his eyes. Stormlanders at their heart were warriors.

"It was interesting to see two mace wielders go up against each other," Brienne said, remembering the fight in her inner eye.

"I can't believe you beat a Kingsguard!" Brus continued, practically bouncing on the spot.

Pylos helped Osric shrug into his tunic top once more and stepped back to give the results of his examination, "The headbutt to Ser Richard Horpe didn't help your nose. Breathing may be more difficult going forward and try not to favour your left side, it will indicate how hurt your right side really is."

The three Stomrlanders looked at the maester-in-training with raised eyebrows at his succinct assessment. The thin man looked a bit abashed at their surprise but the moment was swept quickly away as a small blond boy dressed as a royal page hurtled into their tent.

"Sers," the boy did a double take when he saw Brienne, "my Lady, the next round will begin shortly. Ser Osric is to face Ser Loras."

"Excellent," Brus slapped his thigh, "You can gain revenge for my defeat!"

"You may go, boy," Osric addressed the page lingering at the tent's threshold, "I shall be ready soon."

"Thank you, Ser Osric," and in a flash, the royal page was gone.

"Lannisters," Brus adorned, watching the flap swing, "They are everywhere in this fucking city."

"Help me with my armour," Osric said to Brus, walking towards where his armour set rested on a wooden dummy.

"I'm not your bloody squire!" Brus rasped out.

"Do you want to be my squire?" Osric jested back, a grin gracing his large face, "I could make it so."

"I'm older than you! You cheeky git!" Brus jabbed back but held a massive grin as he did.

Brienne just shook her head at their antics as she approached the table where Osric's weapons lay. It was all bluster. Brus loved Osric like a brother and vice versa. She knew they viewed her as a sister-in-arms too. Their bond has been forged in the choppy waves of Shipbreaker Bay, in their joint survival of the icy waters and fading hope.

The Three Storms, they had liked to call themselves when facing off against others together in the practice yards of Storm's End. Childish, maybe but they never fought against one another only for each other.

Brienne picked up Osric's iron-flanged mace with two hands. It was about as long as her leg and had a singular short but sharp spike jutting from the top to allow for the odd thrusting attacks. She'd seen Osric use the weapon to obliterate many a practice yard dummy and batter dozens of opponents in local tourneys. He typically paired the mace with a heater shield and knew how to combine both effectively but the calibre of combatants in today's tourney was a tier above what they were used to in the Stormlands.

Brienne rested the mace on her shoulder and picked up Osric's long dagger. With both weapons in hand, she turned to see Osric armoured up fully with Brus adjusting his plain rounded helmet. She passed him his mace and slipped the dagger into its sheath at Osric's hip. She turned to retrieve Osric's metal heater shield but saw Pylos waiting behind her with it pulled to his chest.

The scholar was doing a good job of hiding how heavy he found it but gave a little sigh of relief when Brienne scooped it from his hands and passed it one-handed to Osric.

"Got a few dents in this now," Brus noted, tapping the chest plate where Ser Preston had clearly smashed into with his mace, "and scratches everywhere."

"You getting worried about me Brus?" Osric playfully said down to him.

"Ba," Brus waved off, stepping towards where Brienne and Pylos stood, "I'm worried about the wager I put on you to win!"

"You're betting on Osric's fights!" Brienne said disapprovingly.

"I'm betting on him to win!" Brus justified, "I bet on you to win against Ser Barristan too."

Brienne was about to launch into what was sure to be a lamentation of Brus but she stopped suddenly eyeing the man with intensity, "You thought I would beat Ser Barristan?"

"I thought you could. Remember I know what you can do in the practice yard and half of the lads from Storm's End put money on you too. Besides, I always back my friends."

Brienne remained silent at that.

Whether it was the admission Brus thought she had the ability to defeat a famed, albeit ageing, Kingsguard or a rare peek under Brus's boisterous façade Osric could not tell.

Osric gave his iron mace a few short one-handed swings while practising blocking and parrying with his shield firmly gasped in his left hand.

"I'm ready," Osric announced, rolling his shoulders.

"Be careful," Brienne warned, "Ser Loras is a skilled knight."

"I saw," Osric acknowledged but gave Brienne a small nod of thanks as he made for the tent flap.

"Good luck," Pylos wished him while Brus simply slapped his back and roared, "Make him go crying back to the Reach!"

A few minutes later …

Tourney Arena, Red Keep, King's Landing, Seat of power of House Baratheon (Baratheon/Lannister) in the Crownlands, Capital of the Seven Kingdoms

"Ser Osric, congratulations on your knighthood," Loras offered as the two walked side by side, weapons clinking at their sides.

"My thanks, Ser Loras," Osric returned, his mind focused on the coming fight but Loras continued the niceties.

"It is known that our fathers hold some resentment for each other but I do hope we can tread a different path."

Osric nodded, gripping the long handle of his mace tighter. They reached the middle of the tourney area, there were spots of blood dotted around and evidence of scuffles on the sandy ground.

"My sister, Margaery, shares my sentiments and has expressed an interest in visiting Storm's End," Loras said, walking ahead of Osric and turning to face the much taller man, "perhaps after your stay here she could visit you there?"

"Perhaps," Osric stepped back from Loras and pulled his simple rounded helmet guard down with a metal-clad gauntlet.

Loras did likewise. He raised his silver-coated shield and gave a few practice swipes of his gleaming sword in the space between them. They both stood still then, in the silence of the waiting crowd.

Robert's voice filled the air, "Begin!"

Before the word had a chance to fade in the air Loras's sword scrapped along Osric's chest plate. Osric retreated out of Loras's range and raised his mace above him while tucking in his shield to cover his lower torso.

He's quick, Osric noted, shaking his head slightly and dispelling some uncharacteristic nervousness. He knew whose presence was making him feel on edge, whose disappointment he wanted to avoid.

I'll show you, Father, I'll show you who your son is.

Loras closed the gap again, shield raised, sword at the ready. Osric watched for the sword point; it was the only thing to worry about. Like a snake, it came at him but Osric turned his body to avoid its bite and swung his mace downward with one hand.

An almighty scream of metal scratching metal sounded out as Loras managed to deflect the blow with his shield. Loras quickly regrouped into a solid counter stance. The younger knight had been stung but there was a steely concentration evident in his shadowed eyes that reflected the tactical thinking going on behind the helmet guard.

Osric lifted his mace and advanced to the roar of the baying crowd. To them, it really was a case of little verse big, speed verse strength, and grace verse brutality. The crowd threw encouragement at their chosen champion and if each shout had been an arrow no one would have left the tourney alive.

Osric continued to walk Loras down, who led him in a circle around the arena. When they were close to the royal platform Osric made his move. He swung out with his mace in one long arcing motion, aiming for Loras's collarbone. Loras sidestepped but Osric didn't allow the younger man a beat. Black stag met golden rose as their shields clashed together. There was only ever going to be one winner in a contest of brute strength. Loras did well to remain on his feet as Osric's shove caused him to backtrack across the clumpy sand.

Unfortunately, Osric had followed his every step. Loras ducked under the swing that if connected would have ended the fight. He spun around Osric, changing the direction of the fight but Osric kept up with his movement, his longer limbs closing the space quicker than Loras could create it.

Osric swung. Loras glanced it off his shield. The point of Osric's spike raked the golden and green paint off Loras's shield but the Reachman now understood the force of the weapon he faced. He snapped back with a pointed thrust that scrapped the top of Osric's helmet.

It was now Ser Loras's turn to show his attacking flair. Osric parried as best he could, but the slashes came so fast that it seemed Loras had two swords at his disposal. Every clang that confirmed a hit had the crowd yelping in excitement, and every roar of cheer seemed to only hasten Ser Loras's rapid assault more.

Osric kept his shield steady but every parry was a little slower and a little lower than the one before. Loras's slashes and cuts were now bypassing Osrics shield and shiny gashes started to gleam all over his armour but none bit into the chainmail beneath.

The crowd mistook this one-sided flurry to mean the end was close. They were right.

Loras's sword edge struck the armour on Osric's right side and he howled in pain as the force of the blow reached the bruised flesh below it.

Osric wildly swiped out with his mace in retaliation. Loras jerked in time to avoid the arc but his muscles were complaining at the demand his blistering assault had put them through and his reactions weren't recovered enough to avoid the shield edge that smashed into the side of his helmet.

When the world righted itself, he was on the floor, his sword trapped under Osric's foot and said man towered above him. He only just got his shield in the way of Osric's strike, and he almost wished he hadn't such was the pain shooting through his entire arm.

Osric knew this was his moment. A moment that would establish him as Ser Osric Baratheon, not Lord Stannis's son. The pain in his side throbbed in time with his quickened heartbeat and goaded him on. He threw away his shield and put all his energy, all his strength, into each downward blow and each lift of his heavy weapon. He couldn't allow Loras to wriggle out of this pinned position. He focused on his task, nothing else mattered, nothing else existed but the storm inside.

The mace came down again and again. The screeching of Loras's shield was so loud it took the audience a few moments to distinguish Loras's pained screams of surrender.

"I yield! I yield!" Loras yelled as his shield slipped off his limp arm.

But Osric didn't stop. Osric didn't see Loras. He didn't register the defenceless knight behind the mangled shield; he saw an outlet for his buried grief and untameable fury.

He raised his mace one last time.

"Osric!"

That voice. It rang out as hard as iron and as unforgiving as winter. It dragged Osric out of the red mist that had descended and turned him into a little boy once more.

He moved his head to see his father standing, with both hands gripping the wooden railings of the royal platform leaning over them with a face carved from stone. Osric looked around the arena as he lowered his mace, only shocked faces greeted him.

The whimpering of Loras directed his attention to his feet. The defeated knight was cradling his broken arm. Blood was making its way through the gaps in the metal plates of his bracers to drip onto the sandy floor.

"Ser Loras," Osric quickly took off his helmet and reached for the downed man but the Reachman just shuffled backwards, "I …"

Clapping interrupted Osric's apology.

"Well fought! Well fought!" Robert declared; the excitement of the fight evident in his bright eyes as if he had been one of the combatants all along.

The crowd followed their King, albeit slowly, in clapping for the victor but no one had missed the fact that Ser Loras would have been nothing more than a pile of broken limbs if not for Stannis's intervention. The wisened amongst them knew how much the city relied on the Reach's grain and the Queen of Thorns would not have taken the death of her youngest grandson without action. It would have been a political disaster.

Ser Garlan Tyrell entered the arena swiftly, giving Osric a dark look as he rushed to Loras's side. The well-regarded Tyrell knight helped his younger brother to his feet before heading towards a tent where Pyrcelle stood apprehensively.

A few seconds later …

Royal Box, Tourney Arena, Red Keep, King's Landing, Seat of power of House Baratheon (Baratheon/Lannister) in the Crownlands, Capital of the Seven Kingdoms

"He nearly killed Ser Loras!" Cersei exclaimed as Joffrey stared at his cousin's retreating back with something akin to wonder. It seems the young prince had no interest in skill but violence was another story.

"It's a melee tourney woman, men can die, one already has," Robert snapped before grumbling, "Something the nobles of King's Landing seem to have forgotten."

Cersei's face paled and her eyes shot to Ser Jaime.

Jaime stepped forward with a cocky grin, "Do not fear, Lord Hand, when I hear my opponents call out for surrender, I normally accept it. Your son will leave the arena alive."

Stannis turned his head to the Kingsguard, "I ask nothing of you."

"I better go prepare," Jaime said making his way along the royal box, "We don't want to keep the crowd waiting too long for their champion or their Queen of Beauty."

It was to everyone's surprise in the royal box when Stannis stood up and followed Ser Jaime's departure.

Tyrion turned to Renly with a questioning look but the younger Baratheon simply shrugged his shoulders as Robert demanded more wine.

Author Notes:

I decided to rework the nice Brus, Brienne & Osric scene by adding in Pylos as well and giving context to Brus and Brienne's tourney efforts.

I hope I made it clear what Osric's fighting style and weaponry is but if in doubt please google "Henry II France mace" – I basically imagine a longer, iron version of this with a spike on top. Yeah, maybe you think a mace is 'lame' but if Osric had a Warhammer you'd all be crying Robert wannabe at me. The longer the story goes on the clearer his character will become and I have a clear vision on who he is.

RIP

Ser Hugh of the Vale (Killed by Mountain in during the first round of the Hand's Tourney)

Pretty much the same as in canon but the Mountain drops out of the tourney having done what he intended, and because Jaime is competing as well.

Reviews:

DannyBlack70 – Glad you liked the Loras fight, I've tweaked it a bit but the basic beats are the same. Exactly, he's not the best fighter/warrior around. The Baratheon brother's are a good dynamic to explore! Especially as the negative links between them in canon aren't really around in this story.

Supremus85 –He definitely relies on brute strength but as he gets experience he'll be more skilful etc. I've changed up the fights scenes to be a bit more in-depth as more people are focusing on the action scenes than I;ve ever had before in other stories.

David Daniel B – I'd say so too. Osric's rage will be a big thing for him to control and overcome. Not everyone can have a dad like Ned :(

AgeonPotter – Not quite ... sorry! I'll try to be more consistent than I have been! Joffrey will go in a different direction for sure in this story and Osric's personality will be more fleshed out soon I promise there is just a lot going on in this story that needs proper set up so pacing is probably starting off slower than in DotF.

Darthkratos24 (commented on chapters 1 & 3) – You certainly commented though :P Osric will grow in the story as the first few chapters are environment and plot setting but I've done edits to all chapters that focus on bring out more of Osric's characters but I do tend to leave that to bigger events than have occurred thus far. I think you are grossly underestimating Jaime as a fighter and his experience advantage over Osric. Osric has never experienced real combat, he's gifted physically but he's not superman. I don't watch anime. Indeed, I was not butthurt but I did review my story as a whole. Every weapon has it's use.

Schleimy (commented on chapter 1) – Right!

Mad King Qrow – Thanks, next chapter will be a re-edit of that Jaime vs Osric fight scene as I wanted something more from it so hope you like that as well when it comes out!

Mthatha SA (commented on chapters 1,2 & 3) - Cool, well there will be more chapters and more Osric fighting scenes so heres hoping he gets more interesting for you. I've reevaluated his fighting style but I'm sticking with a mace as his primary weapon. Check out my edits I think they've sorted some of the issues you've had so far with the story.

Guest (commented 6/01/23) - Depends how you use both.

Guest (commented 15/01/23) - Ta da! But new content has been added to all chapters.

Aller - He does in this story :P

Guest (commented 28/01/23) - Ti's a good point and one that will be addressed next chapter.

Next Up: Part 2 of the Tourney; Stannis and Osric almost have a lovely son & father moment; Osric vs Jaime and clouds gather over King's Landing.

If you are enjoying this story, please *Toss a coin to your writer, Oh valley of readers* and review, follow and favourite the carnage that is to come!