Hello everyone!

Part 2 is up, please enjoy.

Chapter 5: The Hand's Tourney – Part 2

A minute 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

Osric burst through the tent flap. Mace and shield thudded against the grassy floor as he made his way towards the empty table Pylos had examined him on before. His helmet and gauntlets joined the trail of discarded items. Osric slammed both hands down on the table and bowed his head.

Stupid! He berated himself.

Renly had expounded the need to hide his emotions and thoughts while in King's Landing and he had clearly just demonstrated his inability to do so in front of the most powerful Lords and Ladies of the Court. He'd failed his first true test in the capital and he knew it.

He started pounding his fist into the wooden table below him.

He'd won the duel and enhanced his reputation as a formidable fighter but the shocked faces and silent judgement from the tourney crowd in the aftermath had left him in no doubt that his honour as a fledgling knight had taken as much of a beating as Ser Loras had. This wasn't how this tourney was supposed to go but his stay in King's Landing wasn't going the way he thought it would either.

His fist stilled atop the cold wooden surface.

Mayhaps coming to King's Landing had been a mistake? It was certainly beginning to feel like one. He didn't belong here; with the silver-tongued or in a city where a glance held a thousand meanings. He was only here because his father had summoned him but even then, it felt like his father didn't truly want him here.

"Why didn't you stop?"

The proximity of the source had Osric spinning around with his dagger out only to find his father standing at its point. He immediately sheathed the blade but his father didn't acknowledge the motion, his eyes never wavering from Osric's.

"I wanted to impress," Osric said, finally giving in to his father's silence.

"Robert was certainly impressed with your ferocity and the men you brought from Storm's End enjoyed it too."

"I didn't want to impress Robert or my men," Osric admitted, his hands gripping the edge of the table behind him. "I wanted to impress you."

Stannis tensed his jaw at Osric's confession but he hadn't got the information he wanted yet, "Why didn't you stop when Loras yielded?"

"I … I didn't hear him."

"An easy answer."

"I don't … understand," Osric gestured outward with his hands. "What do you want me to say?"

"Why didn't you hear him?" Stannis clarified.

"I …" Osric went back to that moment. Heartbeat thudding in his ears, the hot grip of the mace in his hand, and the clashing of metal below him again and again, "just wanted to win. To smash whatever was in front of me."

"And Ser Loras was in front of you."

Osric nodded slowly but he knew there was more to it and his father sensed it. He brushed a hand through the day's stubble but was unable to lift his eyes from the ground.

"I was caught in that storm again the night mother died. It was pitch black and I was helpless. I couldn't move. I couldn't save her."

Stannis moved towards his son, his hand aiming for his shoulder but Osric flinched backwards still having words to say.

"I barely survived being battered in the waves, clinging on to the driftwood with Brienne and Brus … but out there," Osric pointed behind Stannis's shoulder to the arena, "I'm not helpless. I'm strong. I'm winning … I am the storm."

Stannis retracted his hovering hand to fold it behind his back, "What happened to your mother was unfortunate."

"Unfortunate," Osric echoed immediately with venom lacing every syllable, his eyes snapping back up to his father's. "Unfortunate is a horse losing their shoe or ale being spilt on your breeches. Not seeing your mother be swept away by the fucking sea."

"Osric I didn't –"

"If I too were laying at the bottom of Shipbreakers Bay would you think it a tragedy then and not merely unfortunate?" Osric advanced one step towards his father so there was barely a hands-width between them, his proximity demanding Stannis's attention.

Stannis's arms remained folded behind him and he strained his neck to look directly up into his fuming son's eyes, "I know the pain you feel Osric. I saw my parents' ship sink on the very same rocks that claimed the one you were on. I thought the Gods meant to dash my whole family upon those blasted rocks and … then you floated into the harbour atop a piece of driftwood."

"If you know the pain of being left behind, why did you leave Shireen and me in Storm's End?"

Stannis took a step back but his stoic features didn't change, "I've never abandoned you or your sister. You both had everything you needed in Storm's End."

"Shireen hasn't seen you since mother's funeral, nor I till I stepped foot in King's Landing," Osric bluntly spat. "Why didn't you take us to court after mother died? I could've been a royal page or your cupbearer and Shireen could have grown up as a lady-in-waiting. We could have been together."

"You are the heir to the Stormlands and Shireen will marry a Stormlander Lord. You both belong there and I as the Master of Ships belonged in King's Landing," Stannis added after a beat, "Master Cressen sent me ravens on both of your progress through the years."

Osric sucked in a deep breath. He still didn't understand his father's apathy, perhaps he never would but the knowledge he had taken some interest in their upbringing tempered the bitter fire within.

He let out the breath he had been holding, "The Gods took my mother and duty took my father."

Stannis blinked. The words had come out of Osric's mouth but they weren't his. Too poetic.

"I see Renly is sharing his thoughts with you."

"At least he trusts me enough to do so," Osric jabbed.

Stannis gritted his teeth but whatever response was forthcoming was interrupted by a hesitant cough.

Both Baratheon men's attention flicked to the source. Standing by the closed tent flat was a fidgeting Pylos.

"My apologies Lord Stannis, Ser Osric but the final match will start soon and I thought I should check on your injuries sustained in the earlier rounds."

Stannis nodded at the nervous young man but returned his focus to Osric, "Ser Jaime is the best swordsman of his generation and an experienced knight. He'll have noted where you've been hit in previous matches and target those areas."

Osric's eyebrows furrowed. Is he giving me advice?

"You fight well Osric but the fight isn't always just with your hands or your heart but up here as well," Stannis said, tapping his own forehead, "use your head, boy and you'll last longer."

"Thank you, Father," Osric said, still stunned at the turnaround in their conversation but drinking in his father's words like a stranded sailor, "I'll try my best."

"That is all any of us can ever do, Osric," Stannis replied and Osric wasn't so sure his father's words only pertained to his match with Ser Jaime.

He felt Stannis's firm hand rest on his shoulder, "Good luck, son."

Before Osric could utter a sound Stannis turned and passed by Pylos to exit the tent.

Osric flicked his gaze to Pylos who was still fumbling with the cord around his grey robes and looking at everything in the tent but his current charge, "How much of that did you hear?"

"I stayed outside the tent to make sure no one else could overhear but … your voice carries."

Great. Osric shook his head as he beckoned Pylos to come forward, "I hope it goes without saying but anything you overheard stays between us."

"Of course, my Lord."

Osric nodded at the expected response and refocused his mind on the coming duel, "Help me with my armour my side is killing me."

A few minutes later Osric emerged from the tent, mace in hand. He entered the arena to thundering cheers, mostly from his own men, and weary glares from everyone else. How his last bout had ended had not been forgotten or forgiven.

"Fuck them," Osric grumbled to himself. He wasn't here to play to the crowd or to be their perfect knight in shining armour. He was in this city to bring down a cuckolding Queen and save his Uncle's legacy from ruin.

Every step he took thudded around the arena as the audience took in the sight of the two combatants ready to duel for their entertainment and their own pride.

Ser Jaime was already standing in the middle. His white cape shrouded him in an aura of invincibility and his golden hair shone like a crown in the setting sun's rays. His sword was casually protruding from the sandy ground with his helmet resting over the handle.

Osric pulled down the guard of his helmet and stilled a few metres away from Jaime. A frenzy of hushed conversations descended on the gathered nobility like a blanket.

Osric ignored it all. He was a man of action, not words.

He'd seen Ser Jaime fight only once before the Hand's Tourney at Storm's End when Robert had come for Seylse Baratheon's funeral. Ser Jaime had been practising sword strikes with his fellow Kingsguard. Osric had only been a boy then and had long since forgotten the specific strikes and movements being practised but he hadn't forgotten what it had made him feel.

Awe.

Now he was fighting the source of his childlike wonder. The Lion of Lannister. The Kingslayer. Arguably the best swordsman alive and if he were to believe the reason for his stay in King's Landing, the father of Cersei's bastards.

He took in a calming breath and sought out his two friends, they both gave him encouraging nods then his eyes settled on his father. Stannis's lips were thin and flat yet the stoic stillness in his father seemed to seep into him as well.

"Use your head," he whispered his father's words back to himself. Use your head.

"No shield?" Jaime queried.

"Ser Loras used a shield so I did. You do not so I won't."

"How very noble of you," Jaime said, his eyes taking in every relevant detail of Osrics's old battered armour, especially the dent on the right side of the chest plate. "Are you ready?"

I've got this, Osric psyched himself up before locking eyes with Jaime, "Yes."

"Good, I like to fight people at their best," Jaime said, putting on his helmet and pulling his sword from the ground in one fluid motion. "Gives them no excuses when they lose to me."

The crowd yelled in excitement, mostly for Ser Jaime but Osric heard Brus's foulmouthed encouragement amongst the gale of Stormlanders willing him onwards. It seemed the narrative of the tourney would be the shining Kingsguard against the brute Stormlander.

So be it, Osric curled his fists around the handle of his mace and brought his shield up to cover his torso. He widened his stance in anticipation, determined not to be caught off-guard as he had been with Ser Loras.

"Start!" came the rumbling tones of the King, eager to see the contest laid out before him.

Jaime immediately started to move, two steps forward, three back to dodge Osric's swipe, then rotating around Osric to his empty handed-side. He spun the larger man one way and then the other, making him move his feet. Testing his focus and footwork in equal measure.

"The mace isn't a very knightly weapon," came Jaime's first true jab of the contest.

"Your fellow Kingsguard Ser Preston Greenfield wields a mace," Osric lunged forward determined to show the devastation his chosen weapon could cause.

Jaime sidestepped the mace with a grin upon his lips and extended the tip of his sword outward, "My point still stands."

Osric remained silent knowing Jaime was only trying to distract him. He pulled his shield in tighter and raised his mace. Step by step he closed the gap and walked down Jaime's sword point but each time he got within an arms range Jaime would quickly land a blow to his right side and then skirt around his left.

The Kingsguard knew where he was injured. He was playing with him. Goading him. Smiling.

Osric ground his teeth together. He wasn't playing.

"Are you afraid Kingslayer?" Osric bellowed.

Jaime's handsome features darkened at his dishonourable nickname ringing around the arena. He attacked in a whirlwind of strikes that Osric could only keep up with for two parries before Jaime closed the gap enough to utilise his superior speed to fully strike Osric's helmet. The item of armour did its job but the force of the blow knocked it to the sandy ground.

Osric took a few righting steps backwards but when his eyes found his opponent again, he saw his helmet being offered back to him on the end of Jaime's sword. Osric swiped the helmet away with his mace and it rolled a few times in the sand. He didn't want pity.

Jaime shrugged but a wide grin spread on his face at the defiant attitude on display. He took off his helmet to match his challenger and threw it to the side. He could be noble too.

Osric was no match for him in terms of experience, skill, speed, or tactical knowledge and the newly knighted Stormlander was letting him showcase it to the entire court. Jaime revelled in his dominance, slipping in and out of Osric's reach, landing a nick here and a nick there until Osric was leaving partially bloody footprints in the sand. The Stormlanders groaned with every missed swing of Osric's mace and willed their man onwards despite the one-sided showing.

"You have spirit, I'll give you that," Jaime chuckled, stepping back to the centre of the arena, "Or is it stubbornness?"

Osric took Jaime's reprieve and steadied his hulking frame before puffing out, "My mother would have said stubbornness."

Jaime nodded, adjusting his grip on his sword's pommel, "Stubbornness won't win you many fights."

"What will?"

"Skill," Jaime grinned, more than implying Osric had none.

"Fuck you," Osric growled not caring if his crude words carried to the crowd.

Jaime swished his sword in front of him then brought both hands together, eyeing his target. Osric was panting, clearly completely exhausted not used to duels lasting longer than a couple of minutes. Jaime tutted in his head. That was the problem with inexperienced fighters, they didn't know how to pace themselves. The excitement and adrenalin always got the better of them. A lesson he had learnt from Ser Barristan the Bold and now had passed on to Ser Osric.

This would be over soon. He would crown Cersei as Queen of Beauty and enjoy his reward later in the night. He could almost feel Cersei's soft skin in-between his fingers, smell the lavender in her hair and hear her moans around him.

He lunged at Osric, slicing out with his sword, aiming to deliver a painful blow to Osric's side. He knew a powerful blow to an already vulnerable area would stun the boy long enough for him to get his sword's edge to his throat and end this tourney.

Metal clashed with metal. Jaime raised an eyebrow. Osric had blocked his sword with his mace by holding it with two hands at either hand of the long handle. Unorthodox. Jaime could simply twist his wrist and his sword would strike one of Osric's hands.

Instead, Jaime drew his face in close, knowing he had successfully tired his larger opponent out and this block was the last-ditch attempt in a failing defence.

"Did you really think you stood a chance against me?" Jaime snarled behind his sword as he felt Osric's strength begin to waver in their contest.

Osric sucked in the air like a drowning man but his father's words rang clear in his mind.

Use your head.

The horrendous smacking noise made its way around the open air and the crowd roared as Jaime reared back from Osric's headbutt. The Kingsguard's nose was gushing blood down his pretty face. He spat some to the ground and gave Osric a little nod of acknowledgement for the move. But then the cocky demeanour faded, the twinkling in his green eyes turned into a hunter's gleam, and that casual countenance he had carried throughout the fight evaporated.

Shit. Osric started to back away.

Jaime raised his sword, point first, blood on his lip forgotten and stalked Osric into one of the corners. He unleashed a flurry of shallow sword strikes, some hit armour, others flesh but they all trapped Osric against the wooden wall.

Osric bellowed in one last attempt to gather his remaining strength and blindly swept what was in front of him with his mace. It predictably whistled through the air and broke into the wooden wall to his left, causing the nobles sat near to squeal and Osric to slip to his knee with the power he had put into the swing. Before he could react, Jaime came from his right and a sword's edge was pressed to his throat.

It was over.

Osric released the handle of the mace and one hand was planted in the sand as the other went to his thigh to steady the trembling limb. Each breath he took shuddered around his body and he couldn't tell what was sweat and what was blood as his skin felt completely soaked.

"Do you yield?"

Osric lifted his chin to squint into Jaime's smug face. Despite him kneeling, the Kingsguard's face was still within reach and Osric considered a lunge but the metal caressing his Adam Apple dissuaded him.

"Yes," Osric reluctantly puffed out, blood pouring from a cut just below his eye.

"Sorry, I didn't hear that," Jaime mercilessly taunted as Osric's blood dribbled onto his sword.

Osric gritted his teeth, "I yield!"

"I don't think our audience heard you," Jaime said, twisting the sword in his hand so it scraped along Osric's throat, coating more of the steel in Baratheon blood.

"I yield!" Osric shouted; exhausted rage infused in each syllable as Jaime ruthlessly tore down his pride as he had his body.

The sword point retracted and the crowd cheered for their champion, the hero that had slain the raging bull. The Stormlanders on the benches sat in silence as the ones in the royal box did.

Jaime didn't soak in the crowd's applause. He went straight for the Queen of Beauty's laurel that rested on a red pillow Lancel was holding. With the laurel in hand, he climbed up the wooden railings of the royal platform and pass it to his sister before resuming his post behind her.

The victor cast one last look at the defeated. The cocksure grin had returned, the blood had been wiped away, and the hair brushed back. It was like he hadn't been in a fight at all.

Then he winked.

He fucking winked.

It was that moment that sealed Jaime Lannister's fate for Osric. It didn't matter if he was the father of Cersei's children or not. That moment of utter disrespect couldn't go unanswered.

By the Stranger or the Warrior, it wouldn't.

Author Notes:

This chapter was really two long scenes so let me know if you liked the Stannis and Osric moments (Osric struggles with Stannis's aloofness as I'm sure we all would but Stannis is trying) and Osric vs Jaime. I'm afraid Jaime was always going to win convincingly but Osric got a good hit in. Osric is still young, inexperienced and Jaime despite some people's comments is one of the strongest fighters in Westeros at this time. I know he defeated Loras quickly but Osric has accrued a few injuries (nose and side) by the time he faces Jaime (which Jaime hasn't) and crucially Loras just doesn't have Jaime's experience in dealing with fighters like Osric, don't think there are many bruisers and mace wielders in the Reach.

Anyway plenty of time for Osric to improve and challenge Jaime later down the line … xD

Reviews:

Harrek – Osric's 6ft 5. He's a big dude so the mace is also big but it's not like spear length and still a one-handed weapon.

Supremus85 – Nope your memory isn't failing you. I wasn't happy with the fight scenes so I've reworked them.

Allen – Thanks bud!

Next Up: Robert leaves for the North and all the rats come out to play, Osric gets advice from an unlikely source, and an old face appears in 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!