Royces on the Kingsroad South

[Ollie]

Days before the Royal Wedding, House Royce and their retainers make the journey from the Eyrie and down the Kingsroad. A tousle-haired eight-year-old Damian Royce sits atop his shaggy garron, sullenly flicking the pony's reigns. Lord Bayard Royce rode nearby as did Ser Malcolm, along with his Uncle Mac, the knight Damian squired for.


Sighing heavily for perhaps the one-hundredth and second time, Damian lolled his head side-to-side and then backwards, marveling at the upturned pastoral world around him before growing bored again and sitting straight.

"Gods, could we be riding for any longer?" the boy exasperated to no one in particular, but almost certainly in the direction of his lord father. "I don't even see why we're going to this stupid wedding anyway. Any wedding I've ever been to has been so dull. It's just some septon mumbling for hours, a boring dinner, and stupid dancing."

Damian had only been outside the Vale on two or three occasions in his life, so the appeal of traveling to King's Landing for a royal wedding was mostly lost on him. Off into the distance Damian spied a copse of oak trees, and gazing at them longingly prayed that perhaps a gang of bandits might burst out from behind the foliage at any moment to do battle with.

[Horas]

Bayard turned to face Damian; a pointless gesture for the blind Lord Royce, but one he had long ago learned set people at ease. "The septon and the dancing is hardly the point, Damian." The rebuke was mild, but present. "Every lord of influence in the Seven Kingdoms will be in attendance. There is no better opportunity to build alliances or gauge the mood of realm. You will be lord one day, Damian. These are things you must learn."

[Deleted]

Ser Malcolm smiled toward Damian, understanding the boy's feelings exactly, but like his brother told his nephew. They needed to attend to make sure that the Royces wasn't left out of the business of the realm by keeping to themselves behind the mountains that surrounded their homes. He glanced back at the wagon, where his wife and young boy was seated, smiling at the thought of showing off his son to the rest of the realm.

"Ligthen up, dear brother. I know that you were thrown into leadership at a young age, but Damian isn't you, let the boy be a boy for a while longer, he'll grow up fast enough as it is."

[Ollie]

The boy rolled his eyes at his lord father's remark, probably the most daring display of defiance Damian regularly got away with. He knew Bayard was right though, one day he would be lord, and the excitement at that prospect was enough to content his mood at least for a little while.

"If we're supposed to be building alliances then, why isn't the prince marrying a Royce instead of some Tyrell?" he asked of his father. When Ser Malcolm spoke on his behalf, Damian looked to him and smiled wide. His uncle was right, Damian wanted to grow up fast. No, he would.

[Horas]

Bayard shook his head at his brother, but then seemed to relent. The world would not let Damian be a boy for much longer, and Bayard supposed that his younger brother had a point.

Bayard smiled at his son's comment. "And who, pray tell, shall Prince Maerys marry among our house? Your little sister, perhaps, or great aunt Genna?" Though amused, he approved of the boy's line of thought. "House Royce will have its day in time. But if you are spoken to at the feast, you are to congratulate the royal couple and wish them good fortune."

[Ollie]

Of course his sister was far too young, and lady Genna too old. He hadn't thought that far about it, only that he knew marrying into the crown family was an excellent opportunity. It was only after a small moment that the young Royce realized he was being mocked. A small blush overtook Damian's cheeks, and the boy did his best to hide it from his uncles.

"Yes my lord, I shall," Damian intoned dutifully, then murmured, "Seems quite a good fortune for the lady Tyrell, at least..." Damian's thoughts were wandering and the boy began day-dreaming of some new jape to tease his sister with, when what his father had said struck him.

"How do you know?" he asked abruptly. "I mean, in time, having our day. How can you know that?"

[Horas]

It was a fair question, a good one. Bayard paused for a moment as their horses steadily moved onward. "Because I will not rest until it is so," Lord Royce said, "and when you are older, you will help me."

[Ser Donnel Royce]

Seemingly out of nowhere a large hand roughly clapped the young squire on the back. "Aye my lord and I'll make sure he does a bloody good job it too."

[Ollie]

That gave Damian pause. The young Royce felt a strange stirring deep in his chest that he could not put a name to. The sudden slap on his back almost sent the boy sprawling from his saddle, his grip on the reigns tightening as he resolved to sit straighter, chin high.

"I will father," he agreed, speaking it like a promise. Looking to Lord Royce, Damian gazed at the twisted scars across his father's face.

They didn't bother him. Not any more. At first his father's condition had embarassed him. Then it just made him feel pity. Damian had met plenty of lords during his short life in the Vale. Some were good, others not so good. Some were great warriors and generals, others drunkards, dull or cruel. Yet despite his condition Lord Bayard ruled them all. As he grew older Damian came to admire the man for what he had accomplished. He felt pride for his house.

"I want to help. Only..." the boy spoke up, "Isn't there anything I can do now?" He turned from Bayard and threw an eager look over his shoulder at his Uncle Mac. "Just tell me what I can do."

[Horas]

"There is indeed. You can keep your Uncle Mac's weapons and horse in good order, so that he can win this tournament and show the kingdom the mettle of the Royces." Bayard smiled at his son's eagerness. "Perhaps you will even enjoy yourself. I imagine there will be plenty of children your age there."

Bayard felt for the waterskin hanging from his saddle, found it, and took a drink. "Tell me the news of the clans," he says, turning his head toward his brother and uncle. "Have your scouts seen any signs of them recently?"

[Ser Donnel Royce]

Uncle Mac twisted his thick mustache as he mulled over the young Lord's question. "Signs of them, yes. Clansmen themselves? No. Chances are they are watching us at this very moment, but they won't attempt anything. They are neither confident nor desperate enough for that."

[Horas]

"Do we know which clans they are?" Valemen often spoke of the clans as a unified menace, but in recent years Bayard had been trying to understand their own distinctions, politics, and grudges.

[Ser Donnel Royce]

"It was The Burned Men that ruled these parts last winter. Or was it Painted Dogs?" He shrugged his shoulders tiredly. "It makes no matter, they'll cut you up all the same." With his last few words Uncle Mac eyed the young lord thoughtfully, remembering when he had found him blind and alone on the side of the road, his father's lifeless corpse cradled against his chest.

[Horas]

Bayard had never harbored any intense enmity against the clans, but were rumors to be believed, he did not think them truly responsible for his father's death. On that subject, like many others, however, Lord Bayard kept his own counsel.

"I suppose that is so," Bayard replied, his thoughts also elsewhere.

[Ser Donnel Royce]

The old knight straightened himself in his saddle and bluntly changed the subject, "I'm looking forward to seeing all the wonderful Lords and Ladies of our great realm. Chances are I played Come-Into-My-Castle with most of their grandmothers. Heheh. Bayard! Did I ever tell you about the time I stole Elaena Targaryen's first kiss? Oh Valarr was not happy about that!"