In the Lion's Den [Tybalt]

[attr="class","sun"]Hear Me Roar

Tybalt’s footsteps were faster than usual. They moved with the frantic and hasty scurry of a panicked mouse. For one great house to receive the lord of another great house was usually a rather lavish event with a feast and a bit of fanfare. The arrival of the Lord of Storm’s End, however, was a very sudden one. It wasn’t quite unannounced but the raven had only come so many weeks ago that the Lannisters had anticipated a much later arrival of the lord. Instead, Lord Baratheon had arrived to a locked gate and no welcoming party then proceeded to ask for Tybalt by name.

So, to say that the young knight was nervous was a bit of an understatement. That the heir should be seen before the actual lord of the keep? That was most unusual indeed.

The Lion’s feet padded heavily as he rushed to the guest wing, eager not to keep their guest waiting and offend him any further. By the time he had reached the door to the room in which the lord waited Tybalt was practically sprinting, his face red and huffed from the many flights of stairs he had been forced to ascend in his panic. His sprint came to a sudden stop as he hand grasped for the door’s latch, twisting and swinging the door open wide with almost no announcement beyond the loud thunderclap of his footsteps.

”Lord Daemon! Welcome to Casterly Rock!” Tybalt strolled in to the room with leisure, his face plastered with a warm and welcoming smile as he called from the door all the way over to the balcony with a friendly boom. He hardly looked as though he had been running at full sprint only a second earlier, fully transformed in to a creature of pure relaxation and idleness.

”I’m sorry for my lateness, you had us all at a bit of a disadvantage.” Tybalt clasped his hands behind his back as he walked through the room, approaching the balcony with an almost infuriatingly leisurely slowness. ”We received your raven not but a few weeks prior, had we known you were already on your way we would have met you at the gate.”

Tybalt had not quite dressed for the occasion. He was not in his finest clothing, instead decked out in his riding leathers as he usually was just in case the irresistible urge to ride his steed across the beach took him out of nowhere. The waves that rolled and lapped at the shore echoed through the room and in between Tybalt’s words with the calling of gulls. Tybalt wagered it reminded Daemon in no small part of his own castle along Shipbreaker Bay.

”Nevertheless, I trust your stay has been pleasant so far and the servants have seen to your needs?” Tybalt finally approached the lord with an arm outstretched for the older man to shake. It was a relatively familiar and informal gesture for someone to greet such a highly regarded individual with on one’s first meeting, but it managed to serve the charming young Lannister better than any other greeting in the past. ”Might I offer you some bread and salt?”

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Tybalt’s smile eased from a nervous one to a relaxed one within seconds of finally meeting the lord. Their handshake was firm and brisk, and they seemed to be making fast friends. Or, at least, that was what Tybalt had hoped. He had never dealt with the world of mirrors that was politics and negotiation first hand. He knew that every chance meeting could be the battleground for a deceptively vicious battle of words and Tybalt felt like he was walking in to this battle without his armour or mace.

”If your aim was to confuse me then consider me confused, my lord.” Tybalts words smiled along with his face, hanging in the air with each syllable. He gestured to the table upon the balcony, whereupon sat the bread, salt and (of course) wine. Tybalt swiftly took his seat at it. ”It’s most irregular for a guest to ask for someone other than the Lord of the house upon arriving, so…”

Tybalt hefted the golden pitcher of wine and poured himself a cup before moving to fill Daemon’s. It was an arbour gold, Tybalt’s personal favourite vintage. The cellars had been overstocked with the stuff at the young knight’s request. The pause in conversation that Tybalt masked with pouring their drinks gave him ample to time to consider his next words carefully.

”… If you came all this way just to see me, I worry that I might be in some form of trouble!” It was a cheeky thing to say in jest, perhaps, but not at all out of the question. Tybalt was a just and fine lad, but lords could get finicky over all sort of small things and he was not yet aware of the Lord’s temperament. It could have been that Tybalt accidentally hamstringed Daemon’s son in a tourney not long ago and the man was looking for recompense. Anything was possible with some lords.

”Or maybe you’re just here for the pleasure on my company? I wouldn’t blame you, with some of the stories some smallfolk tell of me.” He gave a comically exaggerated expression of smug self-satisfaction before taking a hearty swig of his wine. Usually arrogance was a trait undesirable in a friend, though Tybalt’s body language never seemed to suggest it. Every boast he made seemed to be laden with the humility of a fool and every shortcoming was endearing of his character.

Tybalt simply gave Daemon what he had given everyone in his life: the true, honest knight that lay behind the Silver Lion’s visor with every scar, callous and laugh-line.

[attr="class","sun"]Hear Me Roar

Tybalt nodded and smiled as praise was bestowed upon him. Yes, he was a strong, charming and skilful warrior. He was also exceptionally graceful, handsome and (above all else) humble. There was a fine line between acknowledging one’s own finer points and letting them become a wellspring of arrogance, however. Tybalt had seen what ill fate could befall the arrogant, however. It was not a fate he wished to emulate.

He had read about the old conquests, and of the lords who deigned to oppose the rule of the Targaryen dynasty. The old Storm Lords were the first to oppose the dragons and were nearly erased from history because of it. It took a devastating loss of their wealth and power before they finally willed themselves to submit. The Lannisters, however, had enough wealth and power to wage the same war against the dragons twice over and yet they openly submitted. No power nor wealth was lost. All it took to remain prosperous was a little bit of humility.

There was no shame in being outmatched, he had learned. The only shame was in realising as such when it was much, much too late.

”I don’t think I’ve met your son, Lord Daemon.” Tybalt began, staring at his cup as he swirled the wine within with a breezy nonchalance. ”We may have traded a blow or two in a melee once upon a time, but it’s difficult to hold a conversation when you’ve got a man swinging an axe at you. If we’re truly as alike as you say, however, then maybe you needn’t have troubled yourself with meeting me.”

Tybalt smiled lightly at his own words before hiding it behind the brim of his cup to drink once more. He had no doubt that Euron was a fine man. Daemon certainly struck a good enough first impression, and if this Euron wasn’t a rotten apple growing atop his family tree then he was willing to take the lord’s words as a compliment. And, speaking of family trees…

”I have met your daughter Alayne, however. That’s a fine young woman you’ve sired. I’d imagine a fair few lords are vying for her hand these days, yes?”