A LIONS PRIDE

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

Tybalt ran the rag down his face, wiping it free of all the grime that had accumulated from the day’s sparring. Usually it was only supposed to run from mid-morning until lunch but the young knight did tend to get carried away with his training. It was only when his muscles began to ache that he realised the sun was dangerously close to sweating and he was about to miss dinner.

He had no new scars to add to his impressive collection, only a few pits and bruises across his arms where he had happily suffered the ineffectual blows of a sword. That was the beautiful thing about plate armour: a sword could rain blows upon the metal for days and it wouldn’t buckle or split. That’s why Tybalt liked his maces over his sword any day.

The White Lion’s boots, thick leather ensembles, made thunderclaps through the hall as he walked. Though he had the grace to change in to clean clothes after taking off his armour, he had not yet washed and his hair still glistened with a whole day’s worth of sweat. He ran the rag over his hair, barely cleaning his golden mane at all before tossing it carelessly to the floor and bursting in to the dining hall with little to no amount of subtlety.

”Seven Hells, I could eat a damned horse!” His voice shook through the hall like a hammer striking an anvil, his usual grin spreading across his face as soon as he spotted his father sitting at the end of the table. Tybalt strode over to the patriarch, pulling out his favoured seat at his left hand with a terrible screech and flopping down upon it like a tonne of bricks.

”A fine day for it, Father. I trust you are well?” He asked. As he sat down, maids that had previously been scampering out of the room seemed to flood back in to set the table for the firstborn just as they had with his father. No doubt they would be bringing out water again, rather than the wine he usually requested.

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

As Tyreal asked his question, Tybalt was already sinking his teeth in to a haunch of a red meat he didn’t care to identify. It could have been venison, boar or dog for all he cared: he was too hungry to do anything but chew twice and swallow hard in a remarkably ravenous display. Poor table manners aside, the young Lannister at least waited until his mouth was empty before answering.

"I think my ‘lessons’ ended long ago.” Tybalt replied, his voice straining over a piece of meat still wedged in his gullet before swiftly washing it down with water straight from the pitcher. "These days sparring is just… I don’t know, maintenance? I need at least three guys in the pit for me to even work up a sweat.”

His father’s faux-challenge had encouraged Tybalt’s ego. He wasn’t quite the boastful type but he had nothing against indulging in a bit of self-promotion when someone was there to encourage him. Tybalt dropped his fork to the table with a dull clatter and pulled back the sleeve on his left arm, flexing the impressive, sweat-slicked musculature before giving the bicep a couple of hearty claps and smiling at himself. There was no doubt about it: these were definitely muscles worth showing off, though perhaps not at the dinner table.

"I don’t jest, just look at these damned things! They’ve got to be bigger than yours ever were, thick as bloody tree trunks.” He laughed before letting the sleeve fall back down as he resumed cutting his meal, which seemed to consist of nothing but meat, in to several large slices. "And let us not forget, Father: I have my youth on my side! Do you still doubt my ability?”

Tybalt flashed another wry grin at his old man, one he should have recognised as his joking-face. Whilst the knight was certainly a fine warrior in his own right he was still no fool. He knew his father was also a fine warrior as it obviously ran in their blood. As for which of the two was the finest was certainly up for debate, but The White Lion of Casterly Rock’s overconfidence was a knowing façade.

Both men should have lost count of how many other knights had fallen for the joke by now.

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

Tybalt’s reaction to the challenge was immediate, a swift and vigorous shaking of his head whilst he chewed heartlessly on an overly large strip of venison. He swallowed the meat barely chewed as it was, throat muscles straining to carry what was only just a large wad of meat in to his stomach. Almost blue in the face from the ordeal, Tybalt finally found his voice though it seemed hoarse.

”Not a chance. You said it yourself: ‘brains over brawn’. You’ve been governing far longer than I’ve have the time to learn.” The young knight admitted. It was true that Tybalt was not quite as fine in the realms of politics as he was in that of combat. He was by no means a simpleton, as he was perhaps the only person alive who could match his father in a game of cyvasse.

It had to be said, however, that Tybalt found issues of politics and governance exceedingly dull and as such he was barely even close to what many would consider a wise enough ruler. He had a strong moral compass and a desire to do right by his people like a true knight yet he was naïve, lazy and ruled by his heart. Tybalt was sure his father knew this to both their woes.

”You’ll know best whenever I’m ready to replace you, old man. You always do.” He continued, wiping his mouth and bristled chin free of food in a rare display of table manners. Tybalt held his father in high esteem. He’d never steer the boy wrong, would he? Whatever he wanted would have to have been for the best. ”Besides, if we fought I’d definitely win and then where would we be? Shudder at the thought.”

Tybalt laughed it off, all of the gravitas and serious discussion about rulership and the future. Anything could be made better with enough laughter he thought, picking at his teeth to loosen whatever the hell it was that had lodged itself behind his incisor and lifting a single leg to rest it on the table with a clatter of cutlery. Finally removing the offending article from between his teeth he steered the topic somewhere lighter.

”Besides, I can’t very well become a lord if I don’t have a wife, can I? Maybe when I find a lovely lady and put a child inside her I’ll be happy to plough the field with you, father.”