@von Sachsen and @Knight Errant: Thank you both, too kind!
Here's the latest update. Hope you all like it! Also, I hope both @the_hdk as @Knight Errant like how I portrayed their suggestions. Both will get more "screen time" as
'Little Lords' progresses.
~~~
Rollam
Where he had once watched and listened to boys practising swords in the yard, Rollam could now participate himself. In the months since his older brother Parmen had given him permission to cease his religious education Rollam had immersed himself in the martial arts with a feverish dedication. Maggo, the exiled Dothraki from across the Narrow Sea and Robert Roundbelly were teaching him how to ride a horse, Ser Patrek Ermethon gave him instructions in military strategy and tactics, Ser Artyr Daviros tought him how to use the sword and lance while uncle Lyn gave him extracurricular education on the noble houses and family history.
The past months had given him a grim realisation of something he had always known. Ever since the death of father and Stafford, a great divide had come to be in Heart's Keep. On the one hand were the men of king Florian Arryn, with their moon-and-falcon emblems who kept the heir to Heart's Home close by. On the other were the 'loyalists', the men who had served with Lyonnel and Stafford. Both controlled a son of the traitorous Lyonnel, both were playing a game that had control of Heart's Home as the ultimate price.
However, if being the pawn of a dynastic struggle was the price he had to pay to live his dreams, than Rollam did not mind paying the price. Today Ser Artyr had organised a small scale tourney for his more experienced recruits. Among them were Ser Artyr's own squire Jon Snowpeak of Moonsgrey, Ser Patrek's son Vance and a couple of sons of some local sworn swords. There were only eight recruits under Artyr's care, so the tournament would only consist of three rounds. Hardly a real tournament, but still quite exciting.
“Here,” Ser Artyr had said when he had brought Rollam a set of plate armour. “You're almost a man grown, so it should fit you fine enough.”
Rollam's jaw had dropped when he had seen the suit of armour. White enamelled steel, with a motif of ravens engraved into it; all polished to a shine. He had never seen such a suit of armour and it made such an impression that he barely saw the dents.
“Used to be your brother's,” Ser Artyr had said. “Never got around to fixing those dents. You'll get your own in due time.”
Now he was wearing it with pride, dents and all, as he rode his horse down the yard. Rollam saw his niece Vivyen standing at the side, waiting for the event to begin. A frown took hold of Rollam's face. His niece was only two years younger than he was, yet she was Stafford's only surviving child. He had lost his father and brother, but she was already without grandfather, father, mother and siblings. Her white hair was very much unlike the Corbray auburn, but she took after her mother. She smiled and waved happily when she saw him watching his. Rollam waved back.
It was time to begin. Rollam's horse stepped slowly to his end of the lists. One of the guards, who now functioned as a squire for the participants, handed him his lance and shield. The tip had been blunted and the lance had been weakened as to shatter on impact while still delivering enough force to dismount.
Rollam's first opponent was the sixteen year old son of one of Heart's Home's sworn swords called Brett. A fat, thick boy with puffy cheeks, pouty lips and a permanent blush on his cheeks. Rollam and the others usually called him by his nickname Ser Seconds, for Brett's habit of always asking for seconds at every meal.
Ser Artyr gave the sign.
Rollam spurred his horse into a canter as he steadied his lance and shield. He had been riding since his early youth, but only recently had Maggo the Dothraki and Robert Roundbelly taught him how to control and ride a horse for war. It all came down to pacing, to knowing what your horse was doing. The rhythm of its steps, the anxiety in its eyes, its familiarity with its rider; everything. '
Know horse as princeling knows legs,' Rollam thought; echoing Maggo the Dothraki's own mantra, thick accent and all.
Ser Seconds came closer and closer and Rollam gazed at his opponent. Ser Patrek and Ser Artyr had both taught him that victory is hidden in the details and Rollam noticed that Ser Seconds was riding too fast, having trouble to stay balanced in the saddle.
Rollam steadied his lance as he shifted his weight forward. Brett either didn't notice or was too slow to react. Rollam's lance hit Ser Seconds straight on the chance; tipping the already unbalanced rider off. Splinters of wood flew through the air as Brett the not quite a knight fell into the sand with a loud crash.
“Victory!” Rollam yelled a primeval roar.
As his horse stepped out of the lists, Rollam finally noticed how many people had been watching him. He saw Vivyen clap and cheer, he saw uncle Lyn and Ser Patrek clapping for him while they whispered with one another. The bronze skinned Maggo the Dothraki, shirtless and with bells in his short hair stood fair and proud, his almond eyes not betraying a single thought. Ser Artyr was fingering his black-and-grey stubble, his usual scowl a mangled smile.
And he saw her. A young girl with hair as black as a raven's feathers. The lines of her face sharp like a mountain's peak. She looked at him intently, smiling a smile that was both seductive and sly. It made Rollam feel strange in his stomach. He threw her a smile of his own, but she gave no visible response. He had seen her before, talking with Roundbelly or with some of the servants. She had come one day asking for the Lord's protection, as had Maggo and many others. Parmen gave protection and shelter to everyone who asked. They had given her a job in the kitchen, or something similar. Rollam did not know exactly.
Drunk with victory, he could not wait for his next round.
~~~
Lyn
“He knows what he's doing. His balance is good, the horse has a steady pace, a good grip on the lance...”
Lyn nodded in reply to Patrek's observation, he saw it too. In the past few months they had give his nephew a crash course in all things related to war. Rollam had absorbed the knowledge with a fanatical devotion that rivalled his brother's devotion to the Seven.
“He's already better than Stafford this age,” he replied.
“No. Stafford was better, but less dedicated. If the boy keeps this up, he will be.” Patrek replied.
They watched as Rollam forcefully dismounted Brett Darcy. Both men clapped for the boy who rode the lists as if he had just personally won the nine kingdoms. Patrek leaned closer to the blonde Corbray and whispered.
“The older'un will soon be of age. I'm sure you know the story of the parliament of rooks, where they pick one of their own in a civilized discussion before slaughtering him in the most uncivilized of manners? Just saying...”
Lyn scowled as he clapped, he knew exactly what Patrek was 'just saying'.
