Chương 29: Chapter 29: The Sum of Hardship and Wine is Friendship
Time was a fickle concept.
Sometimes, a week might feel as though it might drag on for months due to the sheer number of things happening in so short a time. Duskendale had been like that. I had only been in the city for two days, but it had been a busy two days. Busy days followed by even busier days, all the way up until my brawl with Aemon.
After that brawl, however, after the punishments inflicted by my father, the days began to blur together. Even my name day passed without too much fanfare or chaos that needed my intervention. No longer was I busy because of decisions I had to make and actions I had to take. Now, my spare time was being drained by obligations forced upon me by others.
If nothing else, there was one such obligation that I did not mind quite as much.
"Press the attack, Beesbury," I advised my youngest charge, interposing my shield as the boy swung his hammer at my head. The padded head hit at an angle, sliding off the wooden face of the shield. I held that position for a second, then another, just waiting for the boy to follow my advice.
The hammer struck my shield again, hitting it squarely in the center and forcing my arm to give slightly, and I sighed. He was learning, but slowly.
My shielded arm lashed out, knocking into the boy's helmeted head. Gently. Well, as gently as a punch to the head could be. The boy was knocked back, his arms flailing as he desperately tried to maintain his balance.
Gravity was, unfortunately, quite persistent, and he hit the ground.
"You have two arms, Beesbury," I observed, taking off my helmet and letting it fall to the ground. The late afternoon was pleasantly cool on my skin, and I simply savored the feeling for a moment. It was not my usual training time, but the boy had asked for some more instruction. "Use them."
"Sorry Vaegon," the boy muttered as he tried to fight his way back to his feet. He was already sore from the morning's training, I could tell. That he was still pushing himself further was worrying. Persistence was worth encouraging, but this was nearly suicidal. A body needed time to heal. "I'll do better next time, I swear."
"Not today you aren't," I insisted, watching him struggle with his own body's exhaustion. His arms trembling were, his legs nearly collapsing beneath his own weight. Fish on land were a less pathetic sight. Giving in, I finally pulled him to his feet and dragged him over to a wall to rest a bit. "Learn when to take a break."
"Right, your wedding is tomorrow." The exhaustion must have knocked something loose in the boy's brain. The date of my wedding was common knowledge and trying to drive himself to exhaustion the day before was foolishness of the highest order. If he could barely keep himself on his feet, he would make a mockery of himself and his house for all the realm to see. "I will need to be able to dance with the Princess Saera."
"You will do no such thing," I said firmly. Trying to carefully screen every suitor that my sister was facing was a fool's errand, but I could definitely groom someone to fit that mold. Slowly and carefully. Father already mistrusted Corlys, it would hardly do to have another like him in my orbit. "My sister will be one of the girls with whom you will be dancing. More than once, mayhaps, but not exclusively."
"So kind," he grunted, trying to rise to his feet once more, only to fail.
"You will be unable to dance at all if you do not rest, Beesbury," I warned, pushing him back against the castle wall with my wooden sword. There was not even enough strength left in him to resist. "Take some time to recover."
"Now, Desmond!" the youth from the Reach suddenly shouted, sending an icy current racing down my spine. My helmet was still on the ground in the middle of the training yard, leaving my head vulnerable. I whirled around, my shield protecting my face.
I was strong enough to stop most kinds of blows, even from grown men. That I knew, even if I took the blow head on without trying to deflect it by angling my shield.
What I was not strong enough to deflect was liquid being poured on me from above. In a siege, that would have been boiling oil.
Right now, however, it was wine. Watered down wine, certainly. But even diluted, its soft golden hue left no doubt about its identity.
The liquid washed over the shield, most of it landing against my chest, shoulders, and back, but a noticeably amount of it still splashed on my face. The cold touch of the wine set my short-cropped hair on end, and I suppressed a shiver.
So very, very cold.
Lowering my shield, I could see the boys who had carried the large bucket of wine bent over from laughter. The boys of Darry and Mooton they were, still clad in their practice gear. Darry, his hair as dark as the soil his sigil plowed, had the worst of it, barely even able to stay on his feet.
"Funny," I said through grit teeth, the grip on my sword tightening. "Very funny."
"Come now Vaegon," Darry's words were choked off by another convulsive fit of laughter. "You have to admit that was more than a bit amusing. We have to celebrate your good fortune somehow, do we not?"
"Words and a toast usually suffice," I said, gently tossing the wooden sword off to the side to free one of my hands. Simply blinking the stinging wine out of my eyes was not quite successful, forcing me to wipe it away manually.
"Some might consider that a toast," Mooton chimed in. The blonde's amusement was far more subdued, but not enough to keep a giant grin off his face. "You should be grateful you have such enthusiastic friends."
Friends.
I had been beating them into the ground every morning for years. Since father's punishment had taken effect, however, I had been supplementing those beatings with advice and actually helpful lessons. Odd how a regular act of kindness could color people's perceptions.
"Friends would not have wasted Arbor Gold on an impromptu bath," I groused, wiping the wine out of my hair. It would dry quickly, I knew, but I had a sinking suspicion it would still leave it a sticky mess. "Where did you even get that much? The servants know better than to allow a bunch of squires to abscond with so much wine at once."
"Braxton's in the service of an uncle in the service to Lord Redwyne," Mooton answered, his Riverlander friend still too busy laughing at the sight of a prince drenched in some of the finest wine in the Seven Kingdoms. "And his private stocks are far less guarded."
Stealing from the current Master of Ships was a bold plan. And all for a boyish prank? How kind of them.
"We… we watered it down, anyhow." Darry finally managed to subdue his laughter enough to choke out a few words. He reached into his belt to withdraw a waterskin. No, I realized, a wineskin. "We saved enough for a bit of fun."
How very kind of them.
"I suppose I can be lenient," I offered, now discarding the wine-slick shield as well. No way was I getting any more practice out of the day. Might as well enjoy the downtime. "Just this once."
"Does that mean I get a dance with one of your sisters?" The boy was beginning to push his luck.
"Not with a bribe that paltry," I warned. I had already decided to try and mold young Beesbury into a man worthy of my sister. No way was I going to allow my progress to be undermined for just a bit of wine.
"What about for three?" Mooton asked, holding yet more wineskins, earning only a sigh of despair from me. I was going to need to keep him especially far from my sisters.
"How much did you two take?" Beesbury asked, a look of horror passing over his face.
"Only a small cask," Darry defended himself, an affronted look falling over his broad face.
"Each," Mooton continued, earning a glare from the fellow Riverlander. He ignored it, of course, and took a seat next to the boy from the Reach, handing him a wineskin.
"My uncle is going to kill me," Beesbury muttered, but still accepting the wineskin.
"All the more reason to enjoy the day while you can," Darry said cheerfully, sitting down next to Mooton.
"If we are to celebrate, you will not bring down the mood," I warned, taking the final skin of wine and sitting next to Beesbury. "That is a royal command."
That was where Ser Ryam Redwyne found us. Four squires sitting next to a castle wall drinking and laughing without a care in the world until night fell properly. Well, with a little care in the world. Weddings were big days, after all.
"Your Grace," the knight of the Kingsguard greeted me. "It is time."
"I suppose it is," I said, suppressing a scowl as I rose to my feet. Apparently, father had decided I would experience the most ritualistic form of knighting there was. What else could this be, after all? I was to be knighted before I wed. My wedding was the next day. Simple logic. "I'll see you lot at the wedding feast."
I left the half-empty wineskin resting against the wall. The others would see it drained, one way or another.
"Leaving already?" Darry asked, swinging his far emptier wineskin. "I haven't even gotten to the part with the jackass and the honeycomb!"
"That's a terrible way of referring to your friends," I remarked, earning another round of laughter. "But I do have some urgent business to take care of. One that I assume requires a vigil."
"You cheeky prince!" Mooton laughed, taking another drink. "Didn't even tell us you were getting knighted!"
"No wonder he was so willing to celebrate!" Darry agreed, raising his own in celebration.
I had a smile on my face as I followed Ser Ryam. My gait was uneasy, my head feeling just a bit light from the wine, but I was content. It was rare that I had the opportunity to simply relax with boys my age, after all.
My escort did not share the celebratory mood of the squires. He walked in silence, and I followed similarly. If he did not wish to talk, then that was fine.
That was fine. It was just what I was used to when I was without my family.
So we walked. The Kingsguard with his calm and steady stride and I matching his pace with just a bit more effort due to the difference in height. Before too long we stood before the doors to the castle sept.
"You know what to expect, Your Grace?" Ser Ryam asked, speaking for the first time since he had dragged me from my pleasant evening of socializing.
"Ponder my future and pray to the Seven until morning comes," I said. That the next few hours would be quite dull. A squire's vigil would usually last until dawn, or until his master would come to end the vigil and deliver the necessary words. There was no real prestige associated with the vigil, but it was a touch more pious than simply kneeling the moment before.
"Correct," Ser Ryam said, pushing open the door to the darkened sept, inviting me to enter. The windows let in the barest hint of moonlight, revealing the rough shapes of the seven statues placed at each point of the room. Most candles at their plinths had long since guttered out, leaving the lighting ominously lopsided. "In the future, however, I would suggest simply asking for my father's stocks to celebrate instead of theft. He is far more generous than most would think."
Before I had a chance to register those words, the door slammed shut behind me.
And I was left alone with my thoughts.
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