Snippet #1467477

"Are you ready to brave the day, my son?"

Lionel scowled. Since when have I not been prepared for anything? Of course I'm- Before he could burst out at his mother, his sister spoke.

"I know you're going to do absolutely fine today Leo. And Raban will be competing against you before you know it."

"Stop calling me Leo, you prat," Lionel said violently, shooting an irritated look at his sister. "By the gods, you women are ridiculous. I don't need your encouraging words, so just shut up and look pretty like you're supposed to." While he usually found Adelaide's input helpful (or at least tolerated her usual prattling), Lionel was now in a foul mood thanks to their father. And when Lionel was angry, the only solution was to give him time to cool off. Any show of affection or concern only further annoyed him, especially as Lionel viewed it as a display of vulnerability.

"I'm ready to win the bloody tournament again, if that's what you're worried about." Lionel was referring to a tourney held at King's Landing last year when Lionel's prodigious skill as a knight had been made painfully obvious for all to see. He had reached the later rounds of the jousting competition, but had finally been unseated by a knight from a lesser house sworn to the Greyhardts. That same knight had then gone on to jeer at Lionel when they faced off again in the melee tournament. Driven into a cold fury, Lionel had attacked the knight relentlessly, continuing to hack away at his opponent even after he had won according to tournament rules. In the end, the knight had been curled up in a fetal position on the ground, screaming for mercy and bleeding from various places. It was only then that Lionel decided justice had been done. "If Richard Greyhardt or Jamie Winsler think they're going to storm in here and outfight me, I'll cut them down as easily as any other wight."

He shot a cold glance at Raban. "And Raban won't be competing against anyone anytime soon if he doesn't learn to armor a man properly," he said testily, crossing his arms. Admittedly, Raban was usually competent in his duties, but he had nowhere near the devotion and skill that Lionel's previous squire had possessed. But no…one little incident with some whore and that squire had been sent to the Wall, where Lionel had been stuck with his stupid little brother for a squire.

It was becoming painfully obvious that the crown prince was in a foul mood, although thankfully Lionel remained seated and slouched, looking as if he were bored. A torrent of negative thoughts, however, were flooding through his mind. He had no desire whatsoever to marry Isabel Greyhardt, and as the hour of her family's arrival drew nearer, Lionel was floundering as to what to do. There was nothing he could do about it, no one he could talk to- Lionel didn't know how to confide in people, first off. And his father was unlikely to listen to him anyways, given all the past examples. The truth was, Lionel was scared. Isabel, admittedly, was beautiful- or as beautiful as humans got. But Lionel found beauty in the victory found on a battlefield, the curve of a blade as it whistled through the air. Isabel, with her smiles and books, represented an entirely different world which Lionel had always regarded from the sidelines, curious but always skeptical. And once he married her, he would be forced to enter that world. He didn't want to bind himself to it. He wanted to be independent. Free from the politics. Free from…this.