Snippet #1469734

Kervall had barely slept that night. There was just too much to do! Gift preparations to finalize, court protocol to brush up on, new gossip to study, and a hundred other things, including making sure his equipment was sound and ready for the tourney. Besides, how could he sleep knowing that that very day - within hours! - he would be in King's Landing for the first time. He felt he would soon explode with excitement, were it not for the stolid rein of self-control he kept tightly about that emotion. It only slipped a few times, mostly around his father or when he was alone, but his father understood - even approved - and he grinned like a buffoon when no one was around. Like now, as he was checking his equipment. Tempest nearly sang as he drove the whetstone across her edge. He loved the sound the sword made as he sharpened it, it always calmed him down, and now more than ever, reminded him of his mother.

There was noise outside. He lifted his head and brought himself from his reverie, leaning forward to move aside a flap of his tent and spied servants and soldiers moving about, breaking the camp. He wouldn't need to pack much, as he had barely unpacked. Letting that grin out again, Kervall slowly and near reverentially placed Tempest back in her sheathe, and moved to the armour stand whereupon his custom leather jerkin sat. His hands started to move through the familiar motions of caring for it, keeping it properly oiled and adjusted while his mind wandered. The look on his father's face when he'd seen Kervall packing the light armour had been heart-stopping. In his opinion, wearing such light protection during such an open brawl as the tourney melee would be suicide. Kurt had promised to wear more during the joust - wearing anything else than a full metal breastplate would be completely foolhardy - but when it came to hand-to-hand combat he never felt comfortable in heavier equipment. He loved the freedom of motion that the light, reinforced leather gave him, and it could still turn aside a blade. They had argued for a while, but thankfully Lord Winsler had gotten distracted with something else and Kervall had gotten away with not promising anything more. He knew he would do well in the melee, and if things started to get dangerous he could always back down. Jamie might tease him, but it was certainly not worth his life.

One of his servants opened the tent flap and started at seeing Kervall sitting there caring for his armour with his bedroll not even opened. Kurt took his breakfast from her - a steaming bowl of porridge - and asked her to finish up his packing. He wanted to take a walk. Bringing the porridge with him and eating as he went, the young man walked through the camp lazily, his mind already on the city, wondering at how much free time he would have to explore it, when a breathless messenger spotted him across a bustling group of soldiers and disappearing around a corner. Sprinting to catch up to him and vaulting over a weapon rack, the boy skidded to a stop in front of a very surprised Kervall and bent over double, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

"Goodness, boy! Is something wrong?"

After a few panting gasps, the messenger shook his head, still fighting for his breath. "N-no, my lord . . . but master Jamie . . . has sent for you. I was having trouble . . . finding you!"

A touch of shame hit Kurt then, and he laughed, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I'm sorry for making you chase me around the camp, then. Once you've caught your breath, go back to my tent and get some rest, tell the girl I said it was okay. Also, the porridge they made us is excellent. You should try some." He winked. Kurt got Jamie's whereabouts from the sputteringly thankful messenger and sent him scurrying off towards his tent while heading to the meeting spot at their personal wagons.

"Good morning, Teralo, Emaya!" He shot them both a smile as he finally got there a little while later, then turned to Jamie, "I'm sorry to make you wait, brother. I was wandering around the camp and made your poor boy practically chase me about the eastern campsite." He grinned, half playful, half bashful, "What was so important that you wanted me t--" He finally clued in, and followed all their gazes to see what they were staring at, and fell silent momentarily. He blew a low, appreciative whistle. "Jamie, it is exquisite!" He approached the sepulchral box, moving a hand to run gently over the gauntlet, "Valyrian armour! You shall look quite imposing indeed wearing this at the tourney next week." Once his brother informed him of its inevitable journey into the hands of the Damians, Kervall yanked his hand back as if the steel was hot. He turned and regarded Jamie with an openly dumbfounded gaze, before his visage broke into a warm, genial smile. "Brother, I am impressed, and truly humbled. What a wondrous gift!" He turned back to admire it once more, "Does this mean you are willing to forgive House Damian?"