Trials and Tribulations of the Oathkeeper

Chapter 122: Bonding Brothers, Reunions and Old Faces

—At King's Landing—

Red Keep — Courtyard...

Daveth and Tommen had begun their day in the courtyard—the two brothers had been sparring, with the eldest Baratheon instructing the youngest on the art of swordsmanship; albeit with practice swords. Although the sword material itself was entirely made out of wood, getting whacked by them still hurt and regularly stung if hit hard enough. So far, the Young Cub was struggling during his lessons.

Tommen flailed his wooden sword, which Daveth easily deflects and kicks his brother's foot out from under him and he lands face first in the dirt. "Oomph!" he grunted upon impact.

Daveth looked down at him. "Don't lunge, don't cross your feet. You swing a sword like a girl with palsy when you do that," he lectured almost scoldingly.

Tommen pushes himself back up and picked up his discarded wooden shield, determined to keep learning how to defend himself. Day and night the Young Cub yearned to be great fighter like his older brother, but for some reason he never seemed to get any closer to that goal. He never held a sword in his life, but after what happened with the Sparrows... he is actually trying his best to improve himself. He raised his practice sword for a first strike, but his brother continued parrying a series of strokes whilst he was putting in too much an effort to try to breach his defenses. When he saw Daveth shift his position, Tommen believed he saw an opening and thrust forward but was tripped up again and fell face first into the dirt again.

"Don't go where your enemy leads you. If the bait is obvious, don't take it otherwise you risk being led straight into a trap. Now get up."

Bruised, sore and covered in dirt, Tommen shook his head—clearly frustrated that he was deceived. After constantly being tossed into the ground, training to fight was showing to be quite difficult; on the other hand, though, Daveth did warn him ahead of time that it wasn't going to be easy nor would he show leniency considering his age. He reached out to grab the sword and got back to his feet. It took a moment to regain his balance before moving to swing again, but is met with a quick jab in the gut.

"*gak!*" Tommen gasped and fell to the ground holding his stomach as he felt the wind getting knocked out of him.

Daveth towered over him. "Oh, for the love of— Tommen, there's a shield in your hand! Block with it or I'll ring your head like a bell."

"*cough!* *cough!* You didn't say you'd *cough!* hit me, brother."

"Well I never said I wouldn't hit you now did I? Had you started training with Ser Aron Santagar when he was still alive eight years ago, maybe then you would've made at least some progress. But now? If this was a real one-on-one fight, you would've been dead six times in less than a minute already."

"That's... *cough!* a bit harsh."

"Of course, it's harsh! It's called reality. I'm out here busting my ass trying to teach you how to defend yourself because you insisted."

Tommen steadily rose to his feet. "Was this... how Ser Olyvar's training felt when he squired for you?" he asked.

Daveth shook his head. "You'll have to ask him that yourself."

As the two brothers resumed their sparring session, Grand Maester Pycelle approached; the sound of chains clanking against his robes could barely be heard—but the Young Stag suspected who it was that came his way. "Oh, eh... A-apologies for interrupting your time of leisure. I o-only meant to inform you that th-the Queen is arriving in th-the harbor," the old man informed him.

Daveth and Tommen stopped mid-swing. Sansa, the Young Stag thought. "I see. Have the other royal councilors ready to welcome her back properly," he turned to his youngest brother. "Tommen, that'll be all for today. Go get yourself cleaned up and fetch my son and daughter."