The lads had gotten rowdy, that's for sure. The minstrels played drunken songs, as the boys and men sang along loudly. Jaime had sat at his table, taking it all in silently, unamused, until that his he noticed his son stumbling through the door, his arm around one of the boy's he's being trained with. He had his head back, a smile on his face, as he stumbled along, singing to the songs.
"God's", he whispered under his breath.
Jaime rose from his seat, the King looking to him questioningly.
"Excuse me, your Grace", he said, and he hurried off from the table.
He grabbed the back of Lewyn's tunic roughly, as the boy danced around wildly with his mates.
"Come with me. Now!", Jaime urged, pulling Lewyn with him.
The boy stumbled after his father. Giggling stupidly as he did so.
"Is something funny to you!", Jaime yelled as they exited out into the court yard.
"Look at me!", Jaime said, as he grabbed Lewyn's face.
His son chuckled as he did so. He reeked of alcohol.
"You're drunk!", Jaime yelled.
"No!", Lewyn insisted, "no father, I'm just..tired", the boy said, stumbling back a bit.
"And now you're lying to me", Jaime said, his temper rising with every second he saw the smirk on Lewyn's lips.
"I'm just having fun, father", the boy said.
"Fun! You think this is fun? Making a disgrace out of yourself?", Jaime whispered coldly.
Lewyn crossed his arms over his chest defiantly, stumbling yet again as he did so.
"Father, I've been making a disgrace of myself since the day I was bloody born, have I not?", he asked.
"You know that's not true!", Jaime yelled.
"The day I was born", Lewyn suddenly asked, his head turning sideways a bit, "was it the proudest day of your life, father? The day I was born, did you cry with pride? No, of course not. You probably weren't even there, were you?", his asked coldly.
"Did you even know of me? Or, when was it that you discovered I existed? After my whore mother dropped me off for you?", the boy asked, and Jaime raised his arm to strike him, but Lewyn furiously flung his own hand up, catching Jaime by the wrist before his hand could strike the boy's cheek.
"I am not a little boy", Lewyn growled, roughly letting go of Jaime's wrist, pushing it away.
Jaime stared, in shock, at his son. His son dare stand before him, drunk, and disrespectful?
"No", Jaime said then, "but you are my son, whether you like it or not, and you will not be this way!", Jaime said sharply.
"And what way is that?", Lewyn asked coldly.
"Like a drunken fool!", Jaime yelled.
"Or", Lewyn said quietly, "like a commoner? Oh no, not Ser Jaime of House Lannister! Not his boy! It's alright to bed one, but God's forbid the bastard that comes out of it be anything but noble at all times! No, his boy is a perfect lad, always running around, doing as he's bid, trying to make his father proud! To live up to a name he never asked for in the first damn place! A name he still doesn't ask for, or want!", Lewyn yelled so loudly by the time he'd finished, people began to emerge from buildings, staring.
Jaime looked around him, at all the eyes watching. But he didn't care. Let them watch.
"Oh", Jaime said as he turned back to his son, "you no longer wish to be a Lannister?", he asked his son, taking a step forward.
The boy simply nodded.
Jaime had had enough. His son was not going to a disrespectful little shit, not to anyone, and especially not to him. He grabbed Lewyn by the hair, pulling the boy along, as he fought against Jaime.
"Let go of me! Let go of my hair!", Lewyn yelled, as his father dragged him along. The boy barely managed to stay on his feet.
"A man would be able to fight himself out of it", Jaime said as he began to pull on Lewyn, and Lewyn tried, but to no avail.
His father dragged him, by his hair, all the way back into the Hall, where the feast was being held. All eyes turned to the struggling boy, and Jaime Lannister, as he marched his son through the crowd, by his hair.
"Ser Clegane!", he called and the Hound stepped forward, eying Jaime suspiciously.
"I'm in dire need of your assistance", Jaime said, "could you..?", he asked, motioning for the Hound to follow, still not releasing Lewyn's hair.
Boys, the boys Lewyn had just been having fun with, laughed hysterically, as Jaime pulled his son from the hall, by the hair, the Hound following behind.
"Father, please let go of my hair", Lewyn groaned in pain, as his father marched him through the halls. His father didn't respond, nor, to his disappointment, release his grip from the boys hair.
When they reached Jaime's chambers, he motioned for the Hound, who held the boy by the shoulders, a relief to Lewyn, as Jaime dragged a chair forward.
"Sit him down", Jaime said, and the Hound followed command, pushing Lewyn to the chair and forcing him to sit.
"Hold him tightly", Jaime said, and he withdrew his dagger.
The Hound's grip on the boy's shoulders loosened only a moment, as he worried why exactly Jaime Lannister had just pulled a dagger on his own son, and was having the him restrain the boy to a chair, but he kept holding him to the seat, as Jaime had commanded.
"You no longer want to be a Lannister, well, that hair of yours will give you away in an instant", Jaime said, and the Hound found himself relieved. And almost a bit amused, as the he realized what Jaime was intending.
"No! Don't you dare!", Lewyn yelled at his father, fighting against the Hound to no avail.
Jaime grabbed a tuft of his son's golden blonde hair, with the dark streaks, and began sawing at it crudely. He obviously didn't mind much how badly the style would look.
As the hair fell to the floor, Lewyn gave in, realizing it was too late now, as most his hair lay at his feet, and he suddenly felt rather ill, dizzy, and he stopped struggling against the Hound, even to the point that he kept still when Sandor released the boy's shoulders.
"You're the one who decided you no longer wanted to be a Lannister", Jaime smirked, as he continued to saw at his son's hair.
His son crossed his arms across his chest defiantly, his jaw tightened.
"What? Is there more you'd like to say? Go on then, let it out. Let me hear it all", he said as he cut away at his son's golden locks, "shall I pour you another glass of wine? Seeing you're such a big man now", Jaime chuckled then, "a man! A man sitting here, crying over his hair! Some man you are!", Jaime went on, his son not saying a word, only glaring passed Jaime as he sawed at his son's hair.
"If you keep that glare for any longer, well, I'm afraid I'll have to leave it like this", Jaime said, letting go of his son's hair. Half was as long as it was, the other half of his head was covered in uneven patches.
Lewyn simply turned his head, looking away from Jaime, his arms still crossed over his chest. He couldn't be defiant, even if he wanted to. He felt if he opened his mouth, he'd get sick for sure.
When Jaime had finished, leaving his son's hair short and shaggy, crudely cut, he stepped forward, admiring his work.
The man busted out into laughter then.
"Well, well, well! All that, and you still look like a bloody Lannister!", Jaime mocked, "it's unfortunate it's already all cut off", he finished.
The Hound chuckled, and Jaime stepped forward. Grabbing his son's chin, and lifting it.
"Yeah, I'm still seeing Lannister. Oh well, I suppose you'll just have to get used to being my son. Being a Lannister, as terrible as that may be, and I suppose your hair will grow back soon enough", Jaime went on.
He saw the defiant glare fall from his son's face, and suddenly the boy lunged forward, running a bit towards the direction of the privy, yet only making it a few feet from the chair, before everything he'd drunk and eaten came rushing back up. Jaime simply shook his head, chuckling as he went to help his son up off his knees.
"Don't worry, little man", he said, leading his son to the bed, "you're only going to feel a hundred times worse tomorrow", he said as he laid his son back, the boy groaning and holding his stomach.
Lewyn suddenly very much regretted his choices that evening. He regretted drinking so much, as now he felt as if every bit of his insides would come up. He groaned as he held his stomach, fighting the sensation to vomit.
"Id ask you to call a Maester, to give him something to settle his stomach, but, he's man enough to handle it, I suppose", he heard his father say to the Hound, "but could you call for a servant? It's a bit of a mess in here now", his father said, referring to mixture of his son's hair and vomit, know covering the floor.
Lewyn felt himself drifting off into the most uncomfortable sleep of his life, as all the wine caught up to him, his stomach paining him immensely, but his father was right.
He had no idea what he was in for on the morrow.