"That was a heavy sigh for such a young man," Lord Steffon said.
I was quick to sketch a bow. "Lord Baratheon." We'd met before the few times I followed my father to Storm's End, and here again when we first arrived at Casterly Rock, but the proper etiquettes had to be followed. "Forgive me, I did not see you on the balcony earlier."
"Lord Steffon is fine, Galladon." He laughed and clasped me on the shoulder with a hand as heavy as a mallet. "Your father is an old friend. Now tell me, what ails you so?"
That was a leading question if I'd ever heard one. So instead of mentioning my stint as a mystery knight, a secret I knew we both shared, I just told him the truth.
"Delegation, my lord."
An eyebrow rose. "Delegation?"
"Aye. I'm not sure how I'm supposed to trust someone for an important task instead of handling it myself, a task I know needs to be done—but it's one among many other tasks, which also means I know my time might be better allocated elsewhere. It's just… overwhelming, at times."
He was quiet for a moment after I spoke, then he barked out a laugh.
"Perhaps your father was right to trust you with meeting the Lannisters by yourself." He shook his head. "Delegation? When I was your age, all I could think about was fucking girls and cracking skulls. Especially during feasts like these. Plenty of pretty serving wenches and more than enough dimwit lordlings in need of a good cracking."
I gave him a sideways smile. "I think about that too, my lord, I just try to do so out of sight from my mother. That woman can pluck a bad thought out of my head from thirty yards out."
"Smart man," Lord Steffon said, smiling too. He leaned on the balustrade next to me, watching the flow of people on the great hall through the opening on the rock.
The lord of the Stormlands was a tall man, taller than me by more than a few inches, and he was still in his prime, no more than thirty despite already having teenage sons.
In the flickering torchlight of the balcony, I could not see a single strand of white hair marring the black.
"You want some advice on your delegation issue, Galladon?" He said after a while.
I could only nod.
His eyes met mine as if to hold my attention firm. "Do not be quick to dole out trust, but do not be miserly with it either. Both can ruin your life. And when that trust is lost with someone, never allow it to return. Do not give them an inch more."
I forced down a surprised expression, a bit taken aback. My respect for the man my family was sworn to rose. Given how Stannis turned out, I should've known not every Baratheon was a meathead like Robert and Renly—the latter being an entirely different kind of meathead than his brother.
"Thank you for the advice, my lord." I bowed again.
"And," he continued, "if they try to worm their way into your confidence again, you crack their skulls with your warhammer, of course." Lord Baratheon grinned something fierce.
There it was. I smiled back at him.
He looked me up and down. "You do favor the warhammer, yes?"
My smile lost some of its confidence. There was a romance to wielding the sword that I could not escape from. It felt right in my hand, like an extension of my body, a sentiment I didn't get from anything else. Mind you, Ser Goodwin, the master-at-arms at Evenfall Hall, had me practice with all kinds of weapons until my knuckles bled, so I knew my way around a warhammer. I just wouldn't lie to my liege lord for such a banal reason.
"Sword," I simply said.
I could see a sliver of him die inside. He grunted, "More's the pity," then turned around to stare at the ocean below.
Fuck. I should've definitely lied to him.
"What about you, my lord?" I tried. He looked back at me, so I carried on. "I imagine anyone who came outside by their lonesome came to do some thinking. I don't think I can give as good an advice as you, but I can try."
He seemed to consider me for a second, then Steffon Baratheon favored me with a fond smile.
He might have said something, even if I didn't think the bloody lord of the stormlands would somehow confide some state secrets to me, but there was a commotion inside the great hall that sucked the air out of the entire room.
We heard gasps, fierce whispering, and not even a minute later an attendant wearing Baratheon livery came scurrying onto the balcony to whisper something into Steffon's ear. His eyes went wide as the man spoke, and his broad shoulders sagged as if a great weight had suddenly saddled him.
"Oh, Aerys," Lord Baratheon murmured low enough he thought I wouldn't hear, before he excused himself.
I wouldn't have to wait to find out what happened.
Aerys Targaryen had spat on Lord Tywin Lannister's offer of marriage between Prince Rhaegar and his daughter Cersei, calling him and his family servants not fit to marry royalty in front of the whole noble assembly. An insult Tywin would never forget.
The last piece of my plan to squeeze out a bit more out of this tourney than just the prize money had just slotted into place.
xxx
We're at 160 Power Stones. If we get to 210, I'll drop another chapter today.
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