Chapter 10: It's Only a Faux Pars if People Care

If I were a gambling man, I would guess that there was little that could top a visit from the king for your name day celebrations when you were a boy of six. 

Knights of the Kingsguard, dragons, a prince, a princess, it must have seemed magical to the little boy listening to my father's account of the last dornish war. Mayhaps he imagined being able to join my father in riding Vermithor, too.

For the father, however, a surprise visit from the king was likely the worst thing that could happen to any celebration. Would the food be good enough? Were the singers and mummers good enough? Were their topics appropriate?

Under this new scrutiny, Lord Darklyn was sweating as though he had been joining us for training. Ah, the joys of having your plans upset by events outside of your control, how it felt to not be on the receiving end for a change.

Still, this was an opportunity for me.

Sure, I was limited by my seating at the high table with the lord, his kin, and my royal relatives. But they were not the target. While it might have been wise to focus on young Ser Denys of the city guard, my attention was captivated by the singers who were trying to entertain the assembled notables.

Plus, I was… distracted.

"… And now his watch is ended." The latest singer wrapped up his performance to scattered applause. Far too many of the guests were too busy with either the food or each other to pay much attention to the background noise, but I made a note to seek him out after the feast. All of the singers, really; They had a place in my plans.

If the maesters in Oldtown controlled the lords, then the singers controlled the masses of the lowborn. Nominally free performances brought crowds, the singers brought gossip and news, and word spread. Singers had the ability to subvert the control of maesters by controlling the smallfolk. If the peasants were more loyal to the king than to their lords, well…

Rebellions were always better for my family if they were contained.

Even if it took vast amounts of coin, but that was why I had my investments.

But those ideas would need to be done after the feast. For now, I had to network. I made a note to seek out some of the singers and turned to the young knight I had been seated by.

"…and that's when he broke his axe on my head!" Ser Denys finished up whatever tale he had been telling, earning a round of polite chuckling from around the table. The fare was fairly plain, the current course was roasted boar, seasoned with salt, and cooked on a spit, encouraging conversation to meander. The wine helped, of course. "Smugglers are always a delight."

"Well said, dear nephew, well said," The jovially fat lord Darklyn commented. "Those smugglers were a temporary nuisance, Your Grace, easily removed from Duskendale. Our port is once more meeting its projected revenues. It might even, dare I say, exceed those projections."

I tuned out our host's foolish attempts to flatter my father. He was using the right approach, certainly, as my father was always eager to increase the crown's revenues. Roads were expensive, after all. 

But all Lord Darklyn was doing was inviting further scrutiny into his tax payments. If I were a betting boy, I'd say it was almost entirely derived from tariffs and duties. Duskendale was a port city, after all, but a distant second to King's Landing.

"So… second place in the melee?" Ser Denys took advantage of his uncle's attempts to suck up to my father to turn his attention to me. The knight was young, younger than Corlys, but Lord Darklyn seemed to have faith in him beyond the usual bonds of family. "Impressive for a lad your age."

"A mischance." I downplayed my accomplishments no matter how much pride filled my breast at the reminder of my feat. Second place in a proper melee at fourteen, only stopped by a near-legendary knight of the Kingsguard? Most lords would have killed for such a start to their martial careers. But no, I was a humble and pious princeling. "Had my father not decided to visit, I would have been bested by whoever challenged me next."

"Perhaps," Ser Darklyn said, his face thoughtful as he drained his goblet of its wine. A servant hastened to refill it, though the knight ignored him. "Or the other knights would have exhausted themselves squabbling amongst one another instead of charging the Kingsguard and you might have claimed victory."

"Unlikely," I said, shaking my head. "My day has been exhausting and longer than it had any right to be. I nearly fell asleep in the tub as I prepared for the feast, Ser Denys! I'm surprised I was able to fight with anything resembling grace."

"There were some rumors," He began, and I unconsciously tensed, sending pain lancing throughout my limbs. This soreness was seriously starting to grow beyond a mere annoyance. I had been sore before, but this was far and beyond anything I had previously experienced. "That another dragon was claimed, besides Dreamfyre."

"Quite the rumor." Ignoring the burning pain in my arm, I drank deeply from my goblet. Compliments to Lord Darklyn, he knew his wines. Of course, knowing his gut, that should not have been a surprise. "It would require getting to Dragonstone and then to Duskendale, only to immediately join the melee. You would have to start the journey in the middle of the night. Lunacy, really."

"Indeed," He agreed, drinking equally deeply. "Just as mad as joining my cousin's celebrations as a lark. Rest up, Your Grace, I would like to see what you are capable of at your best."

For a heartbeat, I wanted to ask what he meant by that. It was perfectly obvious that he wanted a fight, and I was more than willing to oblige. Even in my current state, I might have agreed to a brief scuffle. The rationale, however, was what intrigued me. Was this mere bravado, the competitive spirit at work, or something less benign?

"Attention to all esteemed guests of our noble host, Lord Damion Darklyn!" My quest for further understanding was rudely interrupted by the court's herald. "In celebration of the name day of his lordship's son and heir, the dance will be commencing soon!"

A dance? Since when did feasts turn into dances?

Looking at my royal father and his pleased smile, I got my answer.

Trestle tables were cleared away from the center of the hall, plates of food crowded onto other, more distant tables. Many a chair was removed as the less prominent guests chose that moment to excuse themselves, prominent merchants and men-at-arms and castle residents streaming out the large doors. 

As the musicians struck up a more leisurely tune, the few dozen noble ladies of all ages spilled into the center of the floor, swiftly followed by a horde of aristocratic boys and men.

Of course, I was not far behind.

A prince of the blood could hardly refuse to take part without grievously insulting his host. Thus, Maegelle and I made our way down from the high table to join the festivities while the others enjoyed each other's company. Little Darklyn made to join us after a brief delay.

Mayhaps it was time for me to give the boy a better present than a quick chat with a prince.

Keeping my eyes on my sister, I sent a nod towards the boy. Thankfully, she understood what I meant, and made her way over the little lordling. It may have been just a dance, but it was the first and thus most important dance of the night, and with a princess no less.

Of course, it did leave me without a partner. For half a moment, I considered skipping the first dance in favor of bringing a few of the singers and bards into my service. Alas, the potential insult towards Lord Darklyn was too great.

And I couldn't go around insulting the crown's vassals on a whim, now, could I?

Luckily, it was as easy for me to find a partner as I could have expected. After all, what maiden did not love a prince? I might not have been the comeliest of my siblings, but a prince was still a prince.

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