Father's and Sons: Ours is the Fury and Love
(Steffon POV)
You smashed the practice dummy into a thousand pieces as your hammer shattered the wooden protective chest piece, the straw filling was pouring onto the ground like water.
"A dummy won't fight back." A voice spoke from behind. "Nor will stewing alone allow your rage to settle."
You turned around and saw your father standing with two practice swords in his arms. He was wearing some sparing leathers with some bracers to protect his arms and wrists. His black hair was tied back and his sparkling blue eyes showed both concern and empathy. Despite being two decades your senior, he was standing less than a head over you, and you were much larger and broader than he was, though that was more due to his age than his lack of training.
"And talking with someone will only make me angrier." You replied as you spun around. "And why practice swords? You afraid that I might beat you with a hammer?"
Your father shook his head. "I'm here to humiliate you, nor put you in your place. I'm just here to talk and help you channel your anger." Your father then threw the practice sword over to you, which you caught with ease and spun around, setting the hammer down against the broken dummy.
"I don't need your help with my anger." You replied. "I've done well without you."
"Yes… you have, becoming a bully to your fellows until you were put into your place by a knight who has more experience than almost any man alive." He stated. "You want to be a knight, and yet you act like you are a lowly brute…"
You growled and lunged at your father with the blade, but it was batted aside. You quickly spun around and blocked a strike meant for your head. "Tell me what troubles you?" He ordered
You broke the lock and went to close the distance. Your blade going to the side of your father.
"You want to know why I'm angry? I never got Duncan's approval! I never received a knighthood from the greatest knight in the Seven Kingdoms!" You hammered with the swords creaking and cracking with each strike. "I am compared to the great Tywin Lannister, one of the greatest lordlings who have ever graced this realm, stopping a conspiracy when he was only five and ten!"
You dodged a strike and continued your offensive assault. "I am compared to Prince Aerys Targaryen, a boy whose skills are lesser than my own, yet he is praised, coddled and rewarded for half the efforts that I put in every day! Efforts that never seem to go anywhere!" You rolled to avoid a sweep from your father's legs, getting back to your feet and blocking another strike.
"And then there is Arstan Arryn, the man who can charm anyone, speak in half a dozen languages fluently, who is so much better than me, that he doesn't get angry at me when I beat him! He just lectures me! He doesn't care! He just forgives me!"
Tears were falling down your face, as you swung wildly at your father. But your father blocked it with his bracers, disarming you both and pulled you into a hug. "There there Steffon. It's alright to cry. Let it all out. Let it all out."
You wept into your father's arms, not caring who saw it. It just felt so good to finally say the thing that had been gnawing in your mind for years.
After a while, you stopped crying and felt your father pat your back. He had moved you and sat you down while you were weeping it seems… but it felt nice.
"You're jealous of them." He stated. "And that upsets you." He stated. "I understand."
"You…" You sniffled. "You do."
"I was a boy once, and when I was a boy, my friend Galbert of Tarth used to be the best swordsman in Storms End. I thought I could never be better at him, and I got angrier and angrier at him for always being better than me." He said solemnly.
"And then what happened?" You asked.
"He died of a winter chill when he was ten. I grew older and soon I was better than him at the things he was better than me at and I never forgave my self for allowing him to die without making peace." Your father replied. "Do you know why I am telling you this?"
"No father." You replied.
"I'm telling you that it's better to live with the differences in skill and always strive to be better wherever you can. Some people's talents lie elsewhere, and there is no use getting angry at them for being better than you, for you have skills that even your friends do not have." Your father replied. "And I think Arstan understood that."
"Why do you say that?" You asked.
"Because he was never mad at you. He understood your anger, and your drive to be a knight, and a good lord, that he refused to get angry at you because that would have irreversibly ruined the friendship that you and all your friends have." Your father stated. "He valued the friendship you both share enough to take your anger and help you become a better man."
There was a pause. "And while you may never get Ser Duncan's approval Steffon… you can honor his legacy by being a good man. That may be a far better thing to honor than being knighted by him."
You nodded. "Yes, Father."
You felt better, speaking the words to your father was… nice.
And fulfilling as well.
"Thank you."
AN: Enjoy this little fluff piece between Steffon and his father.
