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[h3][color=lightgray]Hoster I[/color][/h3][/center][hr]
[indent][indent][color=lightgray]A morning mist rose off the Blackwater Rush, its pale threads carried over the Kingsroad on a gentle breeze. They danced and weaved their way between horses, wagons and people alike. They blew pass banners furled around their poles, hanging lazily in such an uninspiring breeze. The people seemed just as weary as their flags. Their eyes were a puffy read. Their feet dragged along the cobblestone, heavy as bricks. Some of the riders were moments from slipping out of their saddles. On the horizon the sun was only just beginning to rise out of its own bed, the first of its rays just barely breaking through the trees. Everyone seemed to be afflicted by the early wake up call- save for one. 

A mare as pale and grey as the mist trotted along the river's shore. Quicksilver was as surefooted as any palfrey, carrying her little rider along with an easy grace. For his part, Hoster did his best to make it easy on her. The two had ridden together for three years now, and he'd grown to understand her well; he'd had quite a fine teacher. 

"A little closer, now," he told her, pressing his heels into her sides. "I think I see them."

The water was fast here, perhaps even faster than the Tumblestone, and it made it difficult to see underneath the river's surface. All that mist swirling over the Rush didn't help matters either. Still, Hoster had sharp eyes, and he swore he could the shapes of fish swimming underneath the water. He rode further down the shoreline, making for a break in the sheet of vapor.

[i]'There!'[/i] Hoster thought, grinning to himself. There were over a dozen trout, scales shining like rainbows, all racing down the Blackwater in a fat bunch. He swore he'd seen just this same school all the way back at the God's Eye, almost a fortnight ago. Was it following the Tullys all the way to King's Landing? An older man may've thought it silly, but Hoster thought otherwise. It was an omen, mayhaps even from the gods themselves. Something magnificent was going to happen at the Targaryen-Arryn wedding, and his family was meant to bear witness. 

"Hoster?" A voice boomed from down the road. "Where'd that damned boy run off to now?" That was the voice of his father, all thunderous and hard. It was the same voice he used on the drilling fields, when the men didn't have their hearts in it. Hoster pulled at his reins and kicked hard, driving Quicksilver back up the shallow slope and onto the Kingsroad once more. Knights from other houses offered the boy greetings as they parted, letting him through. A pair of serving hands nearly dropped the boxes they carried as Hoster came galloping by. Lord Bracken's daughter blew a kiss his way and his cheeks flashed red. He kicked Quicksilver a little harder, then, hoping to outpace his own embarrassment.

He found his father riding alongside a number of other prominent lords and their sons. Ser Tristan Vance was telling a story of how he and Malwyn Wayn- who looked sick as a dog beside him- had gotten into a drunken brawl over the same tavern wench before recognizing one another. Lord Rowen Cox was laughing so hard he could barely breathe, and Garth Mooton had to cling to his saddle to keep from tumbling off in his fit. Hugo Smallwood, the man Hoster had squired for since his youth, looked much less amused- he had a terribly awkward smile on his face that said he'd rather be talking of anything else. All together, these were some of the finest warriors and knights in the riverlands.

Robert was practically swallowing his wineskin when he caught sight of Hoster riding up. Upon seeing his boy he let out a surprised, gargled yelp. In one, fluid motion he tore the wineskin from his mouth and slammed it into Tristan's face to shut him up. Tristan yelped as well, and let out a string of angry curses as he tossed the drink to the ground, clutching at his nose.

"My beloved son!" Robert Tully cried out, trying not to choke as he rode forward to meet Hoster halfway. 

To his credit the boy tried to look as if he hadn't heard a thing, throwing up a hand in greeting to his father, and then to his many friends. Some of the men returned the gesture, others were shamefaced, and still more ignored him all together. Hoster looked back to his father. "You were calling for me? Is something the matter?"

Turning his destrier- called Dream- about, Robb motioned for his son to follow him away from the retinue so that they might speak more personally. He was a tall man, especially on the back of his horse, and he had a lean sort of strength to him. Hoster was sure it was some kind of miracle his father hadn't grown fat and crusty yet, what with how he drank and ate. Even now, not even an hour after rising, Robb had been drinking. Men like Lord Eustace Bracken were round as wagon wheels, yet Hoster never saw him eat like Robert did.

Once they had ridden up the column a little ways, Robb spoke. "We aren't far from the pavilion grounds, now. We'll be there before the sun is highest in the sky, gods be good. I just wanted to check on you- see where your mind is. Are you excited?"

Eyes to the sky, Hoster mulled over the question for a moment before answering. "I think so." He had enjoyed tournaments a great deal as a boy, but as time marched on and his circumstances changed, they seemed different, somehow. Less thrilling than before. Still, there was fun to be had, even if he couldn't play a part in it.

Robb's face twisted into the slightest of frowns, like he was trying and failing to hide it. "This will be one for the ages. Every man to call himself knight is making his way to King's Landing, and you'll get to see me unseat each and every one of the bastards."

Hoster's face lit up. "Uncle Alesander, too?"  

That got Robb grinning. "Oh, yes, the Knight of Pretty Things will no doubt be there. I only hope he has the balls to knock his goodfather on his ass." He sniggered.

"I hope Myr comes with him," Hoster turned in the direction he thought Highgarden might be. "Feels a lifetime since we last spoke. She promised she'd bring me all the best books in the Citadel the next time we met."

"Uhh...yes, of course." Robb coughed, wrinkling his nose when he thought Hoster wasn't looking. The boy was, and he felt a pang in his chest, but he said nothing. Silence passed between them for far too many minutes. They continued to ride on, with Robert glancing back over his shoulder at his pack of friends, and Hoster staring off into the distance, his mind in Oldtown.

A shape appeared in the sky, dragging Hoster's attention to it. It was a massive bird, wings spread wide, and it was circling over the Blackwater Rush below. He recognized its kind for a river hawk: a bird that preyed upon small woodland creatures, other birds, and- most famously, fish. The hawk was slowly descending toward the water in large, seemingly lazy circles. It was far from lazy, however, for the bird was hungry and sought to catch its morning meal. Hoster felt his breath catch in his throat, and his blood pounding in his ears. [i]'Don't do it,'[/i] he begged. [i]'Go find a hare, or...or a field mouse. Something!'[/i]

It didn't listen. The hawk folded its wings against its body and dove for the water. There was abrupt chaos as it splashed and kicked up the water, obscuring Hoster's view. For a moment he could hope it had failed, but only for a moment. Its wings spread wide again, beating against the air as he left the Rush behind. In its clutches were three or four fish, scales shining with a dozen colors in the morning sun. They wriggled and writhed, panicked, and bleeding. There were too many for the hawk to hold in its talons, and one managed to slip free, falling back into the water to swim away, bloodied though it was.

"A fine haul," Robb said from behind Hoster. The boy did not seem so impressed.
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