Edric wore a black studded vest and held a shield and a blunted sword as he finished sparring with the master-at-arms. He looked like a smaller version of a young Robert or Renly, with his black hair, deep blue eyes, and the shape of his mouth, chin, and cheekbones. Only his protruding ears reminded everyone that his mother was a Florent.
Edric was tall and stronger than most boys, with a broader chest and shoulders. He was devoted to the warrior's way and never missed a morning of sword-and-shield practice.
"Good day, Your Grace." Edric bowed to him. Ser Cortnay, the acting castellan of Storm's End, was there as well. Edric might have been as hot-tempered and proud by nature as his father, but the maester, acting castellan, and masters-at-arms who had raised him had taught him great courtesy.
"I'm well, Edric," Renly told him. Edric was his name; Storm perhaps spoke to the chaos these bastards brought.
"Are you going to war, Your Grace?"
"Yes." Renly nodded.
"I hope the Warrior protects you and grants you a victory as great as my father's. My father was very brave. He won three battles in a single day," Edric said proudly.
Renly looked at Edric. At least they were not discussing the story of his elder brother, the blacksmith. Edric resembled Robert, yes, and worshipped his father, but his father had never spared these children a thought. Robert sowed his seed everywhere, then ignored the children once they were born.
"Do you know which battle that was, Your Grace?" the boy asked Renly.
"Of course I do, Edric. It was when my brother came home to summon his bannermen. Lord Grandison, Caron Earl, and Fell Earl planned to meet at Summerhall and then march on Storm's End, but an informant brought