Chapter Text
The weeks that followed settled into routine a new norm. One that did not take long for Dany to adapt to. She’d break her fast with her grandmother and occupy her days with her lessons or spending tranquil hours with Helaena in the Red Keep’s expansive gardens. Supper would usually include the whole of the royal family that resided in the Red Keep, taken place in one of the large dining rooms in the royal apartments - decorated with tapestries sown with picturesque sceneries from each of the seven kingdoms. Though if the King’s health was frail, which was not uncommon, each immediate family mealed separately.
And each night, Dany would end her day by tenderly cuddling her shelled children one by one. Humming or singing a Valyrian lullaby as she gently tucked them into their fire bed.
Aemond seemed to have ceased attending the sessions held by the dragonkeepers at the dragon pit, choosing instead to shadow Dany around. He once enquired of the schedule and nature of her lessons, his expression shifting from a flicker of vague curiosity that soon hardened into something more calculating.
Then, without warning, Aemond appeared in the middle of one of her lessons, his unexpected arrival cutting through the usual flow like a stone dropped into a still pond.
He easily sneaked into the class, placed in a writing room not too far from Dany’s and Saera’s chambers.
The first time Lotho spotted him, he paused, his eyebrows arched in surprise as Aemond boldly took a seat next to Dany, his gaze unwavering.
“...Prince Aemond,” Lotho began with a hint of hesitation, “are you here to join us for our studies on Braavos’ social and ethnic cultures?”
Aemond’s eyes sparkled with a keen, almost predatory interest as he leaned slightly forward, tilting his head in a gesture that was curious. “Carry on instructor Lotho. One guest shan’t disturb you much” He replied, his voice clipped and carrying the refined edge that only a child of Alicent Hightower could have. Despite his cool tone, the restless tapping of his fingers betrayed his eagerness.
Lotho, slightly taken back, exhaled softly. He acknowledged the prince with a bow and greeted in the customary phrase.
“Valar morghulis” , he said, the ancient Valyrian phrase holding a note of formality.
“ Valar dohaeris ”, Aemond instantly responded, the pitch of his voice rising with enthusiasm, a noted difference from his usual stoic demeanor.
Lotho, despite his surprise, was kind enough to offer Aemond a selection of suitable materials for a beginner.
Aemond hides this from his mother. Fortunately, the timing of the Essosian tutors’ lessons did not conflict with his own studies, though they did overlap with the dragonpit sessions but Aemond would rather be with Daenerys than those boisterous twats. Her company and the nature of her education being a far more enticing alternative.
When he wasn’t attending his own lessons with the Keep’s maester, Aemond would join Dany’s in hers. His determination to accompany Dany amused Arthur enough to side eye her, she scoffed at his teasing but couldn’t hide the fond smile she directed at Aemond everytime he appeared.
The first time Aemond understood the depth of Dany's curriculum, he gave her an incredulous look.
Dany’s lessons ranged from a wide variety of subjects, from historical literature, agricultural economics to the complex geography and social politics of the various regions of Essos. The basic core subjects of a highborn’s education such as literacy and fundamental arithmetics were also included though it was taught at an advanced level, accounting for the fact that Daenerys has far surpassed the base lessons of a normal child her age. She was initially worried that Aemond would struggle and grow frustrated but to her relief, he seemed to have picked the material up quickly. He absorbed the information like a sponge, overcoming the initial hurdle of understanding the basic concepts of each subject and was soon mastering the advanced content alongside Dany, much to Lotho’s disbelief.
She was glad that Aemond was enjoying it. Most children struggled to stay focused without strict discipline. Or a genuine keen interest in Aemond’s case. And secretly, Dany was glad for his company.
She’d never forget however, the time he walked into the room only to be dumbfounded by readings and verbal lessons on the different dialects of Low Valyrian from each of the free cities.
The echoes of Valyria reverberated across the known world, its reach resulting in the tongue fracturing into multiple dialects. Each of the Nine Free Cities had cultivated its own unique dialect of Low Valyrian.
Braavos had its clipped, pragmatic speech. Lorath had an elegant, lyrical cadence. Lys had a melodic low undertone that was haunting. Myr was blunt yet vibrant, Norvos stoic and precise. Pentos was vibrant and musical. Qohor had a rumbling archaic vocabulary, Tyrosh rapid and breathless and Volantis was majestic and sonorous.
Slaver’s Bay held its own distinct branch, the local low Valyrian dialect influenced by the ancient Ghiscari tongue of the fallen Ghiscari Empire — the imprint of old Ghiscari bearing like a leech on the Valyrian tongue. Much like the detested Sons of the Harpies that Daenerys so scorned.
That was a total of ten different branches of Low Valyrian used throughout Essos. The vocabulary or tone can be used to identify an Essosi’s origins. Dany was already familiar with some of them from her previous life. She recalled a merchant from the Dothraki markets mistaking her to be Tyroshi once, her guttural accent evolving from a mixture of learning Dothraki, her native language of High Valyrian and the often spoken common tongue.
Aemond’s brows furrowed and held a frown as he mouthed the ridiculous amount of pronunciations the scholar wrote on his provided texts and scrolls.
Of course, his excitement was undeniable when they transitioned to advanced High Valyrian. He looked his age more and kept his smile throughout the whole lesson.
In their spare time, Aemond would join Dany and Helaena in the gardens. Bringing a book or a scroll to read, where before he would’ve secluded himself in the library. It was peaceful, Helaena sewing and talking about her beloved insects— thankfully Varys never appeared again —or looking through books filled with texts and illustrations of insects, kindly provided to her by Lotho. Helaena would look at each new page with wide eyed wonder, but was particularly fascinated with the section on maticores. Her expression would light up with a joyful smile and she would stare at the dangerous scorpion for a period of time.
Aemond would go through follow up readings that Lotho suggested as optional extensions outside of their subjects. Lotho had emphasized on optional, as Aemond was relentless in his readings. And as for Dany?
Dany would read through a very specific stack of old histories and songs of the Seven Kingdoms written in the Common Tongue. Not for any knowledge they held, for she read these books hundreds of times but for what they meant to her. Her hand would touch the covers nostalgically, her fingers would rub the new leather bindings, feeling as if they should be older, leather peeling off or withered pages falling out. Certain books missing for their history weren't written as of yet but for the ones she had, they were reminders.
She would carefully bind the stack with a leather wrap, one embroidered with bears.
Their corner in the gardens was a sanctuary for them, a beautiful place that provided privacy. There was safety in the scent of flowers, the rustle of leaves and the soft feel of grass beneath them. A haven for those looking for an escape, or in their case, a haven for those who were different.
However, there was a section in the gardens that Dany would avoid at all costs.
The cordoned walled area that housed a solitary weirwood tree. It was secluded, out of the way of the main area but still attached close to the keep.
The first time she walked past it, she felt an unsettling sensation of being watched. A cold sigh breathed at the back of her neck, causing her to shiver.
A faint sound came from the tree, she whipped around immediately. Her eyes were large as she stilled, there was nothing out of place that she could see at first glance. The weirwood tree alone and still in its seclusion.
It was quiet.
The quietness was deafening.
Then her eyes but not her eyes saw it. A fleeting glimpse of movement from within the branch, within its roots. The face of the tree stared back at her. The cold void stares back at her.
Daenerys Targaryen ran.
Since then, she avoided the area like the plague.
Occasionally, a similar eerie gaze would sweep over her in the most random locations throughout the Red Keep. A feeling that could not logically be explained. A prickling sensation would crawl up her spine. It was as if a pair of eyes were watching her, unseen, their gaze piercing the walls of the Red Keep. She'd glance over her shoulder, search for the source, but would find nothing.
“Dany?” Aemond had recently started to call her Dany, following from Helaena’s and Saera’s queue but only in private. Otherwise, it was Daenerys in front of others.
She turned to him, pausing from searching for the source of those hidden eyes. They stood in one of the hallways of the castle, after just finishing a lesson.
“Yes, sweet Aemond?” She replied, feeling the warmth return to her at the sight of him. Relieved, she blinked her eyes at him, not noticing a rat running past them.
His cheeks flushed slightly, still not used to Dany’s affectionate nature.
“You keep looking around”, he noted her distraction. “What is it?”
Dany offered a reassuring smile, “It’s nothing. Just a chill in the wind” She grabbed his hand, intertwining their fingers. “Let us depart, our dear Helaena awaits us”
Dany started down the hallway, towards the garden. Leading Aemond like a wayward child who would lose his way if she let him go, as if this wasn’t his own home, as if he hadn’t lived here his whole life.
Aemond didn’t say anything.
His grip on her hand only tightened and he made no move to let go.
Dany’s weaponry and combat training was finally about to resume.
For a month or so since their arrival, her practical lessons had been postponed. Instead, she had been using the time to acquaint herself with her newly met relatives, as well as other highborns who were visiting. There was also exploration of the Red Keep’s domain to be had, and the continuation of her scholarly lessons.
It would be the first time Dany would be training in public, a prospect she apprehensively mused on for a while. It would certainly raise eyebrows and may invite protests from those who believed a woman’s place was not in the training yard.
The thought of being barred from training merely because of her gender made her bristle. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling — Daenerys Targaryen had often had been looked down on just because she lacked a cock. It led her to to push more, igniting a fierce determination to rise rather than stay down and accept what tradition perceived her place to be. Whether that should’ve been joining the Dosh Khaleen at Vaes Dothrak once her Khal died, acknowledge that a woman had no place conquering cities, or stand aside at the potential inevitability of a male heir to the Iron Throne appearing, despite his verbal wishes that he didn’t want, despite all she’s sacrificed to fight for it… That world was against her at every turn, from the beginning.
No longer will she tolerate the very notion of being denied the chance to prove herself.
It would only become troublesome if the King got involved.
Despite her determination, she knew she had to play it smart. She couldn’t win every fight head on. Apparently the King denied his firstborn daughter the training sword in her youth and King Jaehaerys denied most of his, exception being King Viserys’ mother ironically enough—Dany’s paternal grandmother, Alyssa Targaryen.
Yet Saera had assured her not to fret as they had the King’s approval.
Viserys had been initially taken aback by Dany’s training habits but it gave way to his melancholic acceptance when Saera explained that Dany’s aspirations laid in following Rhaella’s footsteps. Wanting to become just like her mother, who trained with her cousins in her youth.
Though according to her grandmother, it was all horseshit. Rhaella had absolutely no interest in training with weaponry. She had her family and a household of guards to protect her. Along with a husband and his ferocious dragon later on. Why would she deign to pick up a weapon?
Viserys nonetheless, bought it — hook, line and sinker.
In his eyes, it was a harmless indulgence. Merely a benign whim for the King’s niece.
Saera had quickly discovered that Viserys was… open to suggestions when using perceptions of the past.
While it was uncommon for noble girls to fight, some houses following the Old Gods did permit it. Though they were in the minority as it was not traditional and in some areas, looked down upon. But it was not outlawed, and usually the allowance was dependent on the young lady’s parents or guardians.
The practice yard was bustling with the clatter of swords and the shouts of eager young men. At the center of the yard stood Aegon, Aemond, Jaecerys and Lucerys who were all practicing their strikes on their allocated straws. The Kingsguard, Ser Criston Cole was engrossed in mentoring them. Dany noted Ser Harwin standing at the periphery, his gaze subtly tracking the Princess Rhaenyra’s sons while conversing with a gold cloak.
As Arthur and Dany entered the courtyard through the grand doors, their presence caused a stir. It was the first time they ventured to this area like this. She was dressed in her usual training gear - a sturdy jerkin over her blouse, complemented with trousers and boots. Her silver hair was neatly braided back into a ponytail.
They paused, their eyes sweeping over the busy scene of knights in training, young squires running about and idle spectators. Nearby, a group of young men clustered in a corner suddenly laughed in their conversation. Some observers eyed Dany and Arthur in curiosity before returning to their business.
Dany’s gaze softened as she spotted her relatives in the central area.
She raised her hand in a cheerful wave, first catching Aemond’s eye. He looked momentarily startled at the sight of her, then he hesitantly lifted his hand in response. Little Luke, with a grin stretching from ear to ear, waved enthusiastically. Jace’s face flushed a faint pink at the sight of her while Aegon, ever the showman, responded with a cocky smile and a theatrical flourish, raising his arms to his sides in exaggerated acknowledgment. Ser Criston Cole barked a sharp command, redirecting the boys’ focus to their practice.
“Well, come along now, Princess” Arthur said, his expression as unreadable as stone. He eyed toward the corner of the courtyard, where a spacious field was dotted with a few weathered wooden crates. He was dressed in his usual tight leather armours. His two swords sheathed at his side, though they stood out enough to draw interested eyes. "This way,” he instructed, leading them down the stone steps with a purposeful stride.
As they moved, the laughter of the young men lingering at the edge of the courtyard faded to silence. They were possibly squires or young men at arms, clad in their freshly pressed tunics and postures bristling with bravado. They cast sidelong glances at Arthur, whispering among themselves, briefly looking at Dany before returning their gaze back to Arthur with a unkind look.
For a time, Arthur had Dany performing stretches and revisiting the basics, conditioning her body to maintain strength. His sharp gaze swept over the nearby rack of weapons before he selected two wooden swords—one suited to her smaller frame.
In the middle of Arthur delivering his instructions, Dany noticed a couple of the young men from earlier slinking closer behind Arthur, jabbing their elbows at each other with mischievous grins.
Dany does not foresee this ending well.
She tensed as they got closer yet Arthur did not so much as blink, continuing to guide Dany on her grip.
One of them, a lanky figure with a self-assured smile plastered on his face, stepped forward. “Greetings dornishman!” he called out with exaggerated cheer. “It’s not everyday we have your kind here. Since this is your first time in the Capital, we’d like to extend an proper welcome to make you feel at home.”
They did not bother to greet her. A princess.
Rude.
Another man, shorter and stockier, chimes in with a taunting tone. “A Dornish knight, huh? Your lot sure bring a mean fight over the marches. Yet here you are, playing nursemaid to a little girl. Quite a come-down, wouldn’t you say?” He mocked.
Arthur, absorbed in guiding Dany through a series of strikes, didn’t acknowledge their presence. Though Dany felt the tension increase and the air around Arthur thicken like a glacier. His focus was unwavering as he adjusted her stance. “Keep your stance steady, Princess. Remember, the enemy won’t wait for you to get comfortable.”
The men exchanged uncertain glances, their bravado faltering. The lanky one cleared his throat loudly. “Hey! We’re talking to you.”
Arthur spared them a brief, cool glance, his expression remaining neutral. “I’m busy,” he said curtly, his attention already returning to Dany. “If you have something of value to say, you’ll have to wait.”
Their expressions darkened. “Something of value? You think you’re too good to pay us any mind?” the lanky one sneered, stepping closer.
“Maybe he thinks he’s above us,” the stocky one added, a dangerous edge creeping into his voice. “Too proud to lower himself to our level.”
It was then that Dany’s eyes flicked to the sigil of House Dondarrion stitched onto the stocky man's sleeve. A resigned sigh echoed in her mind. Of course—he serves a family with a history of defending against Dornish incursions.
Prejudice at it’s finest.
Slightly indignant at their rudeness, both to her and Arthur, she frowned at them. Depending on what they say next, she may snap at them in irritation. Arthur noticed the fire in her eyes and subtly shook his head, indicating to her to stand down.
I got this , his eyes seem to say.
Arthur sighed, setting his wooden sword aside and turning to face the group. “What is it you want?”
One of the squires, clearly agitated, took a step forward with barely concealed sarcasm. “It’s a big responsibility, to be the sole protector of a Targaryen princess. We want to see if a great warrior as yourself can handle more than just training the Lady. How about a little practice with us?”
The emphasis on "great warrior" was thick with derision.
It dawned on Dany that no one seemed to know who Arthur was.
Whoever dealt with security and reviewed the names in Saera’s entourage clearly hadn’t recognise his family name. Otherwise, they would’ve been more cautious.
The Daynes were Legendary.
One of the most ancient houses in the Seven Kingdoms, historically once known as the Kings of the Torrentine. Their warriors, especially those who wielded the famed sword Dawn—crafted from a fallen star—were renowned as the Swords of the Morning. Not someone you would want to encounter across the battlefield.
Arthur’s gaze was cool and dismissive. “I’m not interested in indulging your childish provocations and wasting my time with petty squabbles. I’m here to train my charge.”
“Petty?” The lanky squire’s face flushed with anger. “You think we’re beneath you? You’re just a show-off with two swords. Let’s see how you handle a real challenge.”
Before Arthur could respond, the squires drew their swords, surrounding him. Dany, stepping back, watched with wide eyes as the tension escalated.
In the background, Ser Criston Cole’s attention was caught by the commotion. The princes, who had been intently focused on their drills, turned their heads to watch. Aemond’s eyes widened with curiosity, while Aegon’s expression turned to one of excitement. Jace and Luke, momentarily forgetting their own practice, were watching curiously as Arthur faced off against five men.
Arthur’s expression remained calm, though his eyes held a glint of steel. “Very well, if you insist.”
Arthur paused, his stance purposely relaxed as he turned to look at Dany. "Ah yes, you have yet to practice dodging multiple opponents, Princess," he remarked, a smirk playing on his lips. He placed one relaxed hand on the hilts of his sheathed blades, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Let me show you how it’s done."
Before Dany could respond, a rough voice shouted from behind. "Think you’re so clever, do you? Wake up to the real world, you cunt!" The lanky squire lunged at Arthur’s back with a fierce howl.
There were multiple shouts from around the courtyard, from others who were seeing this spectacle but all quietened in shock at what they witnessed next.
Arthur barely flinched as he turned. With a quick flick of his wrists, he deflected the incoming attack with one of the scabbard of his sheathed swords, yet to be pulled out from his side.
The sound of metal clashing rang out with a sharp pitch.
Arthur sidestepped and grabbed the squire’s wrist, using his own momentum to throw him against a nearby crate. The squire yelped as he landed awkwardly, clutching his arm.
The stocky one, more determined, charged next, but Arthur was already a step ahead. He kicked a nearby barrel into the path of the approaching man, who stumbled and crashed into it, falling flat.
Another squire, attempting to take advantage of the distraction, swung his sword wildly. With a fluid motion, Arthur ducked under the swinging arm, catching the man’s wrist and pulling him off balance. With a precise strike, he used the hilt of his blade to knock the squire’s sword from his grasp, sending it skidding across the ground.
Arthur, with the man’s wrist still in one hand, used his other to grab the back of the man’s neck. In one swift move, he slammed the attacker onto his raised knee, the impact of a nose breaking echoing across the yard.
The squire screamed in pain as blood flowed down his face. The high pitch screeched in Dany’s ears.
The princes’ eyes—and many others—were glued to the display. Aemond leaned forward, his usual stoic demeanor replaced by wide-eyed fascination. Aegon grinned, clearly thrilled by the spectacle, while Jace and Luke exchanged impressed glances, their mouths wide open.
Acting as if he had all the time in the world, Arthur took a swig from a waterskin. He tossed it at the face of another oncoming opponent.
Oh now he was just showing off.
The man flinched as his face was hit, the water soaking his face, giving Arthur just enough time to twirl elegantly around a sword swing aimed at him by the recovered lanky squire.
The blade of his attacker became ensnared in a nearby wooden post, and Arthur seized the opportunity. He spun around, grabbing the wrist of the soaked man. Using the man’s own momentum, Arthur pulled him forward and smashed the pommel of the man’s blade into the head of the lanky one still trying to free his weapon.
The stunned attacker crumpled, and Arthur twisted his grip on the other man’s wrist, using his scabbard to block another incoming strike. With a swift jab to the stomach using the hilt of his sheathed blades, he sent his opponent reeling backward with a pained yelp.
Breathing lightly, Arthur let the man he’d just defeated retreat, walking forward to face two more attackers. As they charged at him with synchronized swings, Arthur’s movements were smooth and precise. He sidestepped both blows with effortless grace, his body angled just enough to avoid the strikes.
With a swift kick, he sent one of his opponents crashing into the dirt, the force of the blow sending him skidding several feet away. Arthur then turned to face the remaining man—Oh look, it’s the stocky one—who had frozen in fear. Arthur struck the man in the head with the pointed hilt of his blade, knocking him off balance.
Arthur stepped back, watching as the man staggered, clutching his head. As quick as the desert snake, Arthur struck. His hand reached out and clutched the man’s throat in a grip. He gurgled in horror, staring at Arthur in panic and fear. Arthur dragged him in towards himself and brought his head closer, he said lowly but still loud enough for Dany to hear.
“You and your friends would do well with a piece of advice you really should’ve learnt years ago. Only attack another if you’re prepared to be killed”. Arthur then tripped the man’s ankles out from under him and raised his leg before bringing it down on the man’s arm. Hard.
Shrieking in pain, the man shouted “Noo, please no! Forgive us!”
The sound of gravel moved as the pressure of Arthur’s mercy came down in a blow.
Crack.
The sound of pained howling reverberated throughout the yard as the man’s arm was crushed. The courtyard was now a mess of blood and broken wooden objects as dust filtering through the air from the ground movement.
Arthur leveled his gaze at the remaining assailants, all injured and stunned. Their faces, once full of arrogant confidence, were now masks of shock and dismay. What they originally perceived to be an easy target for their prejudice violence turned out ot be a threat. It was a unwelcome shock, leaving them highly alarmed and frantically embarrassed due to having their arses handed to them.
“Are you done?” Arthur asked, his tone icy. “Or would you like to continue serving an example for the princess’ training?” his voice cut through the air like the executioner’s blade.
Arthur had single-handedly defeated multiple men who had drawn live steel against him.
Without even drawing either of his two swords.
Nothing would’ve humiliated them more.
The yard fell silent except for the groans of the defeated men and the soft murmur of the onlookers. On their knees and visibly frustrated, they glared at Arthur with a mixture of anger and dismay. And a satisfying dose of terror. The humiliation these men experienced was absolute, their earlier bravado crushed under the weight of their own defeat. They scrambled to their feet, nursing their bruises and avoiding his gaze. The stocky man, who Arthur released, whimpered as he crawled away with a broken arm.
Men from around the courtyard, more so now than before due to the altercation, were looking at the situation bewildered and uneasy. The highborn themselves that deigned to watch the men at practice started applauding, excited smiles on their faces as lords and ladies conversed about the fight they had just witnessed.
The soldiers were less amused, less naive. Their expressions were grim, their eyes narrowed in assessment. Arthur’s prowess as a warrior exposed himself. For those who were trained to recognise threats, they now knew that Arthur was a force to be reckoned with. One who was of a different caliber altogether. He was ruthless, not a single movement wasted, dismantling his opponents without incapacitating them too severely.
Like discovering that the house cat you welcomed in revealed itself to be a tiger. Like the new sheep you let into your flock had shown itself to be a wolf. Or the harmless lizard you wanted to catch and eat unfurling into a dragon.
This was also Arthur metaphorically telling everyone to back the fuck off.
Further away, Aegon, Aemond, Jace and Luke all stared wide-eyed with awe, looking at Arthur with a mix of admiration and disbelief.
“...Holy shit” Aegon laughed in astonishment.
“Woah” Jace muttered, his wide eyes glued to Arthur with fascination.
Their instructor, Ser Criston Cole of the kingsguard, who had initially moved to intervene at the first sign of conflict, had clearly stopped to watch. He looked at Arthur sharply, one of the first few to reassess Arthur as a threat. Yet that didn’t stop him from raising his eyebrows, impressed.
He approached, a new interest in his eyes “I’ll see to it that these men are properly punished.” He paused in silence for a moment, “It should not have happened”. Not an apology, but close to one.
Arthur tilted his head, “Hopefully they might learn something from this experience” he said, a faint smile curling his lips. “If I had met them on the battlefield, I would’ve killed them several times over”. A smile on his face in conjecture with the morbid words he spoke stated that this was not a jest but fact .
Ser Criston nodded, “That was impressive. Arthur, was it?” He held a gloved hand out, “Ser Criston Cole of the Kingsguard”.
Arthur slowly shook his hand and looked at Criston’s face, noting the slight tension in the Kingsguard’s demeanor.
“Arthur Dayne of Starfall,” he replied, his smile remaining distant yet polite.
Criston froze, his grip tightening involuntarily. His face went blank as realization hit his eyes.
“Get up you fools! You humiliated yourself enough! Attacking the King’s guest, by the Seven" Ser Harwin’s voice thundered across the courtyard. The commander and his gold cloaks were corralling the now-mortified men—though at this stage, Dany would prefer to call them boys—away.
Ser Criston’s eyes flickered toward the commotion, his expression darkening with disdain. He glanced back at the fallen men with disgust. Dany wondered if they would have dared do the same thing to him with his dornish features? Surely not. Not to a Kingsguard.
He turned to face Arthur again and nodded at him. There was an awareness about him, an entirely new wariness and respect in his gaze. He then turned to look at Dany and tilted his head further down in acknowledgement “Princess”.
With that, he moved off to sort the chaotic courtyard.
Arthur turned to Dany, his demeanor calm and composed, as if he had barely broken a sweat.
He raised an eyebrow.
Dany could barely hold back a grin, “Impressive.” She remarked.
He then smiled back at her, a true smile, as if the annoyances no longer mattered. “Well, Princess, I trust that was an instructive demonstration. An example of how to take advantage of your opponent’s momentum.” Her compliment seemed to have lightened his mood. Contentment radiated off of him and dare she say it, was there was a hint of smugness in his demeanor?
Dany could only nod to his words, her gaze shifting from Arthur to the fallen men and back. “Indeed it was, Arthur. I never seen anyone who fought the way you do” she said with a small smile. Anywhere or anytime.
While she’s seen Arthur spar with others, it was the first that she seen such a one sided battle of this nature.
It was amazing.
It was clear how reliable and capable Arthur is. She is incredibly fortunate to have secured him as a teacher.
“Will I ever be able to fight like you do?” Dany questioned, her voice hopeful.
“If you work hard for it, you just may” He said calmly, no clear disposition to his opinion.
Dany took into account Arthur’s age and slightly frowned, “Will it take two decades?” She asked unimpressed.
Arthur’s mouth twitched, “I doubt it will take that long.”
“Well, now that the rabble has been dealt with, let’s return to your lesson” He moved to the side and retrieved the previously discarded wooden sword, swinging it into position with a skillful twist of his wrist— the other men were still gaping at him . He ignored the increased amount of watchful eyes on them.
Daenerys got into position.