Prince Duncan kept his hands behind his back as he walked the length of the yard, he watched Aerys and Steffon circle each other with blunted steel in their grips and sweat already starting to show on their brows, he did not need a master at arms to tell him which boy had been training more faithfully, since Steffon kept his feet under him and carried a decent stance while Aerys kept shifting his and kept moving uncertainly. Ser Gerold Hightower stood a few paces away with his arms folded, he said nothing at first, since he preferred to let a mistake ripen into a lesson, it was only when Aerys lifted his sword a touch too high and left his belly open that Gerold's eyes narrowed.
Steffon stepped in with a simple forward press, and he drove Aerys back with the blunt edge meeting the other blade and forcing the line aside, for a moment it looked like he might land a clean touch to the ribs, yet Aerys slipped away in time, not with a strong retreat but with a quick shift that stole the angle and made Steffon's swing cut air. Aerys tried to answer at once and came in with a fast tap toward Steffon's forearm, he nearly had it, yet his wrist turned early and the strike lost the last bit of reach, and Steffon punished that by stepping forward again and forcing the blades to meet.
"Stop trying to win on the first strike," Duncan said calmly while he pointed with two fingers at Aerys's feet. "You are moving fast, which is good, but youre moving away from your own base, so every time you decide to strike you are already leaning, if you lean you will either miss or you will over reach. Any man with experience will know how to take advantage of that."
Aerys frowned and rolled his shoulders, and tried to laugh it off, yet it came out fake sounding. "So I should stand still and let him hit me."
"No," Gerold said, he stepped closer and tapped the flat of Aerys's blade with two thick fingers as if he was correcting a boy at his sums. "You should move when and if you need to, you should stop giving away your line, you pull your sword off center when you breathe, and you do it without noticing, Steffon sees it even if he does not know he sees it."
Steffon did not smile, yet his eyes flicked to Aerys as if he liked hearing that, and he set himself again and waited. Aerys drew a breath, then he lowered his point a little and tried to settle his shoulders as he had been told, he stepped in with less haste this time, and used a small feint at the wrist that made Steffon's guard twitch. Steffon answered with strength and power as was the Baratheon way, and he shoved forward into the bind and tried to bully the blade aside, it worked for an instant, yet Aerys gave ground in time and turned his hips so the pressure slid off rather than crushing him, he flicked a quick touch at Steffon's shoulder that would have been a cut if the edge had been sharp.
"Better," Duncan said, and nodded, then he turned his attention to Steffon. "Now you—"
While the men spoke, the courtyard had its other life around the edges, with servants moving in and out and guards at the gates who watched without reacting. At the far side, above the yard where the stone rose into a balcony that looked down over the practice space, a table had been set under an umbrella that kept the sun from falling straight onto the cups and the faces beneath it, it was there that the women sat with tea and small plates while they watched the boys spar.
Rhaella Targaryen sat with her back straight and her hands placed neatly near her cup, she watched though she wasn't much interested in seeing her brother exhaust himself so much. Beside her sat Rhaelle Targaryen, who was a little more interested but only because one of the combatants was her son. Jenny of Oldstones sat with her elbows close and her gaze drifting, as if the whole thing was a bore, and Mira sat near the edge of the group with her cup held in both hands, she keot herself close to Rhaella as she didn't feel like she belonged in this place full princesses and ladies. Oxana Baratheon sat close to her mother Rhaella, with an expression that kept changing, one moment she looked bored and the next she looked amused, and when she smiled it came quickly and left quickly, like she was trying on faces to see which one fit.
"The tourney preparations grow more exciting each day," Rhaella said, lifting her cup as she addressed the group. "Father has confirmed knights from Dorne and the Reach, and even a party from the North. The lists will extend longer than in years past to accommodate them all."
Rhaelle nodded eagerly, reaching for a slice of peach that she held delicately. "And the pavilions! The silks arriving from the docks include colors I have never seen deep shades of crimsons and golds that shimmer when the light catches them. I plan to have a new gown made."
Oxana smiled faintly, selecting an almond from the plate before her. "Steffon talks of little else but the joust," she said with an amused expression. "He believes he will unhorse half the field and claim enough ransoms to outfit his own household guard. Though between us, I think he practices more to impress the ladies in the stands than to win purses."
Rhaella laughed softly, setting her cup down with care. "Aerys harbors similar dreams, though he speaks less of them. He trains every morning with Prince Duncan and Ser Gerold, determined to prove himself in the melee at least."
The conversation turned to details ladies often shared—new patterns in embroidery that had arrived from Braavos, the latest perfumes blended in the city below, and which lords might bring eligible sons to court during the festivities. Rhaelle dominated much of the talk, describing a gown she had seen in a merchant's sample with enthusiasm that drew smiles from Rhaella and occasional comments from her daughter Oxana.
Mira contributed little, offering only polite agreements when directly addressed, her intimidation evident in the way she kept her responses brief amid the royal company. Jenny remained even quieter, her gaze often drifting to the yard below or the distant towers, her interest in tourneys and gowns clearly minimal as she sipped her tea in silence.
Rhaella noticed Mira's discomfort and turned her head toward her. "You have seen training yards before, have you not?" She said in an effort to include her.
Mira swallowed. "Not like this, I've only seen my brothers sparing with sticks before," she said quietly.
Rhaella nodded as if that was enough, and did not press her, as she had the sense for when someone was speaking from nerves and not from choice. Oxana, who had less patience for silence, tilted her head and looked Mira over the way a cat watched a mouse without deciding whether it was hungry. "You do not talk much, do you."
Mira's shoulders stiffened. "I try to listen more."
"That is fair," Oxana said, and she grinned. "If I listened more, I would get into less trouble, though that sounds like a miserable way to live."
Rhaelle tapped a finger on the table. "Oxana."
Oxana raised both hands slightly, still grinning. "I said it was fair."
"And the favors," Rhelle continued interrupting them all, eyes bright as she leaned forward. "Every lady will tie ribbons or scarves to their chosen knight's lance. Oxana I hope you take the opportunity to find someone again, it has been long enough since your husband died."
Oxana raised an eyebrow. "Oh but mother I do so grieve for my poor husband, I would not want to disrespect his memory in such a way."
Rhaelle narrowed her eyes at her daughter, but did not comment anymore on it and let the topic drop. "What about you Rhaella?" She asked her niece. "Will Aerys earn you favour? Or perhaps a different Knight?"
Rhaella smiled indulgently, glancing toward the yard where the princes now rested on benches. "I haven't decided yet... perhaps I'll find someone even more interesting worthy of my favour," she replied.
The ladies continued their talk as servants refilled cups and the sun shifted slowly across the sky. Mira listened attentively, her thoughts often returning to Arthur whenever swords rang out, while Jenny traced idle patterns on the tablecloth with one finger, content to remain on the edges of the discussion.
...
Rhaella and Mira descended the stone steps from the balcony while the Kingsguard assigned to the princess followed at a discreet distance behind them. The corridor they entered offered cooler air than the sun-drenched yard. Rhaella walked with her arm lightly brushing Mira's as they moved toward her private chambers. After a few steps, Rhaella slowed her pace and turned toward Mira with an expression that carried genuine regret. "I must apologise for bringing you to that tea," she said quietly enough that the trailing Kingsguard would not overhear. "I knew it would be trying for you, with all the talk of gowns and favors and knights, but I did not want to face those women alone."
Mira shook her head quickly, waving off the apology with a small gesture of her hand. "It was fine, truly," she replied, though her tone carried a note of relief now that they had left the balcony. "But if I had my choice, I would rather serve as your maid than attend another one of those gatherings."
Rhaella laughed softly at that. "I could never make you my servant," she said firmly, stepping closer so she could link her arm through Mira's. "You are closer to me than anyone else has ever been." She continued walking with their arms entwined. "Noble women can be so false, always weighing every word for advantage or searching for weakness to exploit later. But you are genuine with me, Mira, you speak what you think without calculation, and that is rarer than anything I've ever owned."
Mira felt warmth rise in her cheeks at the praise, and she squeezed Rhaella's arm gently in return. "I feel the same," she admitted, her words coming easier now that they walked alone together. "Most women I knew before were either jealous of me or worried I would steal their husbands or sweethearts, even when I had no intention of doing so."
Rhaella grinned mischievously at that, her eyes sparkling as she glanced sideways. "Well, I am a little jealous of certain parts," she said playfully, reaching out with her free hand to cup Mira's breast briefly through the fabric of her gown.
Mira squeaked in surprise, her face flushing deep red as she slapped Rhaella's hand away with a quick motion. "Rhaella!" she scolded, though laughter threatened to break through her reprimand. "You cannot do that in the middle of the corridor!"
Rhaella giggled without remorse, covering her mouth with her hand as they continued walking. "Forgive me," she said between laughs, "but you make it too easy sometimes."
They settled after a moment, the giggles fading into companionable silence while they approached the door to Rhaella's chambers. Rhaella grew more serious then, her arm still linked with Mira's as she asked quietly, "What do you want to do about Arthur now?"
Mira fell silent for several steps, her thoughts turning inward as she considered the vastness of King's Landing and the challenge of finding her brother. The city held over a million souls within its walls, streets twisting like a labyrinth where one man could vanish among the crowds for years. Finding Arthur would require patience and luck, yet she would not give up, not after everything they had endured yo this point.
"I will search for him," she said finally. "I can start in the most crowded places, the markets, the inns near the gates, the streets where men gather for work. From there I can ask questions and follow whatever leads appear."
Rhaella nodded thoughtfully, though concern creased her brow. "I wish you would let me send the Goldcloaks or household guards to look for him," she said gently. "They could cover more ground and ask in places you cannot go safely."
Mira shook her head again, gratitude clear in her expression even as she refused. "You have done too much for me already," she replied. "I do not want to become more of a burden than I already am, taking your protection and your friendship without giving anything in return is already too much."
Rhaella stopped walking then, turning to face Mira fully so she could take both her hands. "You are no burden," she said firmly. "You are my friend, the truest I have, and friends help each other without keeping count. Promise me you will tell me if you need anything... guards, coin, whatever it takes."
Before Mira could respond, a voice called from behind them down the corridor. "Rhaella! Mira!"
They both turned to see Oxana Baratheon approaching, her golden hair catching the light from the high windows while her gown of deep green swished around her ankles. She reached them with a warm smile that softened her features. "I wanted to apologise if I made you uncomfortable earlier, Mira," Oxana said directly, her gaze lingering on Mira a moment longer than necessary as she spoke. "Teas like that can be overwhelming for anyone not born to them, and I fear my teasing added to it."
Mira shook her head politely. "No apology needed," she replied. "I enjoyed the company."
Oxana's smile widened, her eyes flicking between the two women. "Good. Then you will both join me next week at the tourney market outside the walls? The merchants set up stalls with everything imaginable, silks from Lys, spices from the east, trinkets from across the sea. It will be far more enjoyable than sitting in the shade listening to Rhaelle plan her wardrobe."
Rhaella glanced at Mira before answering. "We would be delighted," she said, accepting for both. "Thank you for the invitation."
Oxana stepped forward then, hugging Rhaella first in a quick embrace between cousins. When she turned to Mira, the hug lasted longer, her arms wrapping fully around Mira's waist while she pressed close enough that Mira felt the warmth of her body through their gowns. Oxana pulled back slowly, her hands lingering on Mira's arms as she met her eyes. "I am truly looking forward to seeing you again," she said softly.
Oxana released her and walked away with a wave. Mira stood for a moment, confusion flickering across her face at the intensity of the embrace and the lingering look.
Rhaella leaned close then, her lips near Mira's ear as she whispered, "My cousin likes both men and women, and it is no secret she often chooses pretty girls from the lower city when the mood strikes her." She pulled back with a teasing grin. "I think you caught her eye rather thoroughly."
Mira's face flushed deep red, her mouth opening in surprise before she turned quickly and began walking toward the chambers again. "Rhaella!" she exclaimed, though laughter threatened to break through her embarrassment. Rhaella followed with giggles that echoed softly down the corridor, linking her arm through Mira's once more as they continued on their way.
_____________________________________
Arthur walked the winding streets that led up Aegon's High Hill for the fourth consecutive day. The massive fortress dominated the skyline, its red stone towers and thick walls rising high above the city. He carried no pack this time, only Sunset belted at his hip beneath a plain cloak that hid the blade from casual glances, his tunic bore the marks of travel despite the care he took to appear respectable.
Getting into the Red Keep had proven far more difficult than he remembered from the time he had entered at Willem's side. Without a noble patron or official business, the gates remained firmly closed to common men, and the Goldcloaks who guarded them turned away petitioners with comstant indifference. He approached the Gate, the massive portcullis raised but flanked by a dozen Goldcloaks in their white-and-gold cloaks, spears planted firmly as they watched the flow of people. A few merchants with carts passed through after showing papers, and a minor lord on horseback received a salute before riding inside, but foot traffic like Arthur drew immediate scrutiny.
The guards near the front noticed him first, recognition flickering in their eyes as he drew closer. Two of them exchanged glances before they began to chuckle openly, nudges passing between them while one leaned on his spear and watched Arthur's approach with open amusement.
Arthur stopped a respectful distance away, keeping his hands visible. "I would like to speak with the captain of the watch, if he is available," he said clearly.
One guard snorted and waved a hand dismissively, but another turned and called toward the guardhouse built into the wall. After a moment that stretched a while, a man emerged—the vice captain—a thickset officer with a permanent scowl and a nose that looked to have been broken more than once.
"I thought I told you not to come back here," the vice captain said loudly as he stopped in front of Arthur, his arms crossing over his chest while the other guards watched with smirks.
Arthur met his gaze without flinching. "I wanted to check if my message was received," he replied. "The one I left for my wife, Mira of Harrowfield, who resides within under Princess Rhaella's protection. If I do not come here, how else would I know if she heard it?"
The Goldcloaks burst into open laughter at that, several slapping their thighs or leaning on spears while they guffawed. The vice captain stepped closer, his face twisting into contempt as he looked Arthur up and down. "You really are an idiot," he sneered, his voice carrying for all to hear. "A delusional peasant with dreams above his station. You think we bother carrying messages from street rats like you? You think the princess's household has time for whatever fantasies you spin about a wife inside these walls?"
Arthur remained silent while the insults continued. "We humored you the first days because it was amusing, watching you come back like a stray dog begging scraps. But now you're just annoying us, wasting time we could spend on real duties."
He leaned in closer, breath sour as he jabbed a finger toward Arthur's chest. "I'm done being nice. If you show your face here again, we'll beat you senseless and throw you in the black cells until you rot. Understand, boy?" The vice captain reached out then to shove Arthur backward, his palm aiming for the shoulder in a move meant to send him stumbling. Arthur caught the wrist mid-motion. The laughter died abruptly among the guards, several straightening with hands moving toward weapons.
"I understand," Arthur said quietly, his eyes flat and unreadable while he stared directly at the vice captain. He released the wrist after a moment and stepped back slowly, turning without another word to walk away down the hill.
The guards jeered after him, calls of "Run along, peasant!" and crude laughter following until he rounded a bend in the road and passed out of sight.
Once alone on the descending path, anger surged through Arthur all at once, almost overwhelminglu as frustration boiled over. He stopped abruptly and yelled toward the sky, a raw sound of rage that echoed off the stones and startled birds from nearby rooftops. His fists clenched at his sides while he paced in small circles, the nearness of his goal and the repeated denial gnawing at him like nothing else had.
Mira waited inside those walls, safe yet separated from him by gates and guards who treated him like less than nothing. He had killed Willem, ended the threat that had torn their lives apart, only to face this final barrier that mocked his efforts.
Arthur drew several deep breaths that calmed him gradually, the anger cooling into determination that hardened his resolve. He would not give up. The Red Keep's walls were high and its guards numerous, but he had breached worse odds at the manse. He would find a way inside, whether through cunning, persistence, or whatever means proved necessary.
One way or the other, he would reach Mira.
(AN: A little interlude chapter mainly introducing an important character. Oxana Baratheon. She is Steffons little sister. I'm sure a lot of you won't recognise her. She isn't a canon character from game of thrones but she isn't my OC either. Anyway hope you enjoyed.)
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