AN: Sorry I'm a day late, it might happen if I'm not feeling motivated or inspired on a given week's Tuesday. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Thanks for reading.
Mythra
Mythra looked at her needlework and frowned. The stitches weren't so much crooked as nonexistent. She had never been good at these kinds of tasks, they were more Pyra's domain. When she had asked her younger sister to stretch her legs, she hadn't been expecting to wind up trapped in this room, training in the "womanly" arts.
She had wanted to watch the boys sparring, to see how people fought in this world and gauge their strength. When she had said as much, she was gently told that wasn't "ladylike" and asked to sit in on the sewing training as a guest. Morag and, by extension, Brighid were exempt due to their positions.
Glancing over at Arya, Mythra smirked. At least she wasn't the only one struggling. Arya's stitches were crooked as well, though better than Mythra's. Arya's sister, Sansa, on the other hand, was having no trouble. She was remarkably skilled, able to stitch effectively even while gossiping with her friends, whose names Mythra couldn't remember.
The princess of the Seven Kingdoms, Myrcella, was also present, and the center of that elderly woman's attention. Apparently the woman was some kind of religious figure called a septa. Fortunately, she didn't give off the same ominous feeling as Amalthus. She also presumably hadn't awakened an evil Blade bent on destruction. Despite Myrcella's stitches being less than stellar, the septa was showering her with praise.
Next to Mythra sat Nia. The Flesh Eater had been in high spirits since her conversation with Pyra, and was stitching without complaint. The stitches were actually pretty good.
"You can sew?" Mythra asked quietly.
"My father had me taught how," Nia said. "It's not really fun, but I can manage." The cat-eared Blade looked at Mythra's work and grinned. "I guess being the Aegis doesn't include these skills."
Mythra blushed. "Shut up."
"What are you talking about?" Arya suddenly asked.
Mythra turned her attention to Arya and it became evident that she was talking to Sansa and her friends, who all looked embarrassed and stayed silent.
"Tell me," Arya said.
One of Sansa's friends glanced at the septa to make sure they weren't being watched, then Sansa answered in a soft voice. "We were talking about the prince."
"Joffrey likes your sister," the older of Sansa's friends whispered, with a sense of pride, as if somehow involved in the matter. "He told her she was very beautiful."
"He's going to marry her," the younger friend said dreamily, hugging herself. "Then Sansa will be queen of all the realm."
Sansa blushed. Mythra noticed that the gesture seemed to irritate Arya for some reason.
"Beth, you shouldn't make up stories," Sansa said, gently stroking the girl's hair, then turning back to Arya. "What do you think of Prince Joff, sister? He's very gallant, don't you think?"
"Jon says he looks like a girl," Arya said.
Sansa sighed, still stitching skillfully. Mythra looked at her own stitches, and realized that she had simply been threading string in random directions while listening to the conversation. Nia giggled.
"Going for an abstract look?" she asked.
"He's our brother," Arya said loudly in response to whatever Sansa had just said. Probably something about Jon.
The septa, whose name Mythra also couldn't remember, looked at the group.
"What are you talking about, children?" she asked.
"Our half-brother," Sansa corrected, before responding to the septa. "Arya and I were remarking on how pleased we were to have the princess and envoys with us today."
The septa nodded. "Indeed, a great honor for us all. Arya, why aren't you at work?" She stood and walked over. "Let me see your stitches."
Arya cast a look at Sansa as if it was the older girl's fault Arya had caught the septa's attention, then surrendered her work. "Here."
The septa examined the fabric closely. Mythra could have sworn the septa also cast a disapproving glance at Mythra's work, but for the moment she focused on Arya.
"Arya, Arya, Arya," she said. "This will not do. This will not do at all."
Everybody in the room looked sympathetically at Arya, except for one of Sansa's friends, who was smirking. Tears were starting to well up in the younger Stark's eyes. She stood and bolted for the door.
"Arya, come back here! Don't you take another step!" the septa called. "Your lady mother will hear of this. In front of our guests too. You'll shame us all!"
Arya stopped at the door and turned toward Myrcella, bowing stiffly, tears flowing from her eyes. "By your leave, my lady."
Myrcella looked to her ladies for guidance, while the septa continued shouting at Arya. "Just where do you think you're going, Arya?"
Arya shot a glare at the older woman that was only slightly undermined by her embarrassed crying. "I have to go shoe a horse," she said sweetly, visibly shocking the septa, before whirling around and running out of the room.
"I'll go make sure she doesn't cause any trouble," Mythra said, desperate to get out of this torture chamber.
"I'll come with you, in case she trips or something," Nia said. She bowed to the others. "If you'll excuse us."
The two Blades stood and walked swiftly out of the room and down the stairs, where they found Arya in the guardroom, hugging her direwolf pup. The wolf shifted to look at the two, which alerted Arya to their presence. She turned and scowled at the older girls, crossing her arms. Dromarch was also napping nearby and woke up as they approached.
"I'm not going back," she said.
"Wouldn't want you to," Mythra said. "Let's go watch the boys fight."
Arya blinked in surprise, then smiled brightly and nodded. "Exactly what I was thinking! Come on, I know a good place where we can watch."
"Lead the way."
The three Blades, Arya, and her wolf, walked to a covered bridge between sections of the castle. There was a large window overlooking the courtyard. Jon, the bastard, was already sitting on the sill, absorbed by the action. His wolf walked over to greet them, nipped Arya's wolf's ear, sniffed Dromarch, and settled down.
Jon looked at them, particularly at Arya. "Shouldn't you be working on your stitches, little sister?"
Arya huffed. "I want to watch them fight."
He smiled. "Come here, then."
Arya climbed on the window, while Mythra and Nia walked up so they could see. Unfortunately, it was the younger boys, Bran and Tommen, practicing in front of audience of Stark and Lannister men. Rex, Morag, and Brighid stood with the Stark men. The young boys and their wooden swords were heavily padded. They staggered from exhaustion as they smacked each other under the watchful eye of a stout man with large white whiskers.
"He could pass for a Gormotti," Nia commented.
Mythra laughed. "The boys look like stuffed animals in all that padding. Is that really good practice?"
"Probably not," Dromarch said. "But it makes sense that the youngest are allowed the illusion of practicing without the danger."
Nia nodded. "It makes them feel like grown-ups."
Mythra thought of the Garfront mercenary kids play-fighting. This was basically the same thing, dressed up as training. The kids taken in by Torna hadn't done it, but that had been in the middle of a massive war.
"Enough!" the whiskered man called out, drawing Mythra's attention. Bran had bested Tommen. "Well fought. Lew, Donnis, help them out of their armor. Prince Joffrey, Robb, will you go another round?"
Robb, visibly sweaty, stepped forward quickly. "Gladly."
Prince Joffrey, who had been sitting in the shade with men of his mother's house, moved into the sunlight, a bored look on his face. "This is a game for children, Ser Rodrik."
Some tall boy who always followed the Starks around but whose name Mythra had never learned laughed. "You are children," he said derisively.
"Robb may be a child," Joffrey said. "I am a prince, and I grow tired of swatting at Starks with a play sword."
Mythra narrowed her eyes. "Is that little kid seriously suggesting…?"
"You got more swats than you gave, Joff," Robb said, completely misreading Joffrey's intent. "Are you afraid?"
"Oh, terrified," Joffrey said. "You're so much older."
Some of the prince's companions laughed at that.
"Joffrey is truly a little shit," Jon said.
"Understatement of the century," Mythra grumbled, drawing a surprised look from Jon and a grin from Arya.
Ser Rodrik tugged at his whiskers.
"What are you suggesting?" he asked the prince.
"Live steel."
"Done," Robb shot back. "You'll be sorry!"
The old knight put a hand on Robb's shoulder to quiet him. "Live steel is too dangerous. I will permit you tourney swords, with blunted edges."
A tall, muscular man with black hair and some terrible burn scars pushed his way in front of the prince. "This is your Prince. Who are you to tell him he may not have an edge on his sword, ser?"
"Master-at-arms of Winterfell, Clegane, and you would do well not to forget it."
"Are you training women here?"
"I am training knights," Ser Rodrik said. "They will have steel when they are ready. When they are of an age."
Clegane looked to Robb. "How old are you, boy?"
"Fourteen," Robb said.
"I killed a man at twelve. You can be sure it was not with a blunt sword."
Robb bristled. His pride was wounded. He turned to Ser Rodrik. "Let me do it, I can beat him!"
"Beat him with a tourney blade, then," Ser Rodrik said.
Joffrey shrugged. "Come and see me when you're older, Stark. If you're not too old."
Rex stepped forward from the group, a deep scowl on his face. Morag opened her mouth to say something, but Rex was faster.
"The only reason you two talk like that is because you don't know what it's like," he said, almost shouted.
"What did you say, boy?" Clegane asked.
"You, and especially Joffrey, you've never fought for something that really matters. If you knew the pain of almost losing it. Of really losing something after you try your best… You wouldn't be able to talk so casually about it!"
"I've fought plenty," Clegane growled. "It's life here."
"It's not about fighting. It's about fighting for something. Fighting for what you believe in. Your friends, your beliefs, your dreams. You don't know the first thing about it."
Joffrey was looking at Rex with disdain, clearly not enjoying the lecture.
Clegane was red in the face, eyes bulging with anger. He started toward Rex.
"Move," Mythra said to Jon and Arya, who quickly moved aside.
Mythra jumped out the window and heard Nia follow her.
"Rex!" Mythra said, holding out her hands to give him energy.
Clegane drew his sword. "Don't talk to me about hardship!"
He swung down, but Rex drew Mythra's sword and parried, cutting the ordinary weapon in half. The top half of the sword went flying over his head and impaled itself in the ground behind him as Clegane threw aside the hilt. Mythra activated Foresight, allowing Rex to see Clegane throw several punches at him. Rex easily dodged, then swung his sword, landing a small cut on Clegane's cheek.
Clegane stood still, in shock, while Mythra moved behind Rex, Nia following her. Brighid's blue flames suddenly erupted between Clegane and Rex.
"Enough," Morag said. "I'm inclined to agree with Rex and Ser Rodrik. Children should be able to avoid fighting for as long as possible. However, such a disagreement is no need for violence. And Mister Clegane, I will not tolerate any attacks against my comrades or subordinates. Please restrain yourself in the future."
Clegane huffed and turned away.
"Fine," he said.
"Let's go, Hound," Joffrey said, starting to walk away, followed by his entourage.
Rex turned to Robb. "Don't be too quick to fight, Robb," he said. The prince and his group stopped momentarily. "If you're not ready, you'll lose something important. So wait, until you're ready and you can protect all the things precious to you. Then, fight, for what matters to you. Fight your own war."
Rex smiled brightly when he finished.
Joffrey stared at Rex for a moment before continuing his departure.
Robb nodded. "I think I get it. Thank you for the advice, Rex."
"He's right, you know," Mythra said. "We've all learned that lesson. One way or another. Rex actually saved Pyra and me by learning it." She turned to Rex. "You've really grown up."
Rex scratched the back of his head, blushing. "You think so?"
Mythra smiled and nodded.