Chapter 10: A Great Dance
The sound of clanking metal rang across the courtyard. The sun had risen some time ago and much of the Red Keep's life blood had already begun running through its many veins. Guards were on patrol, servants performing their duties, and courtiers attending to the many happenings of the court. Yet right now, the main attraction to Roland was the blonde-haired little shit being put in his place right in front of him.
"Incorrect. Do it again." Selmy spoke with authority, leading the boy a few steps back with carefully placed sword maneuvers.
He couldn't even comprehend how lucky he was, that Joffrey. The prince insisted that today's training be with live steel as he had apparently done so many times before with his own personal training. Lord Commander Selmy eventually convinced the prince to go with blunted blades, despite Roland's own protests, half-hearted as they were. He had no real reason to go along with Joffrey's bravado-fueled mood swings and demands, he simply wanted to put the fear of the Seven into the boy the moment he got his first cut.
The prince grunted in frustration, yet his protests ceased after the last dozen times Selmy insisted he repeat the maneuver he was trying to teach him. It was a simple set really, any amateur swordsman with a stick could catch onto it in time. An overhead strike to initiate, force your opponent into the defense, then lead in with a thrust towards the opponents thighs, after they deflect, curl your sword back and deliver yet another stab, this time aimed at your opponents neck to finish them off.
It was not something to pride ones' self in accomplishing correctly, a maneuver that could be so easily dodged or blocked like that. Yet delivered with correct swiftness and unpredictability it could be deadly, as could all motions delivered during an actual sword fight. Roland himself never bothered to learn any fancy tricks when fighting. His style of combat was plain and simple, kill the bastard in front of you and anyone else trying to kill you, doesn't matter how you do it.
It was perhaps that very reason why watching the display in front of him grew to be so painful. Joffrey somehow could not even remember three incredibly basic moves, always going good with the overhead yet then proceeding that strike with three to four more consecutive slashes instead of what Selmy was telling him.
What made the whole ordeal even more painful is the company he was currently sharing as a co-spectator to the faux match.
For some reason, Selmy had asked Roland to come and help him train the two young lordlings he was put in charge of. One was the aforementioned prince, Robert's little devil spawn, and the other being Lord Stark's cub, Cregan. Joffrey, at the very least, was a fine evening's entertainment to make a mockery of when drunk, yet with the Stark boy there was not much entertainment to be had, nor interesting conversation to be made it would seem.
The entire team he was here the Stark sat only a few feet apart from where Roland was standing, resting a chipped wooden blade on his knees and observing the match with an expression that rivaled even Roland's sense of boredom and apathy. Looking at him now, it was eerie the resemblance in attire the two had standing practically next to one another.
Due to injuries sustained during the tournament, one of which being his sword hand, still wrapped and rolled in bandages and a salve for healing, Robert had called for Roland to be exempt from his duties for the next two weeks. Due to this he saw no reason to wear his white armor to the courtyard, and choose a simple white tunic and black leather pants. Rest and recuperate, and then in ample time he'd be fit and ready to come back to duty. While he could understand the reasoning behind the temporary admission of duty, it didn't stop Roland from thinking of ways he could have most likely still been useful to Robert during this time. 'I may not be able to dash around with a sword in my hand and my prick in another as well, but I can still be a human shield should any brave assassin try and shoot at the fat bastard with an arrow, or come at him with a knife.' he thought, eventually shaking said thoughts from his head, 'No, I'm far more useful to Robert as a fighter, not a corpse, suppose someone like Blount would be far more suitable for that kind of role. Maybe that's why they keep him around…'
"Incorrect!" a shout from Selmy shook him from his daydreaming of a dead Blount. The prince was on his knees clutching a red-skinned palm with his free hand. Surprisingly, the prince seemed to have held on to his blade despite Selmy's strike. "Again."
Gritting his teeth, Joffrey got back up with a rage and hatred filling his eyes. The child was getting bloodthirsty. He knew the type all too well, haughty and pompous to a tee, unable to even consider the fact there exists someone better than them in anything. Even when faced with the reality of the situation they will continue on in an arrogant and stubborn stride. He had to hand it to the child though, any other lordling like him would have most likely quit at this point and sent the knight off to the dungeons for the beating they received. Joffrey wasn't like that, thank the Seven, he would scream and rant and shout at you all day but the moment it came to action he would begin to squirm and weasel away like a scared pup. Roland knew full well why the Prince was doing this, he wanted to impress his father, and that want had only grown ever since the Stark children had entered into the mix. No doubt Joffrey had heard all the praise Robert spoke of Cregan, he was all that drunk seemed to talk about as of recent times.
Looking back at the auburn-haired youth, he noticed that perpetual dead stare and uninterested look that was about him. Joffrey saw this boy as competition, a rival for his Father's affections. Yet looking at the lordling from here... well, suffice to say he embodies the look of a squire when compared to the rose colored tapestries the prince adorned himself and was currently sweating in. 'Something tells me you don't see the Prince in the same light, do you Stark boy?'
More time passed in the training session with nothing for Roland to do but stand and watch, so eventually he decided it might be good to break the ice with Robert's new soon-to-be goodson.
"So…" he broke the silence, soliciting no reaction from the lordling. He didn't really have any plan of what to talk about in the blue of the moment, so in times like this it was best just to wing it in his experience. "Did you fuck that princess yet?"
"What?" that got a reaction out of him, but not one he was aiming for. Where he wanted a confused fluster, Roland only received a droul raise of a brow and monotone question.
"Sorry, just… trying to make smalltalk." he tried to salvage the bad introduction, from the look on the boy's face it did not work one bit.
"That's your attempt at making smalltalk?"
"Well what else am I supposed to ask you about? She's the only person you ever seem to be around in this damnable Keep, save for Robert when you're squiring for him." Roland continued digging his own grave.
The Stark boy continued to look at the Kingsguard knight, staring at him with none of the irreverence or disgust he was so used to with boys his age, simply blind and unfiltered confusion as to how to respond, he was glad they were on the same page on that one at least. For a moment it seemed the boy was even seriously considering the question he had posed to him, looking at the sky in a brief swing of the head.
"No." the Stark answered simply.
"Was that a No to my question or a No to the notion you have no friends?" finally something to work with, or at least an inkling of a tease.
Yet to his dismay Cregan did not react, simply looking at him again with a dumbfounded look. "Are you still trying to make smalltalk?"
'Like talking to a wall…' he recalled Oakheart's words when asked about the boy. He always knew the man to speak very on the nose, but he should have known how literal that damn bastard always was. "Nevermind." Roland knew when to admit defeat in the face of an immovable object. "Just forget I said anything."
"Alright."
'What does Robert see in that child?'
The training between Selmy and Joffrey continued for some more time before an end was called by the Lord Commander. Sweat-ridden and exhausted, Joffrey went down on the ground in an attempt to spend less energy trying to stand, focusing all his effort on getting air into his lungs.
"Very well, that is all for you today Prince Joffrey. If you have any duties to attend to you are free to leave after you've sufficiently gathered yourself. Take your time, there's no use in forcing your body past its limits at this point." Selmy had replaced his authoritative and firm tone with a much softer and mentorly one when speaking to the Prince now, yet the words he spoke confused everyone present.
Roland kept his protests to himself, knowing better than to question Selmy's ways. Though he had thought he would be teaching the two lordlings, it seems the Lord Commander had different plans for him and the young Stark boy. Cregan seemed to be of the same mindset, clearly being surprised by what Barristan was saying, but choosing not to question it until he elaborated further.
Joffrey let out one last large gasp of breath before getting back to his feet in an attempt to bring himself to somewhat of a dignified stance. "Very well," he said, whatever energy in his voice fading quickly with another draw of breath. "I was getting rather bored of this charade either way."
"If you have no other duties I suggest you rest for now, tomorrow we meet here at the same time." Selmy advised, to which Joffrey did not even listen to at that point, walking off in a haughty pace.
Before leaving the courtyard he approached the Stark boy. "Do try not to hurt yourself too much Cregan, I can only imagine how troublesome Selmy will be for you if I can harm you so easily." He said, and promptly left, receiving no reply from Cregan.
Roland knew all too well of the whole story, the fight Stark and the Prince had back in the Riverlands. He couldn't find out all of the details, mainly bits of the story here and there his brothers would speak of, but from what he knew Joffrey somehow had managed to win that fight, which led Roland to speculate on two conclusions. Either this Cregan boy was yet another nobleman's son chasing dreams of being a knight without even knowing how to hold a stick properly, or he let the Prince win.
Once Joffrey was fully out of the courtyard the Lord Commander spoke. "Very well then, come Cregan. It's your turn."
"You'll have to forgive me if I am incorrect here Ser Barristan." Cregan got up from his seat, wooden blade still in hand. "But I thought his Grace had put myself and Prince Joffrey under your tutelage so that we could spar together, not apart like this."
"You are correct, Cregan." Selmy replied. "But I think you'll agree with me when I say that Joffrey is nowhere near ready for such experience yet." he approached Cregan casually, one hand behind his back and the other holding the dull blade. Once close, Selmy rested the blade on the boy's shoulder gently. "And neither are you."
He would rarely see the Lord Commander like this, yet Roland could not deny Selmy embodied the wise mentor role quite well. Had he been taught by someone like him, Roland might have been a better man growing up, taught honor and discipline. 'And then I'd most likely get killed by a stray lance to the neck in a tourney.'
Cregan took a quick glance at the blade rested upon his shoulder, then to the knowing smile Selmy had on his face. "Very well." Without a hint of hesitation afterwards, the Stark then went along over to the middle of the courtyard. "Shall we begin then?"
"Yes, however it will not be me you are training with today." Selmy said, gripping the dull sword by its blade and pointing it to Roland. "Think you can do it Ser?"
The realization soon came to him, "Ah, so that's it then, eh?" he grabbed the blade with his non-injured hand and proceeded to the center of the courtyard. 'He didn't want me here to beat that paush little prick, he wanted me to train Robert's little wannabe knight.'
Standing opposite to the boy and a good few feet away, he didn't know whether to be intimidated or feel sorry for the child. Just because Selmy asked him didn't mean he would go easy on the Stark like the Lord Commander did with Joffrey. From the look of him it seemed Cregan understood that, but faced off against him without protest. He was either stubborn as all Seven Hells or extremely stupid.
"It'll be a free spar. Train as much as you can for however long you like. If I find the need to intervene I shall. Otherwise, there are no rules." Selmy explained.
"You sure you don't want to at least change to a metal blade boy? I've no issue switching to wood either to keep it fair." Roland asked him more out of a genuine want to keep the whole affair balanced as much as he can.
"No." was all that came from the Stark boys' mouths.
"As you wish. Come on then, I'll let you make the first move as a show of good sport." just because they got off on the wrong foot… or whatever that conversation was… didn't mean he couldn't at least be cordial with him. So in the name of a good match he was willing to go as easy on the boy as he could without making it seem that way. Robert wouldn't care if his squire had a few new bruises on his face, but he wasn't so sure if the other Starks in the Keep would be the same, or the Princess for that matter.
As soon as he finished with his offer however, the Stark was already on the move, charging at Roland full force. He had managed to close the distance between them whilst his guard was down, clever boy. With an overhead strike being signalled by his opponent, he went in to block it. It was still rather strange to use his right hand for swordfighting, it wasn't his main sword arm, yet there were many times in his past where he was forced to use his off hand for combat purposes, so he had experience with it at least. The blades collided with a crashing sound, wood against metal, no matter how dulled. He could see small bits of wood off of the boy's sword being chipped off with the strike.
At first Roland had thought the boy was trying to imitate what Selmy was teaching Joffrey, yet if that was the case then he was doing a far better job at imitating Joffrey than the Lord Commander. After the initial strike Cregan continued with another strike, overhead once more, slamming down at Rolands own sword. Again and again he beat down at his defence in an attempt to get through, there was no skill, no finesse in it, only pure brute strength, he was getting flashbacks to the tourney. In any other situation he would have simply deflected or parried one of the blows, but that simply wasn't possible without use of his sword arm, which was currently wrapped in too many bandages to be wieldy of anything other than a mug of ale, if even that. Even then, Cregan's assault was relentless, giving Roland not even a second to breathe in-between strikes.
Once more he saw the small chips of wood fly off with each hit, the boy's blade was slowly being whittled down, yet that did not mean Roland wasn't losing his own strength either. Thinking quickly he looked for as miniscule of an opening as he could, and found it in between yet another flurry of hits. Using the pommel of his sword he struck the boy across the face, pausing the relentless onslaught for only a moment, giving him just enough time to press the advantage.
To his further surprise however, Cregan did not press on, the blow did little more than graze him; it seemed as he was back to his stance quicker than he was out of it. Yet instead of continuing to attack, giving Roland now room to parry and maneuver, he quickly gained distance between them.
Seeing no intent to repeat his little trump card again, Roland lowered his stance temporarily.
"Do you mind telling me what that was all about?" he asked, more out of genuine curiosity at what he was hoping to achieve. Did he seriously think he could overpower him? The boy was tall, just a few inches under him, he could give him that, but in terms of builds and muscle they were still worlds apart. And compared to the grip of the Mountain, this type of beating paled in comparison.
"No." Cregan responded, never taking his eyes off the Kingsguard and readying his sword in both hands. Unlike the Prince, it seemed the Stark boy at least knew a proper stance upon which to take when caught up in a duel. That still didn't forgive his blatant tests of Roland's nerves, but he was trying to be fair here.
'Alright then, be that way.' he thought. He was going to make this fair alright.
The bruises were finally starting to form around his arms, at least the ones he could see right now. He hadn't expected such a thurough trouncing, not since his time in Highgarden did he feel such pain on his skin. Thankfully, none of the hits he received drew blood, so for now he would have to be content with being sore all over for the next few days.
Still, he had duties to attend to, and the first matter of business should be switching out into something more presentable. Yet on his way back to his chambers, Cregan found himself approaching the doors of Maester Pycelle's office.
'I'm getting too used to coming here.' he thought to himself. Inside however, he heard a faint noise, the sound of conversation being had. He had hoped to use the opportunity to speak with Maester Pycelle about his head pains once more, to see if there was anything else that could be done. Yet now it seemed was not the right time, with Cregan instead choosing to keep walking the way of his own chambers.
The rest of his walk was a blur, or rather not worth recollecting. Once he was at the doors of his chambers, Cregan could only breathe a sigh of relief and of exhaustion at the rest of the days' activities. The last thing he expected to happen, however, was for the doors of his chambers to be slammed back into his face from the other side. Stunned and confused, he couldn't even utter a word of surprise before the person on the other end spoke.
"It is common courtesy to knock before entering someone's personal chambers!" that person being the very recognizable voice of Myrcella.
"You'll forgive me then as I wasn't aware the requirements for entering one's own room was knocking first." he replied, the sudden jolt of movement reigniting his headache.
"What…" he could hear Myrcella mutter for a moment before opening the doors slightly. Through them he could see half a face marred with golden locks and a green eye staring back at him in disbelief. "Cregan? What are you doing here?"
"Why shouldn't I be here? It's my room after all."
Myrcella replied with a scoff of bemusement. "I highly doubt that, dearly betrothed. We aren't married just yet, remember?"
"What are you talking about? This is clearly-" yet after turning around for a moment he noticed that this in fact was not the way to his own chambers. The realization of his actions soon caught on and he straightened both his posture and his attitude. "You must forgive me, it seems I stumbled around the Keep in a stupor. Must have hit my head harder than I thought…"
"Hit your head? What are you on about? And where did you get those bruises?! Don't tell me Ser Barristan has been-" he interrupted the Princess.
"No, I trained with Ser Roland today. It was… an experience."
"Yes, I can bloody well see that, and so can half of King's Landing if you keep walking around like that." The tone in which she was speaking reminded him all too much of his twin, ever the dotting sister. Myrcella sighed, and spoke once more. "Well we can't have you walking around looking like you came out of a dog canal, give me a moment and we'll put some powder on you."
"I'm not sure covering bruises is what your powder is meant for."
"Meant or not we'll not have the son of the Hand and the King's squire walking around like you are. You may not be one for appearances Cregan but that doesn't mean you shouldn't have some modicum of self-awareness as to how people see you." The conversation between them turned more into a lecture than anything else. Myrcella closed the door and he heard footsteps getting quieter, which meant it was probably alright to open it now. As he went to open the door for a second time, however, he had it shut in front of him once more. "Wait until I put something on first!"
He was getting rather tired of headaches, and doors being slammed in his face.
"Alright, you can come in now!" He heard the princess call, and so he entered. Finally being able to get a good look at her, Cregan saw she was wearing a nightgown under the red dress she had hastily put on. "Sit on the bed there and I'll get my box." once more Cregan did as he was told.
"So is that why you didn't want me barging in here? Usually people don't stroll around their chambers midday in nightgowns."
"So I slept in? So what? There wasn't much for me to do today and unlike you boys I can't spend my free time riding around the forests or training in the courtyard. Besides, I know you well enough to know you're not the type to come barging into women's rooms unannounced."
"I never took you for the bashful type."
"And I'm not. It wasn't the gown that was the problem Cregan I was… doing something." Myrcella scoured through the layers of the box, pulling a thin brown brush alongside a small tin of what he only assumed was that powder she was talking about.
"And what was that?"
She stood still for a moment and stiffened, it was clear she meant to say something yet stopped herself halfway. "It was… nothing. Forget I said anything." having acquired her tools, she took the brush and tin along with her to the bed.
"Very well then." Cregan commented. "I suppose I'll just fill in the blanks for myself." he made a show of crossing his arms and closing his eyes in a contemplative stance, with the only response from the princess being a light punch and push on the shoulder.
"Ugh, you're vile." she said as she sat down next to him.
"Well that wasn't my first thought but if it's a step in the right direction I can gladly visualize something more accurate." he said, eyes still closed.
"Stop it!" She pushed him once more yet Cregan ferociously held his guard and did not break stance.
"When the lady doth refuse to tell, it is only nature for the man to speculate." he tried to give his best impression of Maester Luwin, yet failed miserably at it, Robb was always better at it than him.
"Fine…" she tossed the brush and tin onto the bed and crossed her own arms in annoyance. "If you must know, I was dancing. Or rather, practicing."
"Practicing dance?" he unfolded his arms and opened his eyes to sit normally again. "Not quite uncommon for young ladies of the court. What is there to be embarrassed about that?"
"It's not the dancing Cregan. I love dancing, it's fun, lovely, energetic. I love watching others enjoy themselves within it, and I always daydreamed about doing the same. But when I do… I stumble, I get nervous. Don't tell me you didn't notice me struggling to keep myself steady back in Winterfell."
"You're correct, I did notice." he answered honestly. "But that still doesn't answer the question of why you're embarrassed to admit you wish for practice."
"Oh please, I'm the Royal Princess. Do you think women like my mother had these kinds of troubles at my age? Women like Shiera Seastar or Good Queen Alysanne. Their hearts most likely didn't buckle and yield at the first sign of a dance hall."
"You're correct on both accounts there. It is a good thing you're not those women then." Myrcella looked at him with unscrupulous eyes, not sure on how to respond.
"What do you mean?"
"The worst thing one can do in life is compare themselves to others. Eventually, you'll obsess over it to the point where you stop being your own person, grasping onto the good of each and every one of the people you're trying to imitate, while at the same time not seeing the bad you're harboring." Cregan explained, before continuing. "My father told me that."
"Well then, perhaps your father would have made for a better Maester or Philosopher than as Lord of Winterfell." she quipped, sarcastically.
"Perhaps he would have, but circumstances being the way they were, he had very little choice in the matter." It seemed his words reminded her of the shared past their fathers shared, and the tragedy that lay beneath it for both.
"You're right, it's silly. There's far worse problems people have and here I am worrying about my two left feet…"
"You're wrong." Cregan said simply. "There's no shame in wanting to be good at something you love, Myrcella. The problem merely lies in your one mistake."
"Oh?" that seemed to pique her interest. "And what exactly would that be?"
Cregan got up from the bed and stood to face the princes. "Perhaps you and I cannot share the same pastimes and training regimens, but there is one thing that lies in common with both." In a dramatic yet elegant move he put one hand behind his back and another in front of her, palm open. "Doing it alone is never the answer."
She looked at him in stunned silence for a moment, unsure on how to respond. Eventually, she fell under pressure and cracked a smile. "Is this your fancy way of asking me to dance with you, Lord Stark?"
"Interpret it however you wish. But the truth in the matter is that be it practice or training, having it be done alone will only facilitate your errors. So Myrcella, will you dance with me?"
The princess could only sigh at his words. "Only you could make something like that sound so dry." Yet eventually she took his hand and was raised from the bed. "Very well Cregan Stark, let us dance."
And so they did, one step at a time. With one arm around her waist and another holding their hands out to the side, they circled around the room. He made sure to place his feet in between Myrcellas, slowly gliding her along the floor and stopping her every time she would raise them. Throughout it all the princess never took her eyes off the Stark, a small smile ever present on her lips.
As time passed, she became far less rigid and began to even enjoy herself in the whole act it seemed. Intermittently he would either pick up the pace or slow down, sometimes he would stop dead in his tracks and sway her from side to side, waiting for her to take the initiative.
"You were right about Winterfell." he said abruptly, causing the princess to hum with a raised brow. "Back when we danced then, I could practically feel you shaking head to toe. You're much more relaxed now."
"Well, I can't deny you know how to lead a lady." she said quietly, "But I still feel like there's something missing..."
"Like what?" Cregan asked.
"Music! It's not a dance without music now is it?"
"True enough. It's a shame then we don't have a bard on standby to play us a melody." he replied, not liking where this was going.
"Indeed, but what we do have is your sister's pristine singing voice, a voice I heard from a little songbird that you share." The viper had laid the trap ever so naturally before Cregan, and he swore he would strangle his twin one day for those comments.
"No."
"Please Cregan, come now don't be stubborn. Sing me a song"
"I am doing this out of the kindness of my heart Myrcella, but singing is a bridge I do not intend to cross." even he was a prideful man, one who was willing to swallow it in times of need, yet this was not a time of need.
Looking into Myrcella's emerald green eyes however, that pride would mean the world to her right now. "Then hum a tune, any tune! Please, for me."
Stubborn as a Stark should be, he relented, but in the end his heart couldn't take it. It reminded him of all those times Margaery had guilted him into singing. Myrcella herself was not so adept in the ways of manipulating his strings, but if she took courses from her sister, he was afraid this would become a recurring thing.
Beaten by the princess' wanting gaze, he finally gave in, and began to hum a tune on the spot. There was no particular melody he was trying to imitate, merely a beat of vocals to fill the air as they danced. And so Cregan found a new way to spend his time with the Princess. And Myrcella found herself a personal dance instructor.