Disclaimer – This fanfiction was not written by me; it belongs to the user William Dellinger on alternatehistory, by publishing it here I only intend to bring it to a wider audience and make it available for offline reading. I do not claim any ownership of the content.

Rhaegar IX
Late 274 AC

The spear slashed downward with the barest hint of a whistle, the thin blade parting the air in front of my face. I moved away, dancing on the balls of my feet, sword held loosely in my hand. The spear came at me again, weaving a tight figure-eight before darting for my eyes. He was pushing me back and it was all I could do to keep my feet beneath me. I didn't dare attempt to strike him; the last time I had tried that, he had countered blindly fast once I committed, slicing open my bicep. I was waiting for a particular moment, a lunge. Once he committed to that course of action I could use his own momentum against him, a counterstrike of my own.

Prince Lewyn, though, was not so easily trapped. He moved like smoke across glass, fluid, his boots tapping briefly against the stone of the theatre pit and his light armor making barely a sound, only the whisper of his spear signaling his attack. The man, in his early forties, wasn't even breathing hard as his assault passed relentless and became inhuman. The spear flashed again, faster than I thought possible. I was on reflex at this point, my sword moving of its own accord.

"Your footwork is greatly improved, Your Grace," Prince Lewyn said, his tone conversational. He could've been commenting on his breakfast. He drove the spear forward, nicking my ear when I didn't move quite fast enough. But it was the opening I was waiting for.

My ear still burning, I drove the spear aside and slammed my shoulder into him, knocking him off balance. I went on the offensive, striking hard low, then high, forcing my exhausted arms to move faster than they had ever moved before. The Dornish Prince moved gracefully, falling back rather than retreating, blocking every strike with either end of his spear. God, he was fast.

I made a misstep, thrusting while off balance in an attempt to keep him off balance. Prince Lewyn moved back a step further, the spear over his head with the tip pointed at me. We circled slowly, warily.

"The key to fighting the spear," he said, without a tremor or hesitation in his voice, "is to move inside the spear, Your Grace. I have the longer reach; any attack can be dealt with from a distance. You cannot strike me, while I can strike you." He lunged mid-sentence, a quick trio of strikes at my knee, neck, and groin. I blocked them all and we moved back into a circle.

I was tired; my muscles ached and my lungs were on fire. Blood trickled down from my ear, seeping under my armor and coating the inside of my sword hand. My grip on the sword grew slippery and I held it tighter to compensate.

"What if a man carries a greatsword?" I asked, buying time. "The reach is equal, then."

Prince Lewyn smiled. "Then you must be faster," he said with another flick of the sword tip at my eyes. I parried on reflex and raised my right foot without thinking. Something in my tired, unconscious mind had seen the blow coming. Maybe Prince Lewyn had held his balance off just a hair, or the strike came slower than it should have been. My reflexes told me the strike to my eyes was a feint, a diversion. That Prince Lewyn would strike, spin, and use the back end of the spear to knock my foreleg out from under me.

Sure enough, the end of the spear came round, aimed for where the back of my knee should have been. It instead struck stone and I turned into the left cross, my knuckles catching the prince evenly across his uncovered jaw. The blow drove him to one knee and I raised the edge of my sword beneath his throat.

Prince Lewyn began laughing, his mouth spreading open in blooded mirth. "I caught Ser Barristan with the same trick during his first months in the Kingsguard. I see he has passed it along," he said, spitting a mouthful of blood to the stone.

I dropped the sword point in complete, abject exhaustion. "It took a few lessons to sink in," I said, offering my hand to the prince, who accepted, and I pulled him to his feet.

Still laughing, Prince Lewyn continued. "It took more than a few for Ser Barristan." He wiped the blood from his mouth. "Many young men focus only on the weapon in their training. They see the sword, they look for the sword, they try to predict the sword. They forget that it is the body that is the true weapon. That this," he said, grabbing my sword hand still sticky with my blood, "is only as good as this," pointing two fingers into my forehead.

I nodded, understanding his point. I had been fighting, up until now, with the most valuable parts of my mind in relation to the sword – Rhaegar and his memories – safely tucked away, where he could do no harm. I felt a small bit of pride flare in my tired, tired body that it was now my own mind and my own memories that I was using whenever I fought.

A servant brought cool water to the both of us and we drank deeply. "What brought the greatsword to your mind, Your Grace?" Prince Lewyn asked. "It is a heavy weapon, two-handed. Useful only in very few circumstances. I hope you haven't chosen that as your next weapon to train with."

I shook my head, sweat stinging my eyes. "I recently made the acquaintance of Lord Rickard Stark. He carried the Stark ancestral greatsword, Ice."

Prince Lewyn nodded in understanding. "Valyrian steel is a formidable weapon, Your Grace. It makes the blade lighter and a greatsword made of Valyrian steel is a dangerous thing. In the right hands," he said pointedly. "In the wrong hands, or inexperienced hands, one is more likely to lose a foot or a leg, trying to parry with a sword nearly six feet long," he said, which was as close to a scolding as I would get from a member of the Kingsguard. "Young Dayne uses his to great effect. He has been training with us as well."

I felt a pang of regret. Neither Jon nor Arthur had understood why I had left the Red Keep after the executions of the wet nurse and my father's mistress' family. But where Jon had come to The Globe many times over the course of the last eight months, Arthur had come only infrequently. He had seen Brynden and Alysanne, of course, and had even come to watch the construction a few times, but he remained mostly at the Red Keep. He spoke of it as his duty to his house, that a Dayne fostered at the Red Keep was a symbol of the honor of House Dayne, and to leave would be a refutal of my father's offer.

I understood, of course. Still, it would have been nice to have him around. "Ask him to come with you the next time we meet for training, if you would, Prince Lewyn. I would love to see Dawn in action."

I noticed Jenny standing to one side, mostly hidden behind the curtain, watching me with those big, wet, green eyes. A slow smile crept across her face when she realized I saw her and I felt one cross my face as well. She turned, walking deeper into the theatre and I knew where she was going.

"And how is Lord Stark, Your Grace?" Prince Lewyn said, bringing me out of my thoughts.

"He appeared in good health," I said, noticing for the first time my seneschal, Arry, walking towards me with a sheaf of paper beneath his arm. "He had his son with him. And his daughter."

Prince Lewyn nodded. "It is proper, that you should meet with the Lords Paramount and their heirs early on, Your Grace. You will rule over them the same as your father one day. Building those relationships is an important part of being king."

I nodded as Arry finally reached us. "What is it today, Arry?"

Arry made a formal bow, first to me then Prince Lewyn. "Your Grace. Prince Lewyn. The receipts from last night have been tallied," he said, handing them to me.

I whistled once I got a look at the bottom line. "It appears I can officially label The Globe a success."

Arry nodded and gave as close as he ever got to a smile. "Yes, Your Grace. I only need your signature here, here, and here to purchase more wine and ale."

"They do like to drink at the show," I said, scribbling my name on the documents that Arry would later seal with my personal crest. "Prince Lewyn, how are your nephews? And your niece?" I had finally been able to process the prince's last comment, that developing relationships with the Lords Paramount was an important part of being king. And then it had taken me another moment to remember that Prince Lewyn was the uncle of the current Prince of Dorne.

"Doran is well; he spends most of his days in council meetings. Oberyn grows bored in Oldtown. Elia is in good health, as well as can be expected. I've written to her of your playhouse; she's expressed a great interest in seeing it."

I'll bet she has, I thought to myself. "I've given some thought to sending Izembaro off to tour the Seven Kingdoms with the play. Tell her she might not have to wait too long to see it." Thunder rumbled above and I could see darkening clouds swirling overhead through the open roof. "Arry," I said to the seneschal, "have the servants draw the covering. No sense in the place flooding if we can help it." Arry bowed quickly and scurried away toward the servants sweeping in the balcony. I turned back to Prince Lewyn. "Tell your nephews I would welcome their letters, if they can find the time. You're right; I should establish relationships with all the kingdoms of the realm."

Prince Lewyn bowed. "Your Grace," he said, turning to walk to the open door. "Remember, Your Grace," he called over his shoulder, "when fighting the spear, you must get inside the spear."

I stood there alone and finally realized how tired I was. My legs nearly refused to work as I trudged to the stage and then through one of the doors to the backstage area. I kept thinking back to what Prince Lewyn had said. I didn't think he was playing at politics by mentioning that I should be building relationships with the other kingdoms, and I really didn't think he was subtly proposing a possible marriage between myself and his niece. And what he had said was true; I needed to establish and maintain lines of communication with all of the Lords Paramount, and their heirs. It was why I had offered to bring young Brandon Stark into our training sessions. One day, I'd be sitting on that ugly, misshapen throne and I'd be expected to lead. With the threat of the Others coming in the next twenty-five years, it was never too early to build a coalition.

Yep. The secret to my strategy was the power of friendship. God help us all.

The carpenters had built a small, three room apartment behind backstage, room enough for myself and Ser Barristan. I came into the small sitting room and removed my light armor and boots, placing them in a space reserved for them on the wall. My clothes came off next and I stuck both arms into the wash basin, cleaning off the blood and sweat from training. I was careful with my ear, but it had already stopped bleeding. I heard footsteps outside the door as Ser Barristan took up his position, where he would stay until I came out for dinner. As I toweled off, I looked at the sitting room, barely twelve feet by twelve. The other two rooms were barely larger. As spacious as my rooms in the Red Keep were, it had never felt right to me. This was much better suited to my tastes, closed off from everything, without the ever-present patter of servants. It was quiet here and I could be alone.

Well, almost.

I opened the door to my bedroom, revealing the simple bed beneath a glass window and the hearth on the side wall giving off a little more light. She lay in my bed, wearing not a stitch of clothing, the soft glow of the window framing her in a halo of clarity.

Jenny smiled as I entered, arching her back, revealing the full ripeness of her breasts and the shade darker nipples. Her golden hair tumbled across her shoulders as she sat up, opening her legs and propping herself up by her arms. She drew one knee to her chest and stared at me, biting her bottom lip and eyeing my nakedness, just as I had eyed hers. When she spoke, it was with an insatiable hunger, a yearning that never failed to arouse me.

"I do hope you're not too tired."

***

An hour later, I sat up on the bed, listening to the storm outside while rain tapped across the window. The rain had brought a coolness to the air, but the heat from the hearth kept the tiny bedroom warm. Jenny lay behind me, dozing, tangled up in the sheets. I looked over my shoulder at her before leaning down to kiss the side of her neck, then her cheek. She moved, half-asleep, kissing me by reflex before turning away from me and deeper into the pillows and sheets.

I lay beside her and pulled her close to me, her body molding itself into mine. I drifted off, my lips pressed into the back of her neck and my arms wrapped around her.

I was finally home.