"You're slowing down, Pycelle," Jaime remarked. He cast a glance at the old man trailing behind and smiled. "At this speed, we won't finish the run by dawn."
"Y-Yes!" Pycelle huffed. "I will do better!"
So he did. The seven-pace distance between them shrunk with his hastened step. In moments the two ran shoulder to shoulder again.
It's still strange to see him like this. Jaime gave the older man to his left a look-over.
No longer did he wear the red, velvet robe already uncommon to most Maester's Jaime knew. For his training, he wore a thick, gray gambeson over a white shirt. A long-sleeved mesh of mail went over both, clanking with every movement. Black, stained leather boots stomped on over the grass and dirt of the godswood. His Maester chain left behind in a chest within his chambers.
Closer to a very old squire than a man of the Citadel. Jaime thought with amusement, not for the first time. I won't fault him for his efforts, though. Most wouldn't dare try this training at his age.
"There is a request I would make of you," Pycelle proclaimed the morning after Howland arrived. The Company had sat down to break their fast in private when he said it. "It will sound strange, I know but I wish for you all to train me, to help make me strong."
The morose silence got replaced by one of pointed looks between the Company.
"Honing one's body isn't the easiest thing to do," Geralt replied first. "Even for a young, healthy man, there are many things to consider. Those variables only multiply for someone past their prime."
"I am aware of how... unlikely it is for me to make much progress," Pycelle said. "I too am a man learned in the ways of the body. Muscles, bones, and even hair weaken with time. All the same, I wish to at least try. A terrible danger awaits the entire world and I must help stop it. I do not wish to be a burden in our future efforts."
"Pycelle is stronger than you know," Jaime spoke next, glancing at the others at the table. "He rode from the godswood to Kingspyre Tower then ran up the whole bloody thing without pause. Most of the way, he was scarce a step or two behind me. I say with certainty that most of my old fellow squires at Crakehall wouldn't have managed either."
"He beat one of the wraiths back to death with a branch too," Lord Oswell continued, raising a mug at the Maester. "What harm is there in seeing if he can toss some hay bales or stones?"
"Ladder climbing would do as well," Ser Arthur said. "Nothing hones one's endurance like scaling a tall wall with armor weighing you down."
Geralt leaned back into his seat and frowned in silence. Jaime noted the concern on his face and the slight dark bags under his eyes at the time. No doubt the thought of added danger to one of his comrades weighed on him. All the same, Jaime thought it unfair to Pycelle to not at least try.
"There are some things we could do," The Witcher said after a time. "Breathing techniques and muscle stretching to ease your body into the exercises."
"See?" Oswell said to Pycelle, who looked very relieved by Geralt's words. "We'll have you in fighting shape in short order."
That day it was Jaime's turn to mentor and he looked to test how long and far Pycelle's legs could carry him. Having grown accustomed to the godswood, Jaime mapped out a series of routes within it. Paths where the forest gave way to clearings. Other trails were so dense it was a struggle to see a few paces ahead. This route stretched from the edges of the godswood and wound like a snake closer to its center.
The lands of the far north were as dense as Harrenhal's godswood and dozens of times its size, as Howland told them. Neither the sun nor the moon could pierce through the thick leaves. Snows could grow to piles reaching higher than a man's knees. To even have a chance of lasting there a day, one needed endurance and situational awareness.
Despite the large beads of sweat falling down his brow, Pycelle seemed not to struggle too much. For now.
Let's see how he deals with this. Without warning, Jaime took a sudden turn from the more open path they'd run in so far. With practiced ease, he leaped through a bush and landed atop a large stone. One of many scattered along the downhill dirt path leading deeper into the forest. The rocks were large enough for a man to stand on but far enough apart to strain one's jumps and balance.
Jaime turned around to see a ragged breathed Pycelle peek over the bush. He smiled and waved him over. "Come on!"
He leaped from stone to stone, the weight of his mail forgotten. Jaime felt a rush of freedom as he hovered in mid-air. Freedom and satisfaction with each successful landing. In a few moments, he'd reached the bottom of the steep hill.
Geralt's balance practices have paid off. Jaime thought with no small satisfaction. Looking back, Jaime again saw Pycelle still peeking through the bush. He still made no move to follow. "You don't have to jump as I did!" The shout carried through trees. "Climb down, brace yourselves with the trees if need be."
The Maester said nothing for a few moments. Jaime began to wonder if he'd gone too far when Pycelle began his descent. It was a slow, somewhat clumsy affair. He took a long time looking about, prodding the ground and rocks with his boots. Jaime heard the raggedness in his breath grow. A time or two he considered climbing up to offer aid but Pycelle persevered on his own.
A good while later, after performing a small leap from a tree, he descended the hill. At once, he gasped and sat down on a bed of grass. If he was sweat-stained before, one could mistake him for having gone for a swim now. All the same, Jaime didn't miss the satisfied smile through his thick, white beard.
"I... did it..." He said, wiping his face with a sleeve.
"That you did," Jaime unhooked the waterskin dangling from his belt. "Here, a reward well earned."
Pycelle's eyes snapped to it like a hunting hound spotting a hare. He did not take so much as snatch it out of Jaime's hand and drank much of it in a few mouthfuls. When he gasped at last for air, one might think he hadn't tasted water in years.
"Better?" Jaime inquired with a grin.
"Much, much, better," Pycelle said with another deep breath, closing his eyes. "To think, something as simple as walking down a hill could become so strenuous. My respect for you warriors of the realm grows with each passing moment."
"You'll get better at it with time," Jaime sat down next to him, accepting the returned waterskin. "First time I ran through a forest in armor, I damn near broke my neck. I didn't see a rock stick out on the dirt path and lost my balance because of it."
"What happened next?"
"I rolled down a hill like a giant, plated barrel."
Pycelle gave a good-natured laugh at the story, Jaime even found himself joining him. With most people, he'd sooner die than recount that bit of humiliation to anyone.
Cersei and Uncle Gerion would tease me about it to my grave. Father would likely drive me to it with his scolding about Lannister's not acting like fools. Now I'm telling it to the Grand Maester with the same ease as I draw breath. Jaime shook his head at the strange turns his life kept taking. He wondered, not for the first time, which one would come for him next.
Once they'd settled down into a pleasant silence, Jaime noted a faint sound in the distance. One at odds with the gentle rustling leaves and chirping of birds. A series of thwacks, wood striking against the wood.
Practice swords. He soon concluded, he'd recognize the sound anyplace. Steel, even blunted, would carry far further in this place. Who could it be?
Jaime discarded any notion of it being one of the older or seasoned warriors. They were all far too busy falling on their arses against Geralt and the Kingsguard in the training yard. It couldn't be the Whent boys either. They watched those sparring bouts with bewitched fascination each day. No one else came to mind.
Whoever it is, they don't want anyone to know what they're up to. Why else train so deep within the forest? Intrigued, Jaime decided to find out who these secretive fighters were.
Looking over to Pycelle, he pressed a finger to his lips and gestured for the older man to follow. The Grand Maester looked confused but otherwise obeyed the silent order. Slow and steady they rose from the grass and took measured steps toward the source.
For his part, Pycelle endured this surprising bit of sneaking about quite well. Not only did the Maester keep pace with Jaime but slowed his movements down for the ringmail to not give them away. They stalked through thick bushes, squeezed between thick, packed groups of trees. The thwacking noise grew louder, joined by grunts and pants.
One of the voices was a boy's, not yet deepened by manhood. The other caught his attention much more. It was higher pitched, and smoother. Could it be a... girl? Jaime thought it a ridiculous notion until he remembered what he and Cersei used to do back home. This grows more interesting by the moment.
They reached and halted at the edge of a small clearing, their approach masked by a thick, brown berry bush. They both knew of this forest gap, situated northeast and 15 minutes away from the central heart tree.
On two of its edges, piles of moss-covered stones, some twice the height of most grown men lay. Old trees and thick bushes of herbs aplenty formed the rest of its outskirts. Amongst the low grass, there were patches and dirt holes where nothing grew. Geralt hypothesized places such as these were former weirwood homes.
Now they were being used for sparring practice by a most surprising person.
Jaime did not recognize Lady Lyanna at first. To be truthful, he scarce noticed her at all when she had arrived with the others three days past. Brown-haired, and long-faced like all the Starks, he would not consider her a great beauty. Nor did she say or do anything to stand out much in his eyes. A good lord's daughter in all the most boring of ways.
He could not have been more wrong it seemed. The usual blue dress' she wore lay folded atop one of the smaller rocks. Underneath it, she hid a short grey gambeson, black leather breeches, and brown boots. A black band circled her head, keeping her untied hair in check.
What most drew Jaime's attention was the way she fought.
Her brother, younger but stronger came at her with fierce and slower blows. The slimmer lady waited and with a cat's grace danced around him and retaliated with equal ease. If Benjen overstepped, Lyanna struck at his leg to break his balance. If he chose a more passive approach, she tested him with feints, probing for a crack in the defense.
She's been at this for years. He knew right away. No amateur could fight like this. Not even I could when I started.
As he watched the battle, Jaime noticed something else when her face came into view: her smile. There was no practiced politeness in it but the untamed joy of one allowed to cut loose. Her grey eyes came alive with a wild light.
Whilst he imagined how good she'd look with her hair left untied, another idea came to Jaime's mind. If Cersei or Tyrion were there, they'd despair or laugh at his smile
"Jaime," Pycelle whispered from his right. "I do not believe it wise to interrupt them or make our presence known at all."
"Why not? The lady wishes to train?" Jaime's grin widened further. "Who better than an anointed knight for an opponent?"
Pushing through the push, Jaime walked toward the dueling Starks at an unhurried pace. Pycelle trailed behind, sputtering something in a vain attempt to stop him. Benjen Stark noticed him first, his sister's back turned toward Jaime. He made the dreadful mistake to freeze mid-battle. The price for that was a wooden blade jabbed into his stomach.
"What was that?" Lyanna laughed, patting him on the shoulder as he coughed. "It's not like you to let your guard down so."
"I wouldn't fault him, Lady Stark. In his place, I'd have been rather surprised too."
She spun in place and then halted, dumbfounded upon seeing him. A blush soon turned her cheeks red, accentuating her hair and the grey eyes he found most drawn to.
Aye... There is more beauty to her than I thought. Jaime's smile turned less mocking. But a blushing maid is not who I came for.
"S-Ser Jaime," She stammered in a way he found charming. "T-This is-"
"A secret sparring session," Jaime crossed his arm and nodded toward her wooden sword. "I've partaken in a few myself to recognize one. Given your skill, I would wager to say this is far from your first bout."
"... You cannot tell our father," Benjen Stark said, recovering from the stomach blow. There was a pleading look in his eyes. "If he knew we were doing this..."
"Bloody furious I would say," Jaime finished for him. Noticing their mounting worry, he chose to lower his smile. "Have no fear, on my honor as a knight, I swear upon the Warrior himself not to reveal what I've seen today."
"I swear to do the same," Grand Maester Pycelle said from behind Jaime. The Starks hadn't noticed him, it seemed, and stared like a pair of owls at the old scholar clad in body armor. "Uhm, good day, my lord and lady."
"G-Goodday, Grand Maester..." Benjen answered and made a stiff bow.
"Unlike my fellow curse breaker here," Jaime's grin widened. "I do have a request to make, my curiosity has been most piqued by this discovery."
"A request?" Lady Stark's shoulders tensed. "What is it?"
"A duel against you," Jaime said without a hint of mockery. The collective shock of now all three people about him made it difficult. "I've watched you two fight for some time ere approaching you. You are good, Lady Stark. Very good indeed. I'm curious to see how well you'd fare against me."
Benjen Stark looked torn, no doubt looking for some way to refuse without angering anyone. Lady Stark, fixed him with a searching stare, looking for signs of a jape or trickery behind his words. In the silent exchange between them, she would have found none.
"Ser Jaime," Benjen said. "This is a most… generous, uh, gift-"
"Which I accept," Lyanna announced, and for a third time, her brother all but reeled in pain. "Ben, give him your sword."
"L-Lya, you can't be serious! He's an anointed knight, he fought Harren the Black himself!"
"A fine sparring partner, I would think," She smiled with the anticipation of one eager to fight. "Besides, I've always wanted someone else to join us for training. And Ser Jaime has already sworn not to reveal us, what's the harm?"
"A great deal of it may come to you," Her brother answered with concern. "If you get hurt, there will be no masking it from father."
"He's a true knight as you pointed out," Lyanna shot him a glare over her shoulder. "I would think he is masterful enough with a blade to ensure nothing grievous happens. And he's not foolish enough to harm me. Not when we're preparing for war. We have the Grand Maester with us as well. He is sure to mend any bruise or small cut," She turned to Jaime and Pycelle, almost challenging them to refute her. "Is that not so?"
"Well, I do not have my equipment with me," Pycelle said. "But as someone who has trained with Ser Jaime, I can vouch for his quality in this regard."
Jaime suppressed a smile at his support. Instead, he affirmed Lady Starks words with a nod. "Flawless logic in every regard," He then gazed past her to the youngest Stark. "I will swear it again if need be: I only wish to duel. Should things go too far, I'll make sure to forestall any injuries. Is that acceptable for you, Lord Stark?"
He said nothing for the span of a few heartbeats. The startled pup from moments ago released a long, quiet breath. When his eyes met Jaime's again, it was with a steely glare quite close to Lord Rickard's.
"Very well, Ser. I will hold you to that."
Jaime said nothing but bowed his head in silent thanks and respect. In a few more years, he will cow men many times his size with that look.
"Well then, if we're done arguing," Lady Starks fingers tightened about the wooden pommel. The challenge and amusement burned anew in her eyes. "Shall we?"
Jaime smirked. "Of course."
They went on to fight for seven rounds, close to an hour in length. The first to fall on their back or to get disarmed lost the bout. And Lady Stark did all the losing, though not without a fight.
Despite her inexperience fighting anyone besides her brother, she proved quick and nimble. Her practice sword came in quick, successive slashes and thrusts interspersed with pauses. With these, she both recovered and attempted to hide any notion there was an attacking rhythm. She knew she could not overpower him so disarming remained her only option.
Unfortunately for her, Jaime had become quite nimble himself. He was always quick and strong with a blade. But these past months of sparring with Geralt and the Kingsguard had taken it to new heights. He'd also gained a wealth of experience on how to deal with a quick-footed adversary.
On the last exchange, Lady Stark tried for a feint, masking a thrust with a swift slashing motion. Jaime saw through it at once. Slowed by weariness as she was, he side-stepped her blow with an easy half-pirouette. By the time she realized he was on her exposed left, his sword fell like a hammer. A loud thwack echoed through the forest and her blade fell useless to the ground.
"And that makes seven," Jaime said, smiling at the way she blinked in surprise.
"That was..." Lyanna trailed off, licking her dried lips. "T-That was amazing!"
She howled with laughter and beamed at him. Her eyes sparkled wide with wonder and amazement. "The way you avoided my attack! It looked exactly like the Witcher!"
Taken aback by the way her face brightened, Jaime faltered and cleared his throat. "Well, thank you. I must again give praise to you as well, my lady. I would dare say your skills surpass most squire's I've crossed swords with over the years."
He meant it too. He couldn't imagine any of the lads back at Crakehall managing to defeat her. Merret Frey would have tripped up and cut his own throat open keeping track of her in the yard.
Lyanna's cheeks reddened at the praise and her eyes failed to meet his. "T-Thank you, ser. Your praise means a great deal."
"Are you alright Lya," Ere they could speak further, Benjen Stark appeared between them.
"Are you alright, Lya?" Ere they could speak further, Benjen Stark appeared between them out of nowhere. Jaime glared at his back, and Lyanna turned her head away.
"I'm fine, Ben," She gave a curt answer. "No worse than the last six times you intruded."
"I'm only-"
"Being a pest."
The retort was on the tip of Jaime's tongue. For an instant, he thought he'd said it too. In truth, it was Lyanna, crossing her arms and frowning at her brother. Almost daring him to refute the claim.
Wholly unaware of the tension brewing, Pycelle walked up to Jaime and looked at the sky. "Midday is drawing near, mayhaps we should return to the castle? Though rested, I've become quite hungry."
"... We should go too," Benjen said. "Father will grow suspicious if we're away for too long. We don't want him sending someone after us."
The prick of irritation Jaime had felt at the intrusion worsened. He had enjoyed himself fighting Lyanna. So much he hadn't even noticed how much time had passed in what felt like an instant. He didn't wish it to end.
Lady Starks mouth made an ugly twist at her brother's news. She wants to keep going too. Fine, we'll do that and the two of them can leave if they wish. Jaime almost felt bold enough to utter it. A voice of reason he once found quite easy to ignore stayed his tongue. ...It wouldn't work. For a multitude of reasons...
His temper cooled by this. Jaime opted to consider his options while he still could. A few moments later, a simple idea came to mind.
"You're right both right, we should all return in due course," Jaime announced. "Before we do, I would ask you both if you would consider meeting with us again to train?"
The question he foremost directed at Benjen Stark who turned to face him. "I enjoyed today's exercises quite a lot and would not mind for them to continue. At least while we're still in Harrenhal. Mayhaps we could make it an exchange of sorts: I aid your sister while you help Pycelle here."
"M-Me?" Benjen answered, taken aback. "How could I help the Grand Maester?"
"Come now, Lord Stark," Jaime smiled. " You're a man of the North and that's where the coming war is. I'm certain you've some skills or knowledge you can pass on to Pycelle here to help us all in the coming days."
"Ben's the best tracker of us all," Lyanna stated with a sister's pride. "If it's in the forest, he'll find it. Father and Brandon joke that he reads tracks in the dirt and snow better than his letters."
"Most impressive," Pycelle rescued the situation. Jaime had feared that the last comment would spur an argument and ruin his plan. "Geralt and Lord Reed are most busy with other matters to teach such things to me. I would be most glad to learn from you, Lord Stark."
He's trapped. Jaime tried hard not to let his satisfaction at this show. Refusing the Grand Maester is no easy thing to do. All the more so when he's a noted hero asking for your tutelage.
Benjen Stark was all too aware of this. Twice he opened his mouth to answer only for no words to come out. While he struggled, Lyanna came up and patted him on back.
"Come on, Ben, what is there to think about? You're a good teacher. A few lessons with you and the Grand Maester will be stalking the woods like a direwolf."
"... Yes, of course," The lad relented at last, trying not to sound too defeated. Standing upright, he bowed to Pycelle. "It would be a great honor to aid you, Grand Maester."
"Splendid, most splendid! I would think of some questions to ask and pose them to you when next we met. Mayhaps tomorrow early, at this same place?"
"... Yes, we can do this again tomorrow."
May all the gods bless you with long life my friend. Jaime's appreciation grew ten sizes. You've helped me more than you realize.
With the matter settled, the Starks prepared to leave. They hid the wooden swords in the gaps between the stones. Lady Lyanna put on the dress she'd discarded over her training garb. Jaime struggled not to stare too hard as she removed the headband, her wild hair flowing in the wind.
I'll have to find a way to take it off her next time we fight.
Soon after, the Starks departed the clearing. As they did, Lady Stark caught Jaime's eye, and her gray, smiling gaze seared into his memory.