Blake

The next day was beautiful, as the sun's light shimmered across the water of the Ruby Ford, dancing between the stones. Blake swore she saw a glimmer of something red lurking under the water's surface, but it was gone when she looked again. It was likely her mind and eyes playing tricks on her. Blake took a deep breath as a light breeze tickled her cheeks. Uncle Robert had slowed the pace of their caravan, deciding to rest at the Crossroad Inn for a few days. Any urgency he had disappeared as soon as they entered the Riverlands. Not that she could blame him, they seemed very tranquil and peaceful, almost idyllic at times.

Blake sat beneath a willow tree, one leg drawn up, the other stretched out along the slope that led down toward the water's edge. Taking advantage of the privacy, she decided to wear her trousers, with a black tunic and matching cloak. As much as she liked wearing dresses, pants always felt more comfortable in case something horrible arose, and just for offering ease of movement. With one hand brushing her bangs out of her view, and the other playing with a thin tree branch that was about two feet long above her head, Blake smiled. It was the simple moments that brought her the most joy, she suspected.

Her golden amber eyes drifted towards Arya and Mycah, who were play-dueling with some sticks in the woods. Arya darted forward with wild glee, stick in one hand, making loud, exaggerated battle cries. Mycah responded with more caution, blocking her blows with practiced clumsiness. Nymeria, Arya's beautiful direwolf, watched quietly as she played on the riverbank, covering herself in mud. Their laughter rang out freely, untouched by decorum or duty, it was loud, joyful, and alive. She envied them at times.

Blake watched them with a quiet interest as she reached up to snap the branch, bringing it down into her lap. They were both sloppy, which was to be expected, really. Mycah's stance was too tight, his feet too close together. Arya's strikes were erratic but bold, fueled more by instinct than training, leaving openings for a trained foe to exploit. Still, there was something admirable about her tenacity, the girl fought like she had something to prove. Anyone could tell they were trying to imitate what they saw in the sparring yard, and weren't an actual threat.

Most girls Arya's age were being fitted for gowns or trained to pour wine without spilling a drop. At least, in the nobility, the smallfolk were another thing altogether. Arya, by contrast, seemed to have more in common with a young squire than a highborn lady. That defiance, that fire, would be punished in King's Landing, it was a city that burned the wild out of people, especially girls. Only the rich and powerful were allowed to burn wildly, and even then, that would soon morph into something worse.

Blake's gaze lingered as Mycah deflected Arya's wild thrust with a deft twist of his stick. He stepped to the side, light on his feet, and tapped her arm in a playful but precise strike. Arya grunted, reset her stance, and came again, fierce and fast, but Mycah blocked each blow with growing confidence. He was taller and stronger, which made all the difference when both were unskilled and sloppy.

Aura was a game changer in this world, acting as a personal shield, strength enhancer, and speed boost, just to name a few benefits. It's what allowed Weiss to win the Melee on Joffrey's nameday. She had made a foolish mistake, in Blake's mind, revealing her glyphs so easily.

Rumors and whispers took a while to spread without Remnant's Scrolls, but they still existed. Even now many would call her a witch or abomination, and more would believe her claims that her powers came from the Seven, with her seven-pointed glyphs. At the very least, nobody would be willing to question it, given Tywin Lannister was likely bankrolling the stories of her as being pious. Blake, on the other hand, had no such excuse for her clones.

She was torn from her thoughts by the sound of hooves hitting the ground and drawing closer. Blake twisted her head and jumped to her feet as two riders approached. There was a flash of gold through the branches, Joffrey, riding beside Sansa Stark. Oh joy, just what her perfect day needed.

Joffrey rode at an idle pace, reins loose in his gloved hands, the sunlight catching off his gilded surcoat and the pommel of the sword at his hip. If one ignored his personality, he did look rather dashing, so she could at least get why Sansa was in love with him. Then again, she thought He was also a charming freedom fighter, so she couldn't exactly throw any stones. Sansa sat prim and proper beside him, her back straight, auburn hair bound in a braid, and her expression poised with the kind of nervous delight Blake had come to expect. She was speaking softly, though Joffrey didn't seem to be listening. His eyes were already fixed ahead on Arya and Mycah.

Blake stepped away from the trees, falling into a casual stance at the edge of the clearing. She rested the branch in her hands behind her back, hidden and watching. It may not have been a real weapon, but with her Aura it could withstand a few strikes. Plus, she didn't need the mess that would ensue if she drew live steel on Waters. Relative or not, he was still the Crown Prince, and that would be a right mess.

The prince's gaze narrowed as he spotted the two in the clearing, and he appeared to pick up the pace a tad. Arya had just lunged again, only to be countered by Mycah's quick sidestep and harmless jab to her ribs. The girl let out an indignant cry and tried to swipe at him with a flourish. Mycah laughed with childlike glee.

Joffrey did not, though the grin on his face was not a promising sign in the least. He tugged at his reins, guiding his horse off the road and into the field, startling a few nearby birds into flight. Blake almost wished she could be one of them right about now, this was about to get messy. Sansa followed hesitantly, glancing over at Blake as their mounts passed within earshot. The dark hair girl followed, keeping pace with her mounts.

"Lady Blake." she said politely, with the faintest smile.

Blake offered a nod. "Lady Sansa, Prince Joffrey."

Joffrey barely acknowledged her, his green eyes were fixed on the two children ahead. Arya had dropped her stick and was wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her sleeve, panting but laughing.

"Is that your sister?" Joffrey asked, too loudly, his voice lazy, yet edged. Blake tensed up, her grip on the branch behind her back tightening a tad.

Sansa's face lit up slightly. "Yes, that's Arya. And the butcher's boy, Mycah. They're just playing." She sounded disgusted at the mention of Mycah.

"Playing," Joffrey repeated, with a sneer. "Is that what they call brawling in the mud now?"

"Joffrey." Blake said once more, dropping his title but keeping her branch hidden still. Arya and Mycah had now finally noticed their visitors. The young boy quickly dropped his branch and fell to one knee, bowing his head deeply. Nymeria had also noticed, slowly drawing closer to her master. Her upper lip appeared to be twitching, while her eyes were staring at the Prince.

Arya frowned and turned, breathing hard. Her Stark grey eyes darted between her sister and the prince, then to Blake, before settling on Mycah with an expression of dawning confusion. "Get up, Mycah." she muttered, grabbing his shoulder.

"Stay down." Joffrey ordered coolly, dismounting from his horse with theatrical ease. His sword gleamed as he unsheathed it, not a tourney blade, but real steel. The sound of it sang as he drew it free. "You dare raise arms against a noble girl? Even in play, it's an insult. You shall need to learn your place."

Nymeria was growling now, the fur on her back on end. Her upper lip was curled back in a snarl, showing fangs the size of daggers.

"He didn't-" Arya began speaking, taking a few steps forward.

Joffrey's eyes narrowed at her. "Be silent, girl."

Mycah remained frozen, still kneeling, too frightened to move or speak. Blake couldn't blame him, this was moving too fast and too seriously for him to take any risks like this.

"Cousin, they were simply playing." Blake said coldly, her expression unreadable. She stood about two feet behind Joffrey, a little off to the side. "There is no need for any punishment."

"You dare question your future King!" Joffrey barked, tightening his grip on his sword. He didn't give Blake a glance, the young fool always hated her eyes. He turned his attention back to Mycah. "Pick up your weapon, Butcher Boy. I'll show you the punishment for pretending to be a knight."

Mycah did not move, his face turned deathly pale with wide eyes. Arya stepped between them, fists clenched at her sides.

"He won't fight you." She said, voice shaking, yet she was still standing firm. "He's just a boy."

"So are most squires," Joffrey said, lifting his sword slightly. "If he wants to play at swords, let him taste real steel."

Then he stepped forward, blade raised and already descending. It was a clumsy strike, showing no real talent with the blade. Yet to Arya, it must've seemed like something fast, nigh unstoppable.

Blake moved faster.

The branch snapped forward with a sharp crack, intercepting Joffrey's swing an inch from Mycah's face. The impact sent a jolt up her arm, but her stance didn't falter. The makeshift weapon, reinforced by her aura, held strong against the polished edge of Lannister-forged steel, which was redirected to the side.

Joffrey recoiled with a sharp intake of breath, eyes widening with shock and outrage as he turned towards her. "You-!"

Blake said nothing, her expression like stone. Her body shifted subtly, placing herself between Joffrey and the cowering boy. One hand still held the branch, the other resting lightly at her side, ready for more.

"You raise a sword against a kneeling child?" Blake asked, her voice low and dangerous. "And you call yourself a prince?"

"I am a prince." Joffrey hissed, stepping back, his cheeks flushed crimson as he held his blade with both hands. He turned back towards Sansa, still mounted on her horse, apparently struck dumb by the spectacle. "H-he struck your sister!"

Arya's voice cut in, fierce and firm. "No he didn't! We were sparring, you stupid liar!"

Sansa looked away, her face embarrassed and red.

Joffrey stared at Blake as if she were a wild beast that had just lunged at his throat. His sword hovered mid-air, uncertain now. He wasn't sure what to do, his easy prey had proven to have fangs and he was also well aware this would not go well if he pushed it. Nymeria's growl had deepened into a low, dangerous snarl.

"You dare assault a prince of the realm?" He spat, retreating a step. Coward, she hadn't even hit him, but that would change if he kept this up, Blake didn't need a real weapon to seriously injure him.

"I dare stop a fool from doing something reckless." Blake said darkly, her eyes locked onto his. Her amber eyes locked onto his jade ones, and he turned away.

"You cannot talk to me in this way! I am your Prince!" Joffrey growled, sounding more like a little cub than a true lion.

"And I am your kin." Blake took a step forward, retracting her aura from the branch, which snapped in half instantly, to keep her cover. "I will be sure to inform your Father upon our return to the Inn."

Joffrey hesitated for a single moment, then, with a furious huff, he sheathed his sword in one rough motion and turned on his heel.

"Come, Sansa." He barked. "Let them wallow in the mud." Joffrey stalked back to his horse, not waiting to see if she followed. Sansa hesitated a moment, her eyes lingering on her sister, on Blake, and on Mycah, then she turned without a word and trailed after him.

Only after they were gone did Arya exhale, her shoulders slumping. Mycah vomited on the ground, with a little getting on Blake's black boots.

"H-How did you do that?" Arya asked in between a few deep breaths as what had just happened seemed to hit home. Nymeria had finally calmed down and was nuzzling her mistress' legs.

"Do what?" Blake threw what was left of the branch on the ground, despite her Aura infusion, it was still just a branch after all. She turned to check on the two children, who were staring at her as if she was something out of Legend.

"You moved so fast!" Arya's grey eyes were wide, either with awe or something else. "And blocked that stupid prince's sword."

Blake gave her a small smile and pressed a finger to her lips, shushing the girl. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

The Stark girl looked confused as Blake helped Mycah to his feet. "Stay out of sight until we depart, and if anyone asks, you were never here."

Mycah wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and blew his nose as well. "T-Thank you, M'lady."

The butcher's boy nodded absentmindedly, wide-eyed and still in shock.

Blake gave him a kind smile as she turned back to the direction of the Inn. "Come, let's return before Joffrey gets a chance to spread his own tale."

She had a feeling today was going to be a long day.

A/N

Butterflies butterflies.