Fields of Gold - (Jaime SI)

[Daario]

ROBERT​

---

That morning, King's Landing showed off its best face. The sun shone brightly, piercing through the thin sea mist, making the walls of the Red Keep look glittering like polished copper. Seagulls screamed overhead, a sound that to Robert was usually annoying, but today sounded like a challenge of war.

Robert Baratheon sat on a stone bench in the castle gardens with Eddard Stark. They had just finished a long conversation about boring politics, revolving around who would be invited to the coronation feast and who would feel offended if their seat was too far from the King's table.

Suddenly, Robert slammed his hand onto his knee, making several sparrows foraging near his feet fly away in shock.

"Your sister..." said Robert suddenly, his voice heavy and demanding.

Ned turned, his mud-colored eyebrows raised slightly. He was chewing a piece of apple, and he stopped chewing to stare at his best friend.

"So what does she like, Ned?" urged Robert, leaning his body forward until his shadow covered Ned. His face was serious, more serious than when he held his weapon in the training arena.

This was an important matter. Very important. Lyanna's words yesterday, pathetic, boring, still rang in his ears, burning his pride like embers. He could not just let it go. He would show Lyanna that he was not a pathetic person. That he was not a court jester who could only brag. Robert Baratheon was a fierce fighter, heir to Storm's End, and he would fight against anything to get what he wanted!

Eddard hesitated. He stared at Robert for a moment with an assessing gaze, as if he were weighing whether Robert was mature enough to hear a state secret. Or perhaps, a Stark family secret.

"Uh, Robert," Ned began carefully, his voice quiet. He glanced around, ensuring no ears were eavesdropping. "If you ask seriously right now... and not just because of a momentary lust... then I must warn you that she likes things that are... less 'ladylike' in general."

Robert's eyes sparkled instantly. He had suspected it! Lyanna had shown that to him yesterday, from the way she spoke with hatred about restricting dresses and empty pleasantries. The fire in her eyes when she was angry... that was not a decorative candle flame. That was a wild bonfire.

"I am serious," asserted Robert, his voice hardening. He looked into Ned's eyes intently. "Does my face not look serious to you right now? Do I look like I am joking?"

Ned sighed a long sigh, staring at Robert's intense face.

"Your face looks like you have found the tracks of a great boar when we are hunting, Robert. Hungry, and a little mad," said Ned flatly, with that Stark honesty that was sometimes annoying.

Robert raised his thick eyebrows, not offended at all. Instead, he nodded in agreement.

"Hunting is a serious matter!" cried Robert defensively. "It requires high concentration! And a boar is a fierce enemy, one wrong step and you can die! Lyanna... she is more challenging than any boar."

Then he stopped, realizing Ned was trying to change the topic again.

"Don't change the topic of conversation, Ned. Tell me! What does she like? Don't tell me she likes knitting."

"Gods..." muttered Ned softly, wiping his face with his palm as if he had a headache. "Alright. But do not say this out loud, Robert. For anything's sake. Because my father would be very angry if this spread. He tries hard to maintain Lyanna's image as a perfect Lady. Lyanna's interests... do not depend on flowers, music, or dancing."

"So..." Robert leaned his body even closer, almost whispering. "She likes fighting or something like that?" he speculated, his heart beating fast with anticipation.

Ned sighed again, his shoulders slumping in surrender.

"Don't say it out loud, or my father will be angry," repeated Ned, giving a final warning. "Lyanna is a stubborn girl. She has thick wolf blood. She does not like things that women usually like. She hates sewing needles. She likes challenges. She likes the coldness of steel. And also horses... she can ride better than half the knights here. She always talks about fighting, about sword techniques."

Hearing that, Robert's imagination instantly exploded.

He no longer saw Lyanna as a beautiful girl in a blue dress who was angry. In his mind, he saw Lyanna wearing leather armor that fit her body, her brown hair tied practically, holding a sword in her hand with confidence.

He imagined the two of them, standing side by side on the battlefield, surrounded by bandits or enemies. Robert swung his hammer, crushing bones, while Lyanna danced with her sword beside him, cutting down enemies trying to attack him from behind. They were a deadly pair. A feared pair.

Or another image: Lyanna being teased by a drunken knight at a feast. Instead of fainting or crying calling for guards, the girl would only smile coldly, then kick the man's crotch with deadly precision, and walk away confidently while the man groaned on the floor.

That, thought Robert, his blood heating up. That was a strong woman. A woman who was not boring. And Robert wanted her more than ever.

Robert laughed hard, his voice echoing in the quiet garden. He embraced Eddard's shoulder with an enthusiasm that almost made his friend topple over.

"Honestly, your sister sounds very amazing, Ned! Extraordinary!" cried Robert, his eyes shining full of admiration. "How could you hide this from me after all this time? You let me think she was just an ordinary shy girl!"

"I did not hide it, I protected her," denied Ned, breaking free from Robert's bear hug. He shook his head, his face serious. "I cannot destroy Lyanna's image. Reputation is everything for noblewomen here."

"Destroy?" Robert laughed again, shaking his head in disbelief. "Screw that sissy reputation! You should be proud to have a sister like that, Ned. She is not a glass flower that will break if touched. She can crush criminals who would attack her. She has fire!"

"A Lady's duty is in the home, Robert, not on the battlefield," Eddard's eyes sharpened. "And you are exaggerating in judging Lyanna. She is just a girl who likes to play wooden swords with Benjen, not a warrior."

"You are the one underestimating your own sister," snorted Robert.

He had decided. He didn't care what Ned said, or Lord Rickard, or anyone. He knew what he had to do. He knew how to win that she-wolf's heart. Not with poetry, but with a language she understood.

Suddenly, a crazy idea crossed his mind.

"I will do it," said Robert suddenly, a wide grin blooming on his face.

"Do what?" Ned frowned, suspicious of Robert's tone of voice.

"Train with her, fool!" exclaimed Robert. "If she likes steel, I will give her steel! You cannot hold back a girl who wants to hold a sword, she has passion! I will ask her to spar. Practice match."

Ned's face paled instantly.

"Don't," he said quickly, panic starting to creep into his voice. "By the Gods, Robert, don't. This is King's Landing! Every eye is here. They are all watching. If people see Lord Baratheon fighting swords with Lady Stark... it will be a scandal! It will bring my Father great shame."

"I will do it in a quiet place," dodged Robert, not wanting to give up. He could already imagine it. The clatter of wooden swords. Sweat. Laughter. "No one will see."

"It makes no difference!" Ned sighed in frustration. "Lyanna is not your sparring match. You will hurt her."

"I will be gentle! Come on, Ned!"

"Promise me, Robert, you will not do anything strange," asked Ned, almost begging.

Robert rolled his eyes, patting Ned's back once more.

"You are so boring, Ned. Always worrying."

He didn't promise, only grinned.

After the brief yet enlightening conversation with Ned in the garden, Robert patted Eddard's shoulder hard, signaling a goodbye.

"I am going for a walk," said Robert, a wide grin fixed on his face. "To get the blood circulating before lunch."

Ned only nodded resignedly, probably already suspecting that Robert's version of "a walk" would involve something reckless. But in reality, Robert currently had a very specific and, in his opinion, noble goal: approaching his betrothed.

He walked down the corridor of the Red Keep with light steps, whistling softly.

What did a Lady usually do on a bright morning like this? Robert tried to remember what his mother, Lady Cassana, did. Usually they would sit in the garden or in a warm solarium, drinking lemon tea with the other Ladies, perhaps with some chatty old grandmothers. They would chat about knitting, the latest embroidery patterns, which flowers were most fragrant, and other feminine things that made Robert want to sleep standing up.

If Lyanna Stark was an ordinary girl, she would enjoy that. But Robert knew now that Lyanna was not an ordinary girl. She was a wolf forced to wear silk. Lyanna must be sitting there, listening to gossip about someone's third cousin's wedding, while holding back the urge to throw the tea pot at the wall. She must be annoyed. She must feel suffocated.

Robert would save her.

Robert would be the knight on a white horse, or at least a knight in a leather tunic smelling slightly of wine, saving her from that dragon of boredom. He would take her to a quiet place, far from court spies, and they would practice swords.

Robert laughed softly thinking about it. He could do this. He was good at being a hero. Or at least, he was good at making a fun ruckus.

His feet took him to the inner part, where the women usually gathered. He peeked from behind a stone pillar.

Apparently, his guess was wrong.

Lyanna was not drinking tea. She was not chatting with the girls.

She was alone.

Lyanna stood at the edge of a stone balcony overlooking the sea, but her eyes did not see the waves. She stared at the sky.

There, under the stone arch carved with intricate motifs, she looked... small. Her usually upright shoulders looked slightly slumped. Her face, illuminated by the morning sunlight, did not show the fire of anger like yesterday. Instead, she looked full of painful longing. Longing for something distant, something she could not reach from within these walls.

Robert's smile became stiff, then slowly faded.

He thought about it again... it must be hard to live in such constraint. Lyanna was in a golden cage, guarded by etiquette and expectations. Robert felt it too, of course. He was the heir to Storm's End. He was bound by duty. One day, if his father was gone, he would have to sit in the Lord's chair, listening to farmers' complaints, and calculating taxes. He would no longer be able to roam freely in Essos like William in that book.

But compared to Lyanna, Robert realized he was still very lucky.

He didn't need to fear his father's anger if he held a sword; instead, he was praised. He could wear the clothes he wanted comfortably, loose tunics, leather trousers, without anyone complaining he was "impolite". And he also didn't think too much about his own image because he was a man. If he got drunk and fought, people would say, "Ah, that is Robert, he is full of spirit." If Lyanna did the same thing, she would be called mad or ruined.

Lyanna? Lyanna must be struggling greatly. She must be lonely amidst this crowd, alone with her "steel" secret.

A sincere pity, mixed with a desire to protect her, grew in Robert's chest.

He walked slowly towards the girl, his footsteps intentional so as to be heard on the stone floor, trying not to surprise her like a bandit.

"The sky is bright and pleasant to look at, no?" said Robert softly when he was close enough.

Lyanna gasped. Her shoulders tensed instantly, her body posture changing from melancholic to defensive in the blink of an eye. She turned, glancing at him with wary eyes.

"My Lord," she greeted, her voice trembling slightly, perhaps from shock, or perhaps because she was daydreaming about something private and didn't like being disturbed.

"My Lady," Robert bowed slightly, a movement stiff yet sincere. He straightened his body and grinned, trying to break the ice. "It seems you were not satisfied with me as a guide yesterday, huh? I did not see you waiting at the gate this morning."

Lyanna looked away, not meeting his eyes. She looked back towards the sea.

"I am a person who prefers to find out for myself, My Lord," she answered flatly, a tone of rejection subtle yet clear.

"I can see that," said Robert, undaunted. He stepped to her side, leaning on the stone railing, mimicking her position but at a polite distance. "And have you found what you wanted in that self-search?"

Lyanna frowned, turning to him with knitted brows. Her voice rose slightly, defensive. "What do you mean?"

Robert stared at her, his eyes clear blue and serious.

"Something that can attract your attention. Something that makes your blood rush. I remember that most things here are 'boring' and 'ugly' according to your words yesterday. I assume you haven't found it, seeing your gloomy face earlier."

Lyanna's face reddened slightly. She snorted, turning her face away. "Not your business. My thoughts are my own. Go away, My Lord. I am sure there is a barrel of wine missing you somewhere."

"Wait," said Robert quickly when Lyanna was about to leave. He spread his arm slightly, blocking her path without touching her. "I have something that will surely attract your attention, Lyanna."

Robert used her real name without a title. It was risky, but he wanted to penetrate this annoying formality.

Lyanna stopped. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"If this time it is a stable full of goat dung, or a story about how you beat someone until they fainted, I am not interested," snorted Lyanna sharply. "I still have better things to do than listen to bragging."

"No," interrupted Robert hurriedly. He sighed, frustrated because this girl was so hard to penetrate, but also increasingly challenged. "Come on. This is not bragging. This will surely make you excited. This is very different from before. Trust me just this once."

Lyanna stared at him for a moment. She looked for lies in Robert's face, looking for signs of a cruel joke. Her face still scowled, but curiosity began to appear in her grey eyes.

"What else can I do?" she muttered finally, more to herself. "You are my betrothed, and I still have to thank you for not tattling about my anger yesterday to Father. He would lecture me all day if he knew."

"I am not a person like that!" cried Robert, smiling broadly for winning one point. "I am not a tattletale. Your secret is safe with me."

Lyanna didn't answer, still with her flat face, but she nodded slightly. "Lead the way."

Robert smiled in victory. He took her away from the crowded garden, following a rarely used path towards the back of the Red Keep. To an old sword training ground that had long been abandoned by knights because it was located too close to the cliffs and strong sea winds. In his heart, he apologized to Ned for breaking his promise, but... this was for the greater good!

They arrived there. A small dirt-floored courtyard surrounded by old stone walls overgrown with moss. Quiet. Hidden. There was only the sound of wind and waves below.

Lyanna looked around, then frowned.

"This is not as interesting as you said, My Lord," she commented skeptically. "Just a messy empty courtyard."

Robert grinned. Indeed the place was ordinary. But the contents...

"Well, let us make it interesting," said Robert.

He walked behind an old wooden barrel in the corner, and took out two objects that were always there.

Two wooden training swords. Heavy and sturdy wood.

He walked back towards Lyanna, and with a casual movement, threw one of the swords towards the girl.

Lyanna's reflexes were extraordinary. She caught the hilt of the wooden sword in the air with one hand, her movement fast and efficient. She was not surprised; her body reacted before her brain.

Lyanna held the sword, stared at it, then raised her eyebrows high staring at Robert.

"What is the meaning of this... My Lord?" she asked, her voice quiet, but Robert could see the glint in her eyes. The same glint as when Robert saw a beautiful woman or roast meat. Desire.

Robert shrugged, spinning his own wooden sword in his hand.

"I saw something in your eyes yesterday, Lya. And just now in the courtyard," said Robert, lying a little to dramatize. "Every time we passed a guard holding a sword, your eyes would go there longer. Staring at their swords, not their faces."

Lyanna fell silent, her fingers unconsciously tightening her grip on the wooden hilt.

"So I thought... maybe you wanted to try them?" asked Robert gently. "Try slashing? Stabbing? Hitting something until it cracks? Training together? That is more fun than sewing handkerchiefs, right?"

Lyanna looked down, staring at the wooden sword in her hand. She swung it slightly, feeling its weight. Balanced.

"My father will be angry if I try it," she whispered. "He says women may not hold swords."

"Your father is not watching," Robert assured with a firm voice. "He is busy drinking wine with Jon Arryn. No one sees us here."

"And if he finds out?" asked Lyanna, staring at Robert again. There was doubt there, fear of punishment.

"If he is here, who is to be blamed?" Robert patted his own chest with his left hand. "Me. I will confess that I was the one who forced you. I will say I was drunk and forced you to hold a sword. He will not be able to be angry at you if I am the one at fault."

Lyanna stared at him. She saw sincerity in Robert's face. The corner of her lips twitched. Then lifted upwards for the first time that day. Not a polite smile. But a mischievous smile.

Then she giggled. A sound that was crisp and dangerous.

"Y-you... You will get in trouble, My Lord," she said.

"Hah! I am Robert Baratheon, trouble always follows me like a shadow! What difference is one more?" cried Robert laughing. He raised his sword. "So? Want to or not?"

Lyanna grinned broadly, her eyes lighting up with the wild fire Robert admired.

"Yes," she answered firmly. "But don't cry if you fall later, Stag."

Robert snorted, adrenaline flooding his veins.

"You are too confident. Let us see your teeth."

And with that, Robert stepped forward, swinging his sword, not with full strength, but enough to create momentum.

---

You can read 6 chapters early on Patreon!

 

[Fellow Human]

Hopefully Jaime prevents Cersei's engagement.

 

[Taalomon]

And just like that, a Robert and a Lyanna ship worth the read!

 

[Daario]

RHAEGAR | ROBERT​

---

The heavy wooden door closed softly, separating Rhaegar from the figure of Tywin Lannister who had just taken his leave.

Rhaegar sighed a long sigh, a tired sound that seemed to pull out half his life. The air inside the King's solar felt suffocating, smelling of wax, dry ink, and old dust that never disappeared even though the windows were opened wide.

Tywin had asked, or rather, suggested with a tone that accepted no refusal, the very thing Rhaegar had planned himself: announcing the betrothal to Cersei as soon as possible.

The Old Lion was worried. Rhaegar could see it behind those cold pale green eyes. Tywin saw the crowds in the capital, all bringing beautiful daughters with sweet smiles. He was afraid his investment would be stolen right at the finish line.

Rhaegar stood up from his hard work chair. He looked at the stack of documents on his desk with nausea... that stack never shrank. Every time he signed one, two more appeared from nowhere.

Enough, he thought to the empty room.

He was too tired to read one more word about the price of harvest. He had lost interest, and felt he would go mad if he stayed inside this stone box for another hour. His soul struggled under the weight of bureaucracy.

Rhaegar walked out, his steps slow and irregular, not like the steady steps of a king, but rather the steps of a man looking for a way out of chaos.

The Red Keep was busy as usual, buzzing with activity like a beehive restless before a storm. The coronation event would happen in a few days, and the tension of anticipation hung in the air. Every time Rhaegar passed someone in the corridor, the world seemed to stop for a moment.

Servants carrying stacks of sheets stopped and bowed deeply. Guards clicked their spears. Nobles gossiping immediately shut their mouths and bowed their heads with forced respectful smiles.

"Your Grace," they murmured.

Rhaegar nodded to them all, his face a mask of perfect politeness, but inside, he felt alienated.

He continued walking, his feet taking him away from the main hustle, towards a more secluded part of the garden facing the sea.

Here, the atmosphere was quieter. The stone walls absorbed the afternoon sun's heat, creating pockets of comfortable warmth. In the distance, in the lower courtyard, Rhaegar could see small children, perhaps children of servants or household knights, running around chasing each other. Their laughter sounded faint, carried by the wind.

Rhaegar stopped near the railing, observing them. A thin smile touched his lips.

Thinking of that again, he remembered Jaime Lannister's project in Lannisport. A school. Education for the common people. Rhaegar wanted to do the same here, in King's Landing. He wanted to build a place where those children could learn to read, write, and dream bigger than just becoming servants.

This was a plan he had thought through carefully in sleepless nights. But he knew the reality. Before he could build a school, he had to ensure there was no turmoil. He had to ensure the royal treasury was full. He had to marry.

The Kingdom needed stability before it needed enlightenment.

Rhaegar sighed again, letting the wind ruffle his silver hair. He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the sun on his face.

"Your Grace."

The voice was soft, yet possessed a clarity that broke his reverie.

Rhaegar opened his eyes and turned, raising one eyebrow.

There, standing a few steps from him, was Cersei Lannister.

The girl looked... glowing. She wore a dress of emerald green silk that accentuated the color of her eyes, with intricate gold embroidery on the neck and sleeves. Her long golden hair was left loose, shimmering under the sunlight like liquid gold. She smiled, a smile that was polite yet held an unusual warmth.

"My Lady," greeted Rhaegar.

I just spoke with your father about binding you to me for life, and now you are here, thought Rhaegar, laughing a little in his mind. Is this a coincidence, or did Tywin send you to ensure the deal?

However, as he stared at Cersei's face, he did not see Tywin's shadow there. He only saw a beautiful young girl.

"The weather is beautiful, is it not?" Cersei walked closer slowly, her movement graceful like a cat. She stopped beside Rhaegar, looking out towards the open sea. "The wind is cool. It brings the scent of salt that cleanses the lungs. Making anyone who feels it able to feel peace."

Cersei looked up, staring at the sky. "And the sky... the sky above is so blue and cloudless. It makes the sounds of birds perching more audible. Can you hear them, Your Grace? They are singing."

Rhaegar followed her gaze. A small sparrow was chirping on a tree branch near them.

"Yes," answered Rhaegar, his voice softening. "Those birds look free. And cheerful."

Cersei turned to him, her eyes seeking Rhaegar's purple eyes.

"I think that is good," whispered Cersei. "Too much sadness has passed lately. Death, war, ash... it all makes the color of the world grey. So that we forget that the world can have its own beauty. Those birds... they remind us of the cheerfulness that still exists, if we want to see it."

"I did not suspect you were a poetic person, My Lady," Rhaegar joked lightly, the corner of his lips lifting. "I thought Jaime took all the artistic talent in your family."

Cersei laughed softly, a sound crisp and pleasant. "Jaime has his own talents, Your Grace. But he is not the only one who can see beauty. Does my appearance not display such things? Do I look so... stiff?"

"Your appearance displays many things, Lady Cersei," said Rhaegar honestly, laughing, staring at her with new appreciation. "Beauty, elegance, the dignity of House Lannister. And I think, I am just a little confused which one is more dominant today."

Cersei stared at him intently, then smiled wider. "That is good."

Rhaegar stopped, confused. "Pardon?"

"Hearing your laughter, Your Grace," said Cersei gently. She stepped a little closer, breaching the boundary of formality just a little, creating a momentary intimacy. "Forgive me if this is presumptuous, but... all this time, when I saw you in the distance, at feasts or in the hall... you always looked sad. Tired. As if you carried the sky on your shoulders like a hero in ancient legends."

Cersei looked down slightly, then looked at him again through her curled eyelashes.

"If you laughed, it looked forced. A polite smile for boring Lords. But now... just now... I stood in front of you and heard you laugh so freely, even if it was just a small joke. It was relieving. It made you look... human."

Rhaegar fell silent. He was transfixed by that honesty.

Oh, was I that obvious before?

He knew he was melancholic. He knew he often drowned in his own dark thoughts. Yet he always thought that he had hidden it well behind the mask of a perfect prince. Turns out, this girl had seen through that mask.

And she was right.

When he laughed just now, responding to Cersei's light joke, he felt lighter. The weight on his chest lifted slightly. For a moment, it felt like he forgot he held the weight of a heavy kingdom.

"I did not expect my laughter to be so awaited, or noticed in such detail," said Rhaegar softly, his tone turning warmer.

"Everyone prefers their king to keep smiling, Your Grace," Cersei looked at him with conviction. "The common folk believe that if the King smiles, then the harvest will be good. And the nobles... they feel safer if the King does not look like he is planning an execution."

Rhaegar laughed again, this time louder. "So, my smile is a matter of Westerosi security?"

"You could say so," Cersei joined in smiling, her eyes twinkling wittily. "But for me personally... it means the King has a clean heart. And looks caring. Not about power, but about happiness."

"You have a unique perspective, Cersei," said Rhaegar, using her first name unconsciously. "You remind me that I am not just a symbol. Thank you."

"Only doing my duty as a loyal subject, Your Grace," answered Cersei with charming humility.

They stood there for a few moments in comfortable silence, accompanied only by the sound of the wind and bird songs.

"I do not want to keep you from your duties, or from the beauty of this garden," said Cersei finally, stepping back gracefully. "It was a pleasure speaking with you, Your Grace."

"The feeling is mutual, My Lady," answered Rhaegar sincerely.

"I have other things to do, my friend might be looking for me to try on dresses again," Cersei grimaced wittily, making Rhaegar smile. "I take my leave."

Cersei bowed respectfully, then turned.

"May your day be pleasant, Lady Cersei," said Rhaegar.

He continued staring at the figure as Cersei walked away, continuing away until the wall separated them.

...

The dust in the training yard billowed into the air, swirling under the increasingly scorching sunlight.

CLACK!

The sound of wood clashing with wood rang loud and satisfying. The training sword in Robert's hand moved with a deceptive speed for his large size, parrying a clumsy attack from his opponent, then with a fluid spinning motion, he swept the girl's legs.

Lyanna let out a stifled shriek, a sound of shock, not fear, as her balance was lost. She fell to the sandy ground slowly, her sword slipping from her grasp.

"Lost," said Robert, grinning broadly while pointing his sword right beside Lyanna's neck.

Lyanna's breath heaved. Her face was flushed red, partly from heat, partly from shame, and mostly from pure competitive anger. Her hair which was tied neatly earlier was now messy, several strands sticking to her sweaty cheeks.

However, she did not cry. She did not whine.

Her grey eyes lit up, staring at Robert with a fire that made Robert's blood rush. The girl did not want to give up when defeated. She swatted Robert's sword away with her dirty hand, then tried to get up again as if she was ready for a fourth, fifth, or hundredth round.

Very amazing. Robert stepped back, giving her space to stand. Seeing someone, especially a noble girl who was supposed to be afraid of breaking a nail, having a fighting spirit like that was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in King's Landing.

"You are terrible at slashing, you know?" commented Robert, his tone mocking but his eyes warm. He mimicked Lyanna's movement earlier. "You swing that sword like swatting a fly. Too wide. Too much wasted energy. I could beat you endlessly, all day long, without breaking much sweat."

Lyanna snorted, cleaning the dust from her trousers roughly.

"Don't be too confident, Robert," she said sharply.

That name, Robert, came out of her lips without the frills of 'My Lord' or 'Lord Baratheon'.

It made Robert's heart beat faster than during the fight earlier. It felt like an arrow piercing directly into his chest, but in a pleasant way. He liked hearing it. He liked the way Lyanna said it, with a little growl at the end.

Lyanna picked up her sword again, staring at him with a challenging gaze. "I am a person who is good at learning. I watched your movements. Your left leg is open when you attack high. And you will taste dust sooner or later in your mouth. I swear."

Robert laughed, his voice bouncing off the old stone walls. "You have to beat my training time first if you really want to do that, Lya. I have held weapons since I could walk. Your path is still long."

"Maybe," nodded Lyanna, her chin lifted arrogantly. "But for sure it will happen. And when that happens, I will make you eat your wooden sword."

"Now, that is the spirit I like!" cried Robert. He raised his sword again, ready. "Want to try again? I can give you one more chance to embarrass yourself."

Lyanna opened her mouth to agree, her eyes sparkling with spirit. But then she stopped. She looked around, at the shadows starting to shorten on the wall. Then she looked up at the sky which had started to sting with heat.

Her expression changed. The fire in her eyes dimmed, replaced by grounded worry. Her brows furrowed.

"No," she said finally, lowering her sword reluctantly. "I think I will take my leave. Father might look for me if I am out too long."

There was a bitter tone at the end of her sentence.

"And I must bathe," added Lyanna, wiping the sweat on her neck. "I cannot meet him in a state like this without being suspected."

Robert nodded, agreeing. He also started to feel the heat of the sun. "Alright."

He walked closer, taking the wooden sword from Lyanna's hand. Their hands touched briefly, and Robert felt thin calluses on the girl's palm. Real proof of her secret training.

"Tomorrow then?" offered Robert, his tone hopeful.

Lyanna stared at him. A smile slowly bloomed on her dirty face. The smile was sincere, without burden, and to Robert, it was more beautiful than the sunrise.

"Yes," answered Lyanna. "Tomorrow. Because I am not satisfied if I haven't been able to push you until you fall."

"In your dreams," Robert chuckled.

He placed the two wooden swords back in their original place. Then they walked leaving the training ground, following a shady path towards the main castle building. They walked side by side, their shoulders occasionally brushing.

Their bodies looked sticky with sweat. Robert's tunic was wet at the back and armpits, and he realized he smelled sour, the smell of hard work and masculinity, he reassured himself. But Lyanna...

Robert stole a glance at her. Her hair was limp, her face dusty, her neck glistening with sweat. Yet strangely, when the wind blew, Robert smelled the scent of flowers. Winter flowers, wild roses, and pine.

How could she be like that? Robert wondered in amazement. How could a girl sweat and roll in the dirt yet still smell like a garden? It must be Stark magic.

"So," Robert started a conversation, breaking the comfortable silence between them. "Actually your movements are not bad. For someone who learns secretly."

Lyanna turned, raising one eyebrow skeptically. "A compliment? From you?"

"I am serious," said Robert. "Your stance is solid. And your reflexes are fast. You were able to match me in a few things, at least in parrying. That shows potential... you often trained at Winterfell?"

Lyanna looked down staring at the tip of her dusty shoes. Her smile faded slightly, replaced by a melancholic nostalgic expression.

"Sometimes," she said softly. "When Father was busy enough taking care of preparations or arguing with bannermen, so he didn't have time to care about me... I would sneak into the training yard."

"Who trained you?" asked Robert. "The Master-at-Arms?"

"At first, yes. Or at least, I asked the guards to train together. They were afraid to refuse their Lord's daughter," Lyanna laughed a little, a dry sound. "However because Father eventually always scolded them if found out, I didn't do it anymore. I didn't want them punished because of me."

Robert could imagine the stiff Rickard Stark scolding poor soldiers.

"So I learned by myself. Hitting wheat sacks also slashing tree branches." continued Lyanna. "And Benjen. Only Benjen was left who wanted to play with me. Brandon was too busy being the heir, Ned was sent to the Vale... so Benjen was the only one by my side."

"Your brother seemed to be having fun." commented Robert, remembering the shy youngest Stark boy.

"Benjen is a good boy. He is the only one who understands," said Lyanna. Her voice lowered. "Winterfell is lonely, Robert. Very lonely. The walls are high and grey. The wind always howls. Sometimes it feels like you are the only living person there. So we... Benjen and I... we could only entertain each other. Wooden swords were our escape."

Robert heard the loneliness in her voice. Loneliness he never felt in the crowded Storm's End or in the Eyrie full of foster brothers. He wanted to embrace her, tell her that she would not be lonely anymore. That Storm's End would be a warm home full of feasts.

But he held back. It was not the time yet.

"You will not be lonely here," said Robert finally, his voice firm. "As long as I am here, you will have a sparring partner. And if you want, I can teach you how to hit correctly so you don't just parry."

Lyanna stared at him, her eyes softening. "You would be a bad teacher, Robert. You are too impatient."

"But I am a handsome teacher," Robert grinned.

Lyanna laughed again, shaking her head. "Bleh. Besides, Father actually isn't that bad, he lets me ride horses and train lately... of course in Winterfell."

They continued chatting lightly along the way back. About the differences between Winterfell and King's Landing, about how bad the food was on the journey, about Ned who was always too serious.

They reached the corner of the corridor separating the Stark guest wing and the Arryn guest wing. Lyanna stopped. She tidied her messy hair with her fingers, trying to look a little more presentable.

"We better part here," whispered Lyanna, as if afraid this moment would break if she spoke too loudly. "Before Father sees me like a sewer rat."

"Alright," Robert agreed reluctantly. He actually still wanted to chat, but he knew the limits of his luck. "I also want to bathe. Cold water sounds like heaven right now."

Lyanna sniffed the air demonstratively, then covered her nose with an impolite joking style.

"Yes, you must bathe," she said, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "You smell, Robert. Like a wet bear."

Robert laughed out loud, not offended at all. He puffed out his chest proudly.

"This isn't bear smell." he exclaimed. "This is called the smell of victory. Remember that when you smell lavender later tonight and remember your defeat."

Lyanna snorted, but her smile was wide.

"Until tomorrow, Smelly Winner," she said.

She turned and jogged towards her place, her steps light and free. Robert watched her go until she disappeared behind the wooden door.

He stood there for a moment, alone in the corridor, with a silly smile refusing to disappear from his face. He smelled, he was tired, and he had just spent the morning beating his betrothed with wood.

And strangely, he didn't feel guilty.

---

Rhaegar's coronation is in three chapters, followed by a time skip. The story will then shift to a transition period involving the chaos of progress, something that is inevitable.

As always. Thank you for reading. You can read 6 chapters early on Patreon!