Lyonel POV
Lyonel stood before the small, polished bronze mirror hanging on the wall of his room.
He barely recognized himself.
A freshly polished plate covered his body from neck to boots. The breastplate given to him at Harrenhal gleamed in the morning light pouring through the narrow window. It still fit a little tightly across his shoulders, but it was far better than riding without one.
He adjusted the leather strap beneath his arm.
Then sighed.
He had barely slept.
Every time he had closed his eyes, he had seen the same thing.
King Jaehaerys standing before him.
"I would have you become one of my Kingsguard."
Lyonel groaned and sat heavily on the edge of the bed.
He buried his face in his hands.
"Seven save me..."
Should he have accepted?
It had been the greatest honour any knight could ever receive.
To wear the white cloak.
To stand beside the Iron Throne.
To protect the king himself.
His father would have wept with pride.
His brother would probably call him a fool for refusing.
Lyonel leaned his head back.
He closed his eyes.
His thoughts drifted home.
Blackhaven.
Its towering walls.
The smell of rain rolling in from the sky.
The laughter of the castle yard.
Hary.
Hendry.
His smile faded.
Hendry...
He had nearly forgotten.
He wondered whether his friend had fully recovered from his wounds.
He hoped so.
Then his memories continued.
Lord Selmy's lands.
The burned homes.
The frightened peasants.
The Kingswood.
His smile disappeared entirely.
The Black Devil.
The witches.
The burning village.
The women screaming.
The corpses.
The old innkeeper.
The people who had died because they chose to stand beside him.
Then Harrenhal.
Lady Rhaella.
Princess Rhaena.
Everything had happened in less than a year.
Less than a single year.
It felt like ten.
Lyonel slowly opened his eyes.
His answer became clear once more.
"No."
The word escaped him quietly.
"I cannot become a Kingsguard."
"There are too many people beyond King's Landing who need knights."
He looked toward the ceiling.
"I do not even know if You truly hear me."
"But if You do..."
"Watch over those who cannot defend themselves."
He smiled faintly.
"And perhaps..."
"Watch over me as well."
He rose to his feet.
After fastening Adder's Fang around his waist, he left his room.
The hallway outside was quiet.
As he descended the wooden stairs—
Music drifted upward.
A lute.
A fiddle.
Someone clapping in rhythm.
Then a loud voice began singing.
"Come gather close and fill your cups, And hear the storm-born knight, Who crossed the woods with sword in hand, To stand against the night.
A hundred thieves before him stood, A hundred more behind, Yet not a step did Lyonel yield, So fierce was heart and mind."
The tavern erupted into cheers.
Someone shouted for another verse.
The singer laughed before continuing.
He saved a dragon princess fair, From wicked men that night, And every rogue who barred his path, Soon learned the marcher knight."
The crowd stomped their feet.
Mugs slammed against tables.
One drunken voice yelled,
"Tell them about the bird!"
The bard grinned.
"A mighty eagle rode with him—"
"It's not an eagle!" someone interrupted.
"Who cares?" another shouted.
The tavern burst into laughter.
The bard simply continued.
"Its wings as white as winter snow, its cry could shake the trees. It pecked the eyes from wicked men, and bowed to none but he.
So raise your cups to Lyonel, the Warrior's chosen son! Where storm and thunder ride as one, His battles are not done!"
The room exploded with applause.
Lyonel stood frozen halfway down the stairs.
His mouth hung slightly open.
"...A hundred bandits?"
He muttered to himself.
"There weren't even thirty."
"And Cloud isn't an eagle."
He rubbed his forehead.
"So these are the songs..."
He quietly continued downstairs before anyone noticed him.
The common room was already lively despite the early hour.
He slipped outside.
The fresh morning air felt wonderful.
Thunder stood exactly where Lyonel had left him, patiently waiting beside the hitching post.
Lyonel smiled.
"Good morning, boy."
Thunder snorted happily.
But something immediately felt wrong.
Lyonel frowned.
Cloud wasn't there.
His eyes searched the rooftops.
The chimneys.
The nearby trees.
Nothing.
His heartbeat quickened.
"Cloud?"
No answer.
He hurried to Thunder.
"Where is he, boy?"
Thunder merely snorted.
Lyonel sighed.
"Very helpful."
Just then—
"CAW!"
Lyonel looked upward.
Cloud swooped down from the rooftops.
Clutched firmly in his talons...
...was a large fish.
The thunderbird landed proudly upon Thunder's head.
He puffed out his feathers.
Then immediately began tearing into his prize.
Lyonel laughed in relief.
"There you are."
Then—
"WHERE'S THAT BLOODY BIRD?!"
Lyonel froze.
A burly fisherman stormed around the corner carrying an empty basket.
His face was red with anger.
He pointed directly at Cloud.
"There!"
"That's the bloody beast!"
"He stole my fish!"
Lyonel slowly looked at Cloud.
Cloud looked back.
A piece of fish hung from the side of his beak.
Cloud swallowed it.
Then continued eating.
Lyonel closed his eyes.
"Oh, Seven..."
He looked back at the fisherman.
The fisherman folded his arms.
"Is that your bird?"
Lyonel glanced toward Cloud again.
Cloud deliberately turned away.
Pretending not to notice either of them.
Lyonel sighed.
"I've never seen that bird before in my life."
"It simply landed on my horse."
Cloud gave an indignant caw.
Lyonel discreetly waved him away.
"Go on."
Cloud reluctantly flew into the air.
The fisherman watched him disappear before looking back at Lyonel.
"That fish..."
"...was going to feed my family."
Lyonel was saddened by this.
His hand instinctively reached for his coin pouch.
Nothing.
Of course.
He had no money.
Again.
He pointed back toward the inn.
"Go inside."
"The owner knows me."
"Tell them Ser Lyonel asked that your family be given a meal."
The fisherman frowned.
"Ser Lyonel?"
He looked Lyonel up and down.
Then laughed.
"You're not Ser Lyonel."
Lyonel blinked.
"...I'm not?"
The fisherman shook his head confidently.
"Everyone knows Ser Lyonel."
"He's supposed to be built like an aurochs."
"They say he's taller than any man in the Kingsguard."
"They say he killed ten men with one swing."
"You?"
He snorted.
"You're just another knight."
Lyonel stared for a long moment.
"...I see."
The fisherman sighed.
"I'll catch another fish."
He walked away.
Lyonel watched him leave.
"...Perhaps I should stop bards from singing."
He untied Thunder.
"Come on, boy."
He mounted his horse.
Almost immediately—
Cloud landed back on Thunder's head.
Only the fish's tail remained.
Lyonel looked up.
"You know..."
"You should catch your own food."
"Not steal it from hardworking folk."
Cloud ignored him completely.
Lyonel reached up and flicked the bird gently on the head.
Cloud immediately pecked his finger.
"Ow!"
Lyonel rubbed his hand.
"You ungrateful little beast."
Cloud merely chirped happily and swallowed the last bite of fish.
Thunder snorted, sounding suspiciously like a laugh.
Lyonel shook his head.
"I am surrounded by fools."
With that, he nudged Thunder into a slow walk.
Ahead of them, rising high above King's Landing, the red walls of the Red Keep caught the morning sun. Lyonel drew a slow breath.
Whatever awaited him there, he could no longer turn back.
Lyonel rode Thunder slowly through the crowded streets of King's Landing. The city seemed even louder in the daylight than it had the night before. Merchants shouted over one another, fishwives argued with customers, smiths hammered glowing steel, and somewhere nearby a bard sang of heroes and dragons.
He could feel eyes following him wherever he went.
Some stared because of the armour he wore.
Others because of the enormous white bird perched proudly upon Thunder's head.
Lyonel lowered his gaze.
He had never liked attention.
The songs had spread too quickly.
He wondered how many people truly believed them.
He kept riding through the twisting streets until the Red Keep rose before him, sitting proudly upon Aegon's High Hill like a mountain of red stone. Even after seeing Harrenhal, the sight still stole his breath.
Its great bronze gate gleamed beneath the morning sun.
Twin drum towers stood on either side like silent giants watching over the entrance.
Lyonel swallowed.
"So this is the heart of the realm..."
Thunder snorted beneath him.
Cloud shifted his wings lazily before settling once more upon the stallion's head.
Lyonel rode across the stone bridge leading toward the gate.
"Halt!"
Several men stepped forward, spears lowered.
One looked him up and down.
"State your name."
"I am Ser Lyonel Dondarrion."
Silence.
Then laughter.
Another guard leaned on his spear.
"Are you now?"
"Aye."
The first guard shook his head.
"The famous Ser Lyonel?"
"The very same."
One of the guards burst into laughter.
"I expected a giant."
Another grinned.
"They say he slew twenty men with one swing."
"Aye," another added. "And wrestled a bear with his bare hands."
The guards laughed again.
Lyonel sighed.
"They are only songs."
The oldest guard folded his arms.
"If you're truly Ser Lyonel, prove it."
Lyonel frowned.
"How?"
The guard pointed toward Cloud.
"They say Ser Lyonel has some monstrous white bird."
Lyonel pointed upward.
"I do."
The guards stared.
One scratched his beard.
"Hmm..."
Another shrugged.
"Could've painted it."
Lyonel blinked.
"...Painted it?"
The guard nodded confidently.
"Aye."
"It's white."
"So?"
"So someone could've painted it."
Cloud tilted his head.
He stared at the guard.
The guard stared back.
Cloud puffed himself up indignantly.
CAWWWW!
The bird suddenly launched himself from Thunder's head.
Straight toward the guard.
"Oh, Seven Hells!"
The guard stumbled backwards as Cloud swooped directly over him, his wings beating loudly.
Cloud pecked the man's helmet.
Clang.
The guard yelped.
Lyonel screamed.
"Cloud!"
The Thunderbird ignored him completely.
Another peck.
Clang.
The guards burst into laughter.
Cloud seemed encouraged by their laughter and pecked the poor man's helmet yet again.
"Enough!"
Lyonel finally caught the great bird before he could continue his assault.
Cloud squawked angrily.
"It is rude to peck people."
Cloud looked entirely unapologetic.
The embarrassed guard rubbed his helmet.
"I don't like that bird."
A calm voice interrupted them all.
"Open the gate."
Everyone immediately straightened.
Lyonel looked toward the speaker.
A knight in brilliant white armour stood tall above the gate.
His white cloak fluttered gently behind him.
His red hair caught the morning sunlight.
Ser Ryam Redwyne.
One of the youngest men ever named to the Kingsguard.
The guards immediately paid their respects.
"Ser Ryam."
Ryam looked toward Lyonel with an amused smile.
"I believe you've caused enough trouble already."
Lyonel looked down at Cloud.
"He did, not me."
Cloud chirped proudly.
The Kingsguard smiled.
"I've no doubt."
He turned toward the guards.
"The king has been expecting Ser Lyonel."
The guards immediately stepped aside.
The great bronze gates slowly opened.
Lyonel rode Thunder through them.
The Red Keep unfolded before him.
Wide courtyards.
Beautiful gardens.
Tall towers of red stone.
Servants hurried between buildings carrying baskets of food and piles of fresh laundry.
Knights crossed the yards in polished armour.
Nobles walked beneath colourful banners.
It truly was the home of kings.
Lyonel dismounted.
He approached Ser Ryam before offering his hand.
"Thank you for your help, Ser Ryam."
Ryam shook it firmly.
"There is no need."
His smile was warm.
"The king asked me to wait for you."
Lyonel nodded.
"If you'll allow me one moment."
He walked over to Thunder.
The stallion immediately nudged his shoulder.
Lyonel scratched the horse behind the ears.
"You've done well, boy."
Thunder snorted proudly.
Cloud landed atop Thunder's head once again.
Lyonel looked at the bird.
"And you."
Cloud chirped.
"Behave."
Cloud looked innocent.
Far too innocent.
"If someone comes to take you to the stables..."
Cloud blinked.
"...don't attack them."
Cloud gave another innocent chirp.
Lyonel sighed.
"I know you're going to ignore me."
Cloud looked away.
"Exactly."
He patted Thunder's neck one last time before returning to Ser Ryam.
The two knights began walking through the Red Keep.
After a few moments, Ryam spoke.
"So..."
"Did you truly rescue Lady Rhaella?"
Lyonel nodded.
"I did."
"The songs say you cut twelve men in half with one swing."
Lyonel laughed.
"No."
"They also say your bird blinded six men."
Lyonel glanced toward Cloud in the distance.
"...That one may not be entirely impossible."
Ryam laughed loudly.
"I knew the singers were exaggerating."
"They always do."
Lyonel smiled.
"They've turned me into some giant blessed by the Warrior Himself."
Ryam nodded.
"Give it another moon."
"They'll have you wrestling dragons."
They continued walking.
Lyonel admired everything around him.
The Red Keep truly felt alive.
He saw servants from every corner of the Seven Kingdoms.
A cook shouted at stable boys.
Ladies laughed together in one of the gardens.
Squires hurried across the yard carrying practice shields.
One man immediately caught Lyonel's attention.
His skin was as dark as polished ebony.
Lyonel slowed slightly.
He had never seen anyone from the Summer Isles before.
The man noticed his curiosity and gave him a polite nod before continuing on his way.
Ryam noticed.
"That is N'karo, a merchant from the Summer Isles."
"I've never seen someone with such dark skin."
"You'll see all kinds of people here."
They continued speaking as they walked.
Conversation drifted toward jousting.
Ryam spoke fondly of Lyonel's older brother.
"Your brother Simon nearly knocked me from my saddle during the tournament celebrating His Grace's tenth year upon the throne."
Lyonel smiled proudly.
"My brother was always the better jouster."
"I believe it."
Eventually, they reached another corridor.
Outside stood another white-cloaked knight.
Older.
Grey-haired.
His face was weathered by countless years.
Ryam greeted him.
"Ser Lorence."
The old knight smiled.
"Ser Ryam."
His eyes shifted toward Lyonel.
"So this is Ser Lyonel."
Lyonel bowed respectfully.
"It is an honour to meet you, Ser."
Lorence chuckled.
"I think these days more people would say the honour is mine."
Lyonel shook his head.
"I doubt that."
The old Kingsguard smiled but said nothing.
Ryam looked toward the council chamber doors.
"Still meeting?"
Lorence nodded.
"The Small Council has not yet finished."
He looked between the two younger knights.
"Rather than waiting..."
"...why don't you take him to the training yard?"
He smiled knowingly.
"I've heard much about Ser Lyonel."
"I'd like to hear whether the stories are true."
Ryam grinned.
"What do you say?"
Lyonel felt excitement stir within him.
A chance to cross blades with a Kingsguard.
Even only for practice.
It was an opportunity few knights ever received.
He smiled.
"I would be honoured."
Ryam nodded.
"Then come."
"The king can wait a little longer."
Together, the two knights turned away from the council chambers and made for the training yard.
Lyonel followed Ser Ryam through winding stone paths until they emerged into one of the Red Keep's great training yards.
The yard was alive.
Steel rang against steel from every direction.
Knights crossed practice swords while squires hurried after them carrying shields and helms. Men trained with spears, axes, longswords, maces, warhammers, and weapons Lyonel had never even seen before. The smell of sweat, leather, and dust filled the warm morning air.
Several men paused when they noticed Ser Ryam entering.
"It's Ser Ryam."
Many started at them before returning to their drills.
Ser Ryam walked to a wooden rack filled with blunted training weapons.
He pulled free two practice swords.
Without warning, he tossed one toward Lyonel.
Lyonel caught it cleanly by the grip.
Ryam smiled.
"Good."
He stepped into a circular wooden sparring ring surrounded by a low fence.
Lyonel followed him inside.
The sounds of the yard slowly faded as nearby knights and squires drifted closer to watch.
Word spread quickly.
"Ser Ryam is sparring with someone."
"Who is it?"
Within moments, dozens of men surrounded the ring.
Ryam rested the training sword upon his shoulder.
"First to five clean hits."
Lyonel nodded.
"As you wish."
They saluted one another.
Both settled into guard.
Silence settled over the ring.
Then—
They moved.
The first exchange was almost too fast to follow.
Wood cracked against wood.
Ryam attacked first.
Three lightning-fast cuts.
High.
Low.
Middle.
Lyonel barely managed to catch them all.
The force behind Ryam's blows surprised him.
He isn't testing me.
He's serious.
Lyonel answered with a thrust.
Ryam turned it aside effortlessly.
The older knight flowed around the attack as though dancing.
A quick tap landed against Lyonel's shoulder.
"One."
The watching knights nodded appreciatively.
Ryam stepped back.
"No shame."
"Again."
Lyonel tightened his grip.
This time, he attacked first.
A feint toward the head.
A slash toward the ribs.
A quick thrust.
Ryam defended each one with almost lazy precision.
The Kingsguard barely seemed to move.
Their blades met again and again.
Crack.
Crack.
Crack.
Lyonel suddenly shifted his footing and caught Ryam by surprise with a spinning cut.
The practice sword clipped Ryam's side.
A loud crack echoed.
Ryam laughed.
"One."
The watching crowd murmured.
"He struck Ser Ryam."
"Not many manage that."
Ryam grinned wider.
"Better."
"Show me more."
The duel continued.
Sweat began running down Lyonel's face.
Every exchange taught him something.
Ryam never wasted movement.
Every step served a purpose.
Every parry became an attack.
Every defence created an opening.
Lyonel tried everything he knew.
Quick combinations.
Powerful overhead blows.
Shieldless footwork, his brother Simon had taught him.
Nothing truly worked.
Ryam always seemed one step ahead.
Their swords blurred.
Wood cracked.
Boots scraped across the arena floor.
Twice, Lyonel nearly landed another strike.
Twice, Ryam slipped away at the last heartbeat.
Then—
Crack.
Ryam struck Lyonel's thigh.
"Two."
Only moments later—
Crack.
His ribs.
"Three."
Lyonel breathed heavily now.
His arms already burned.
Ryam looked almost untouched.
"You've good endurance."
"But you're thinking too much."
Lyonel frowned.
"What?"
"You watch my sword."
"You should watch my shoulders."
Before Lyonel could answer—
Crack.
Another clean hit.
"Four."
Lyonel cursed beneath his breath.
The spectators laughed warmly.
Not mockingly.
They respected effort.
Ryam lowered his blade.
"Last exchange."
Lyonel nodded.
He steadied himself.
If he was going to lose—
He would lose properly.
He rushed forward.
Everything he had.
Their blades crashed together again and again.
Lyonel drove Ryam backward for the first time.
The crowd cheered.
He swung.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Ryam defended each blow.
Then suddenly—
The Kingsguard vanished from directly ahead.
No—
He had stepped to the side.
Lyonel overextended.
A sharp crack landed across his back.
"Five."
Silence.
Then applause exploded throughout the training yard.
Knights clapped.
Squires cheered.
Ryam lowered his sword.
"You've talent."
Lyonel caught his breath.
"I lost."
"You did."
Ryam smiled.
"But most men wouldn't have scored even once."
He extended his hand.
Lyonel accepted it.
Ryam pulled him to his feet.
"You'll become dangerous."
Before Lyonel could answer—
Two silver-gold blurs sprinted across the yard.
"Ser Ryam!"
"Ser Ryam!"
The two boys rushed straight into the arena.
Princes.
There could be no mistaking them.
Silver-gold hair.
Purple eyes.
They both looked like they were under ten.
Both stared at Ryam with shining admiration.
"Can we train now?"
"Please!"
"We've been practicing!"
Ryam laughed.
"So impatient."
The younger prince bounced excitedly.
"Please!"
Ryam placed a hand upon the boy's shoulder.
"Prince Baelon."
"I've someone I'd like you to meet."
He pointed toward Lyonel.
"This is Ser Lyonel Dondarrion."
"The knight whose stories you enjoy so much."
Baelon looked Lyonel up and down.
His excitement faded.
He frowned.
"No."
Ryam blinked.
"No?"
Baelon folded his arms.
"Ser Lyonel is supposed to be enormous."
He pointed toward Lyonel.
"He's shorter than Father."
Several nearby knights struggled not to laugh.
Baelon continued.
"And he lost."
He shook his head firmly.
"The real Ser Lyonel would never lose."
Lyonel felt heat rise into his face.
He had faced bandits.
Dark magic.
Death itself.
Yet he was still being judged.
A gentle voice interrupted.
"Baelon."
The young prince froze.
"That was a very rude thing to say."
Everyone immediately bowed.
"Your Grace."
Lyonel lowered himself as well.
When he looked up again, he finally saw her clearly.
Queen Alysanne.
She possessed the same silver-gold hair and violet eyes as Princess Rhaena and Lady Rhaella, though there was a warmth in her smile that immediately set her apart.
Resting comfortably in her arms was a tiny little girl.
Unlike the others, the child's hair was a soft dirty blonde.
Even more curious were her eyes.
One shone bright violet.
The other a deep green.
Lyonel had never seen such eyes before.
The little girl stared back at him with complete seriousness.
Then suddenly giggled.
Baelon lowered his head.
"I'm sorry, Mother."
Alysanne smiled gently.
"Good."
The two princes hurried to her side.
She kissed each upon the forehead.
Then she looked toward the two knights.
"Ser Ryam."
"Ser Lyonel."
"If you would both accompany us."
Ryam bowed.
"Of course, Your Grace."
Lyonel did the same.
"It would be my honour."
Together, they fell in behind the Queen as she led her children across the Red Keep, leaving the training yard buzzing with excited whispers about the duel they had just witnessed.
Queen Alysanne walked at the front with her children, while Ser Ryam stayed a respectful distance behind her.
Lyonel remained even farther back.
He preferred it that way.
The Queen spoke softly with her sons as they walked through the halls of the Red Keep. Lyonel could not hear every word, but he caught enough to know they were talking about their lessons, their riding, and something Prince Baelon had apparently done that morning involving a stableboy and an apple.
Baelon defended himself with great enthusiasm.
"It wasn't my fault!"
"It was," Prince Aemon answered calmly.
"The horse only kicked the bucket because you threw the apple."
"I wanted to see if it would catch it."
"It nearly caught the stableboy."
Baelon crossed his arms.
"He moved."
Queen Alysanne sighed.
"Aemon."
"Yes, Mother?"
"Please continue being a good influence on your brother."
"I shall try."
Lyonel couldn't help but smile.
His own brother had often spoken to him the same way when they had been boys.
As they continued through the corridors, Lyonel felt someone watching him.
He looked up.
The tiny princess in Queen Alysanne's arms was staring directly at him.
Her mismatched eyes never left his face.
One purple.
One green.
She blinked.
Lyonel blinked back.
She continued staring.
He awkwardly looked away.
A few moments later, he glanced back.
She was still watching him.
He wondered why.
Did she not like him?
Did she think he looked strange?
He had never been very good with children.
Carefully, making sure none of the others noticed, he puffed out his cheeks.
The little girl tilted her head.
Lyonel crossed his eyes.
She stared another heartbeat.
Then—
She burst into delighted giggles.
A loud, happy laugh echoed through the corridor.
Queen Alysanne looked over her shoulder.
Lyonel immediately straightened his posture as though nothing had happened.
The Queen smiled knowingly.
"It would seem Alyssa likes you, Ser Lyonel."
Lyonel felt his ears grow warm.
"I... thank you, Your Grace."
She nodded toward the space beside her.
"Come."
"Walk with me."
Lyonel would have preferred to remain behind everyone else.
But one did not refuse a queen.
He walked forward until he stood beside her.
The little princess reached toward him with one tiny hand.
Lyonel awkwardly waved.
She laughed again.
Queen Alysanne smiled.
"You've made a friend."
"I believe I have, Your Grace."
They walked together in comfortable silence for a time before the Queen looked toward her younger son.
"Baelon."
The young prince looked up.
"What do you say to Ser Lyonel?"
Baelon shuffled his feet.
He looked embarrassed now.
"I'm sorry."
"I shouldn't have said those things."
Lyonel smiled gently.
"There is nothing to forgive, Your Prince."
Baelon looked relieved.
"You really aren't a giant."
"No."
"And you really lost."
"I did."
Baelon frowned.
"But songs never lie."
Lyonel chuckled.
"They do quite often."
Prince Aemon spoke quietly.
"Mother says singers make stories larger because people enjoy listening to them."
"They do," Alysanne agreed.
"The truth is often less exciting."
Lyonel shook his head.
"I think the truth is exciting enough."
Queen Alysanne looked at him curiously.
"And what is the truth, Ser Lyonel?"
He thought for a moment.
"The truth is that brave men died protecting others."
"The songs only remember the man who survived."
For a moment, no one spoke.
Queen Alysanne's smile softened.
"That is a wise answer."
Lyonel lowered his head slightly.
"I merely speak what I have seen."
The corridors gradually became quieter.
Servants disappeared.
The walls became richer, decorated with tapestries and dragons.
Eventually, they reached a heavy oak door.
Two white-cloaked knights stood guard outside.
Both immediately bowed.
"Your Grace."
Queen Alysanne nodded.
She looked toward Lyonel.
"The king should not be much longer."
She smiled warmly.
"It was a pleasure finally meeting the real Ser Lyonel."
"The pleasure was mine, Your Grace."
She entered the room with her children.
Princess Alyssa looked over her mother's shoulder one last time and waved her tiny hand toward him.
Lyonel awkwardly waved back.
The door closed behind them.
Silence returned.
One of the Kingsguard smiled.
"So."
"You must be Ser Lyonel."
The knight stepped forward and extended his hand.
"I am Ser Pate."
Lyonel clasped it firmly.
"It is an honour, Ser."
Ser Pate was older than Ser Ryam, broad-shouldered and thick-bearded, with kind eyes that reminded Lyonel of Benedar.
The second Kingsguard approached next.
"And I am Ser Lucamore."
Lyonel shook his hand as well.
Unlike Ser Pate, Lucamore was taller and leaner, with a powerful build that spoke of years spent beneath heavy armour.
"It is an honour to meet you both."
Ser Ryam leaned casually against the wall.
"You should've seen him."
Ser Pate raised an eyebrow.
Ser Ryam spoke. "We had a duel."
"Ser Lyonel surprised me."
Lucamore looked interested.
"Oh?"
"He landed a clean hit."
Both older Kingsguard looked toward Lyonel.
"Against you?"
Ryam laughed.
"Only one."
"But it was earned."
Ser Pate whistled softly.
"Most knights don't manage even that."
Lyonel shook his head.
"I still lost rather badly."
Ryam smiled.
"You lost because I have years more experience."
"Not because you lacked skill."
Lucamore folded his arms.
"What kind of swordsman is he?"
Ryam thought for a moment.
"Disciplined."
"Strong."
"Very honest with his movements."
"No tricks."
"No flourishes."
"He fights exactly as he thinks."
Ser Pate nodded approvingly.
"A good foundation."
"It can be built upon."
They continued speaking as they walked through the halls until they arrived back outside the Small Council chambers.
Standing where he had been before was Ser Lorence.
The old Kingsguard had not moved an inch.
He smiled as they approached.
"So?"
"How did our famous knight fare?"
Ser Ryam grinned.
"He lost."
Lorence chuckled.
"I expected as much."
"But?"
"He made me work harder than I expected."
That caught the old knight's attention.
"Oh?"
Ryam nodded.
"He'll never be another Ryam Redwyne."
He looked toward Lyonel with a smile.
"But give him enough years..."
"...and I believe he'll become a knight worthy of the songs sung about him."
Lyonel looked down at the floor, wishing the conversation would move on.
Before anyone could say another word, the heavy doors of the Small Council chamber creaked loudly.
The meeting, at last, was coming to an end.