Penrose stepped forward in a flash, placing himself between Arthur and the Kingslayer. "My Lord is unarmored. To fight him now—even if you win, where is the glory in that?"
Jaime removed his hand from his sword hilt. "Snow, I can wait for you to don your steel. I, Jaime Lannister, have no need for cheap advantages."
Arthur reached out, resting a hand on Penrose's shoulder and signaling him to stand down.
"No need for the trouble." His voice was as calm as still water. "Since this is merely a test of swordsmanship, I require no armor. We only need a proper yard."
Arthur was a pragmatist; he rarely did things without benefit, especially meaningless challenges. However, the conversation had backed him into a corner. To refuse now would earn him a reputation for cowardice.
Jaime's eyebrows shot up. "As I said before, I hope your sword arm is as sharp as your tongue when we get out there."
Arthur and Jaime stared each other down in the corridor for a long moment. The tension was palpable, drawing the eyes of many bystanders. Handmaidens whispered behind pillars, and squires pretended to be running errands only to stop and gawk.
News of the duel spread through the Red Keep like wildfire. By the time they moved, a crowd of curious onlookers had already gathered.
The chosen venue was a practice yard nestled between Maegor's Holdfast and the White Sword Tower.
Maegor's Holdfast was a massive, square fortress within a fortress, located in the heart of the Red Keep, housing the royal apartments. The White Sword Tower, a slender structure of four stories, served as the home of the Kingsguard. This specific yard was reserved for the White Cloaks and members of the royal family to train and hone their skills.
When they arrived, the spacious yard was occupied only by the Red Keep's Master-at-Arms, Ser Aron Santagar, who was instructing Prince Joffrey Baratheon and a few junior squires. Aside from them, Joffrey's personal guards stood nearby.
On a balcony of Maegor's Holdfast, Queen Cersei was watching her eldest son practice when she noticed her twin brother and the uninvited guest entering the yard.
"I knew Jaime would want to test this new 'Sword of the Morning.'" The door behind her opened, and the voice of the "Imp," Tyrion Lannister—a voice Cersei knew all too well—drifted out. "Jaime worshiped Ser Arthur Dayne. Seeing a Snow wield Dawn? He was bound to pick a fight."
Cersei shot a sharp glare at her dwarf brother. "Where have you been all this time?"
"Where else could I be?" Tyrion grinned, revealing his mismatched teeth. "Taverns, whorehouses... or perhaps a whorehouse inside a tavern. Dear sister, you know exactly the sort of places I frequent."
As he spoke, Tyrion dragged a stool onto the balcony. The wooden legs scraped against the stone floor, producing a teeth-grinding screech.
"So, you say that is the 'Sword of the Morning,' Arthur Snow? The one who nearly sparked a total war between the Reach and Dorne?"
Cersei frowned, enduring the noise the dwarf made, her eyes fixed on the two men standing opposite each other below.
In the yard, Jaime was fully armored, donning his gilded lion helm. Arthur Snow, however, had stripped off his tunic, standing bare-chested as he simply rolled his wrists.
"Indeed. I rushed back the moment I heard Arthur Snow had arrived in King's Landing. Luckily, I didn't miss the show." Tyrion climbed onto the stool to peer over the railing, looking surprised. "He's fighting without armor or a shirt? Does he think he's entering a bedchamber rather than a duel?"
"Though, I suppose it makes sense," Tyrion continued, musing. "At a time like this, instead of courting allies, he's playing swords with my brother. He's likely just a brute who only knows how to kill. A fool."
Tyrion watched the movement in the yard while continuing his commentary. "The Roses of Highgarden have been very active in the city lately. They are carting wagon after wagon of grain into King's Landing. Lady Margaery Tyrell is personally distributing food to the smallfolk and the poor. Everyone is praising her mercy and beauty, calling her a maiden sent by the Seven."
"A lion does not concern himself with the opinion of sheep," Cersei sniffed, her lips pressed into a thin line. "I thought you were in a whorehouse. How do you know all this?"
Tyrion looked somewhat regretful. " The Gods are cruel. They did not grant me the stamina to go all night, much like they didn't grant me a proper height. While I'm... recovering my strength, I have to chat with the girls."
"You..."
Just as Cersei curled her lip to deliver a cutting remark, Tyrion let out a gasp.
His mismatched eyes—one black, one green—went wide as he looked down. "This 'Sword of the Morning'... he's unarmored, yet he's suppressing my brother?"
Cersei looked down. Her twin, Jaime, and Arthur Snow were locked in combat.
Arthur, unencumbered by steel plate, moved with supernatural agility. His movements were elegant yet lethal. The greatsword in his hands seemed to possess a life of its own, weaving a dance of death.
Jaime, in his white armor and lion helm, looked clumsy and sluggish by comparison. He was forced entirely on the defensive, barely parrying the strikes.
As she watched Arthur knock the golden helm from Jaime's head, sending golden hair spilling out, Tyrion offered his assessment.
"Arthur Snow may be a brute and a fool, but he is a brute and a fool with transcendent swordsmanship. The title 'Sword of the Morning' is not an empty boast. No wonder Highgarden and the Reach are so on edge."
A flicker of interest sparked in Cersei's eyes. Rarely did anyone completely dominate Jaime in swordplay.
After watching them exchange a dozen more passes with relish, she saw Arthur swing the milky-white blade. With a light, deft strike, he sent Jaime's sword flying from his hand.
The training yard fell into dead silence.
Suddenly, Arthur looked up. His violet eyes stared straight at the balcony.
In that moment, Cersei saw his face clearly. She was instantly captivated by those violet eyes.
For a fleeting second, she thought she was looking into the eyes of the dead Rhaegar Targaryen.
But she quickly dismissed it. No, Rhaegar's eyes were a deep indigo. Arthur Snow's eyes are... more unforgettable.
Suddenly, a memory from her childhood surged into Cersei's mind.
She was ten years old. She had gone with two friends into the woods near Lannisport to find a wood witch, Maggy the Frog, seeking a prophecy.
She could still see the old crone clearly. The woman had yellow eyes, thick with an unspeakable malice. She was short, squat, her skin warty, with jowls that hung like green mottled eggs. She was toothless, her teats hanging to her knees, and she smelled of sickness. When she spoke, her breath was strange and foul.
The old woman had growled at them three times to leave. One of Cersei's friends fled in terror.
But the growl of a frog could not scare a lioness. The golden-haired girl had stood her ground. "Give us the prophecy, or I'll have my lord father whip you for insolence."
"Please," the other friend had begged. "Tell us the future, and we'll go."
Maggy yielded, but demanded a taste of their blood.
"Three questions may you ask," the crone croaked after sucking the blood from Cersei's finger. "You won't like my answers. Ask, or begone with you."
"When will I wed the prince?" she had asked.
"Never. You will wed the King."
For years, Cersei thought this meant she would not marry Rhaegar until his father, Aerys, died.
"I will be queen, though?" the young Cersei asked.
"Aye. Queen you shall be... until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear."
Anger had flushed the young girl's face. "If she tries, I will have my brother kill her!"
"Will the King and I have children?" she asked.
"Oh, aye. Six-and-ten for him, and three for you. Gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds. And when your tears have drowned you, the Valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you."
Later, Cersei learned from a septa that Valonqar was High Valyrian for "little brother."
When she snapped back from the memory to reality, she found the stool beside her empty. Tyrion had vanished without her noticing.
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