5 Chapter 5

I was grinning from ear to ear as I walked through the lower corridors of the Rock. Sweat made my shirt cling to my skin, and my hair was damp from dunking my head into a bucket of ice cold water. I brought a hand up to rub against my left shoulder, testing it in slow movements. The morning practice at the yard had just ended, but my body was already sore as if I had just worked out at the gym for the first time after months of inactivity.

Oh, how I had missed this! That was the problem with having near superhuman levels of physical prowess. These days, nothing seemed to tire me anymore. I had exerted myself more in the brief spar against Ser Gwayne than in the two hours of going up and down the Casterly mountain. And I had lost! To a man that, as far as I knew, was one of the less prodigious members of kingsguard.

What could I expect from the likes of Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Arthur Dayne? Living legends walked among us. Hell, unless one of us were to die prematurely, I would get the opportunity to meet Robert Baratheon in his prime. The Demon of the Trident himself.

My blood ran hot with anticipation. I couldn't wait to try myself against all of these monsters.

Distracted as I was in my own fantasies, I hadn't realized someone had been calling out to me until their tone turned harsh.

"Are you ignoring me, Tarth?!"

I perked up like I'd been slapped on the face. "Huh?" Turning, I saw two boys looking at me by an open alcove on the hall. I recognized them instantly. Think about the devil and he'll show up, huh.

The one who'd spoken was the tallest of the two, young yet already built like a bull with strapping arms and legs like tree trunks. He glared at me with stormy dark eyes under a mane of thick black hair. Were fourteen year old boys supposed to be this big? Then again, who was I to comment on that? I was taller by an inch at only fifteen.

To his side, a boy with a particularly long face cringed. When he caught my gaze, his grey eyes softened as if he was trying to apologize for his friend's rudeness without having to voice it.

Time to turn the charm up.

Walking up to the two boys, I smiled casually and bowed at the waist. "My Lord Baratheon, Lord Stark. Forgive me, I was lost in my own mind."

"It's no issue, my lord," the young Ned Stark said, grateful for my courtesy. He elbowed Robert, who was still glaring at me, and the large boy finally smartened up.

"Oh. Uhhh. Of course, of course. As you would be after a fight like that," Robert said, fury quickly turning into passion. "Let me guess, you were replaying that last bit where you almost had the guy, no?" He barked out a laugh. "I would too if that had been me. By the gods, that was some of the finest fighting I've ever seen. Had to be a Stormlander, eh? Call me Robert too. Lord Baratheon is my father."

"Then call me Galladon, please." We both extended a hand at the same time and clasped forearms. When the future king of the seven kingdoms increased the pressure beyond what was polite, I squeezed back twice as hard.

A grin spread across Robert's face. "Hah! I like you, Galladon." He held my forearm for a moment longer before letting go.

"Same for me, then," Eddard Stark said, offering up a hand. "Lord Stark still sounds weird even after all the years of being called it in the Vale. I'm Eddard."

I shook it firmly, though there was no power struggle here. "Eddard and Robert," I said, as if trying the names for the first time. "It's a pleasure to meet you, my lords. I take it you caught my spar with Ser Gwayne?"

Robert nodded eagerly. "Only the last minute or so, but what a minute it was. Had you met in an actual battlefield, I wager the bards would be singing about it before we broke our fast tomorrow." Then his face suddenly twisted as if he'd tasted something sour. "Father had me shadowing him for the past few days. Preparing me for lordship, he says, as if he's an old man on his deathbed and I'll have to take over the house tomorrow. I think it was your father—uh, Lord Tarth, that is, who rescued me, in fact. Gods, it's been dull. It feels like I haven't breathed in the smell of a practice yard in forever."

"It's only been a few days, Robert," Ned piped in, smiling at his friend's misery.

"Bah!" Robert waved a hand as if swatting away a fly. "A few days full of stuffy meetings with blabbing old men and foppish arse-lickers. No Ned, it's been forever and you know it. Don't tell me you enjoy following Lord Arryn when he goes around talking with every knight in the whole damn kingdom about trade deals and marriage prospects in the Vale. We should be out there with Galladon while we're still young and not tied up with ungrateful sons and willful wives."

"Speak for yourself. I'm only the second son. Less prestige, aye, but we can have all the freedom we want." Ned smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'll be off gallivanting across the world while you gather dust in your fancy castle. I've always wanted to see the Wall, and the Hightower in Oldtown. Mayhaps I'll even make it to Essos."

Even though I had never spoken to this Ned before, he was clearly just trying to rile up his friend. I doubted Eddard Stark wanted anything more than to serve his brother in some peaceful corner in the North.

Robert huffed. "Keep talking like that and I'd saddle you with a castle of your own when I come into my lordship. I'll make it close to Storm's End too, so I can come bothering you to go for a hunt every other day. I'll even pick a wife for you. An old maid with more hair down there than on her head."

Ned doubled-down and said something about a tavern in the Riverlands and an old woman without all her teeth, to which Robert only laughed and kept the ribbing up, mentioning a girl's name that had Ned turning red from his neck to his forehead.

I watched the two bicker like an old couple for a moment. It was interesting to see the same men I had read about in books and watched on a screen act as boys younger than I was, still good-humored and unbroken by the world. Would my presence here change their destiny? Would Robert still be king? Would Brandon still die along with Lord Stark? Would Ned still have to marry his brother's bride to seal off an alliance with the Tullies?

I was no hero, in all honesty. Saving the Starks from their terrible fates wasn't the reason I got out of bed every morning, but that didn't mean I wanted to see them dead. In the end, I could only do what was best for me and mine and hope for the best for everyone else. I had come to love my family here with the same fervor as my first one, and I wouldn't put their safety in jeopardy by poking my head in deeper shit than I could swim out of.

I was only the heir of Tarth after all. Were I not from another world, getting to speak so friendly with the sons of two Lords Paramounts would be one of the highlights of my life.

"Galladon." Robert's voice snapped me back into conversation. "You're older than us, no?" I nodded, and he kept going. "Then help me with this Northern fool. He says you can tell a good woman by the sound of her laugh, can you believe him? Are we talking about women or a painted fool dancing in court? No, it's the teats, I say. The bigger the better. That's where the heart is, no? Only makes sense. Tell him I'm right, won't you?"

I blinked. Opened my mouth to answer, then closed it again. How did we even get here?

Play the game, Galladon, I told myself. Play the game.

Putting on my most intense voice, I stepped up to the two boys. "Let me tell you something, lads. As future lords, who you choose as your lady will break or make you. A good woman will make your lives infinitely easier. A bad one… well, let's just say you'll wish for a quick death over the torture that living with her will be. How to tell the good from the bad though, well, the most important thing is…" I let my voice trail off.

They both leaned in, eyes frenzied with the sort of fantastical obsession that only young men who knew women solely as a foreign concept could conjure.

"Her soul," I finally said.

Ned made a strange sound with the back of his throat while Robert simply deflated, the light in his eyes fading like a dying star. He pouted like a kid whose toy had been taken away.

"Her soul?" Ned said, brows furrowed.

Nodding sagely, I pat them both on the shoulders. "Believe me, the soul is all that matters. Oh, and her arse too." Ned spluttered, and Robert's good humor returned with a spike of laughter. "A good one, fat and slim at the same time. No easy feat to find such a treasure, I'll tell you."

Still laughing, Robert said, "Now that's wisdom."

"Indeed, but I must leave you now, my lords." I looked at the position of the sun outside. "I promised my sisters I would take them to Lannisport after luncheon, and if you want a last piece of advice about women—make no promises you cannot keep. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, lads. Remember that."

I shook my head as I walked away, chuckling to myself. Behind me, Ned and Robert spoke animatedly about our conversation, going into great and completely uneducated lengths about women's souls, moods, and arses. In the end, the language of teenage boys, with its special blend of swagger and ignorance, was the same whether in my world or in a medieval fantasy land.