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Chapter 27: Chapter 22: PrincehoodChapter Text

"Don't underestimate me because I'm small."

-Ser Arya Stark the Lone Wolf, Sworn Sword of Prince Jaehaerys 'Jon' Targaryen

106 AC, Red Keep

It was good to be a Prince.

Oh, don't get me wrong, I had loads of fun being a Princess, but there was only so many tea parties and embroidery sessions that one could endure before they lost all their novelty and became boring.

Queen Alysanne had done much to improve the lives of girls in this respect, encouraging them to go hunting, hawking, riding and reading. All those things that most lords didn't bother teach their daughters as girls were expected to grow up as mindless broodmares that were seen rather than heard.

Alas, Queen Aemma had been horridly conservative, and had very firm views about the place of women in the world. Namely beneath the boot of men. Well, she was dead now, and Viserys was rather hands-off on parenting.

And now that I was Prince, I could finally get to do all of the stereotypically boyish activities of a young highborn heir. I learnt how to hawk and hunt, riding out in the Kingswood with the Kingsguard. I learnt how to joust, riding against quintains and later my cousins. Shaeterys was practically a natural on a horse, and Rhaegar was no slouch either. So I had little choice but to grow used to being unhorsed.

And it wasn't just in physical activities that I found my life improving in. Uncle Vaegon was my usual tutor and never shied away from teaching me subjects most maesters traditionally wouldn't bother girls, but now that I was Prince, the rest of the maesters in the Red Keep could no longer bar me from learning more 'manly' subjects. Which was basically everything more advanced than literacy and basic maths, because women didn't need to know history or geography to give birth to her lord husband's male heir.

Yeah… Westeros was a horrible place to be born as a female in.

———

106 AC, Red Keep Training Yard

Another one of the nifty benefits of being a Prince was that I could finally use the Red Keep's training yard, which was far better equipped than the courtyard of Maegor's Holdfast.

You didn't know just how much difference training dummies and target boards made to one's quality of life until you finally got them. It was like moving from an exercise mat in one's room, to a fully stocked gym.

Now, I was pretty hopeless at ranged combat. Couldn't throw throwing knives or javelins to save my life. My archery was shoddy, and the one time I tried using a sling, I wound up whacking myself in the head with the stone. But despite all that, there still was one ranged weapon I excelled at…

The crossbow bolt loosed with a sharp snap, striking home on the target. I immediately cranked back the lever before placing another quarrel in the weapon. I raised the weapon smoothly and pulled the trigger. There was a kick in my shoulder from the recoil, but it was nothing compared to the SAR-21 assault rifle.

The bolt flew through the air, striking the target over a hundred yards away. Another bullseye.

Someone let out an appreciative whistle at that.

There were seven targets spread out across the training yard archery range, at a varying distance of fifteen to a hundred yards away. And each of them now bore a single crossbow bolt impaled into their center mass. All fired and shot in a span of slightly over two minutes.

Nothing too unusual. I learnt how to shoot a rifle during boot camp back on Earth.

Boy had that been a ride. I never expected the gunshots to be so loud, even with earplugs. I just couldn't focus through it. Kept getting spooked and wound up firing blindly most of the time. And in the end my first live firing exercise ended in a 31% accuracy rate, which was particularly annoying as literally everyone else in my damn section hit over 75% of their shots and earned their marksmen patches. Even Xin! And he had anxiety! Anxiety!

It was a matter of pride and stubbornness that saw me give up my weekend to spend the extra time practicing in camp. The officers were really supportive, and put together an unofficial 'Shooting 101 for dummies' course. After which, my score dramatically improved to 69% and then 75%, which barely allowed me to scrape into a marksman patch.

Of course it was all for nothing, as after boot camp I got shunted to a desk job and never touched a gun again for the rest of my military service, but at least I had a lot of relevant skills and experience to draw from.

A crossbow wasn't a gun, but the one I used had been specifically customised for my own use. What had once been a Free Cities lever-action crossbow had been modified with a pistol grip and stock, as well as primitive ironsights attached atop the lever mechanism.

I was rusty, but I'd been drilling relentlessly with the crossbow for the past week, improving my marksmanship while reducing my reloading times, and I was now confident in the use of the weapon.

"Good shot, Your Grace." Bell's stepfather Ser Wingood praised, offering me a waterskin, which I accepted. As I drank, I took in the man. Early thirties, he was a well built and tall specimen of Andal stock. His short hair was brown, and his beard was close-cropped. His eyes were like chips of slate, set in a face of sharp lines and early wrinkles. He was handsome, in a rugged sort of way. While Daemon was arguably the more comely, Wingood had that more down-to-earth feel.

Although there were twenty-two Dragonseeds born to eighteen mothers, only ten of the ladies had accepted residence in the Fyrepit. Well, eleven, if one counted Sylvie, but Daena's mother preferred to live down at an upscale brothel in the Street of Silk called the House of Kisses, where she worked as a whore. Still, she had a room reserved for her in the Fyrepit if she ever needed it.

Regardless, of the ten mothers, only one was married, and that was Bell's mother Alla.

"Thank you, Ser." I replied, the man throwing over a wooden lance. I snatched it out of the air, twirling the weapon in my hand. Ser Wingood used to be the Master-at-Arms at Runestone, and insisted that I familiarise myself with a different weapon every week. This week, we were going through how to use a lance as a weapon, in case I got unhorsed during a calvary charge and had to use my lance in close quarters.

Ser Wingood was actually a better personal trainer than the Kingsguard were. It wasn't that he was a better fighter—Even the weakest of the White Knights would wipe the floor with him—but he was the better teacher. He had unending patience and knew how to gradually ramp up the difficulty of the lessons, while keeping them fun and interesting.

While technically he wasn't the Master-of-Arms, that was still Ser Harrold Stokeworth, or even my personal trainer, that was still Ser Jonquil, Ser Wingood was the man responsible for training up the Dragonseeds. And since I so often practiced alongside my cousins, Ser Wingood had extended his mandate to cover me as well, with Ser Jonquil's tacit blessing.

I begun my routine on the sandy ground of the training yard, practising the stokes and strikes of the weapon. Repeating the moves until they were second nature to me.

Daena was my partner in this, the two of us going back and forth across the training yard. Strike, parry, counterattack, parry again, Ser Wingood occasionally stepping in to correct our stance or slightly adjust our movement. As a concession to how much more skilled I was to Daena, I wore full armour, while my cousin was clad solely in a padded aketon and good trousers. Far lighter and flexible. Though she did wear a borrowed helm.

I hadn't outgrown my tiny Goldcloak armour, but I'd decided to retire it and get ahold of a new suit of plate to celebrate my ascension as Prince of Dragonstone. Fitted for someone a bit larger than I currently was, the plate was bare and understated. A sober and practical tool of war, not some fancy ornament. I'd probably commission myself some ornate armour for ceremonial occasions when I grew older, but there was no point in blowing coin on something I'd outgrow by the end of the decade.

But even with the handicap, Daena was struggling to keep up. It wasn't that she was weaker or slower than I was, but I simply just had far more fine control over my own body due to my past life. My moves were smoother and more efficient, expending half the effort for twice the gain. And it wasn't just the physical aspects of combat that I surpassed Daena at.

A veteran badminton player would instinctively move to strike the second they saw the shuttlecock, while a less experienced player would have to stop and calculate the trajectory before aiming the next shot. The same thing was happening here. I was pretty sure my cousin had faster reflexes than I did, but I had far more knowledge and experience from my past life. 

Which meant that though Daena could react faster, she had to pause to think of her next move before moving, preventing her from reaching her maximum speed. Meanwhile, I simply just made those same decisions faster, which compensated for my slower reaction time.

I felt mildly bad for basically bullying my cousin on the yard, but like it or not, Daena was the best choice as my partner.

Although on paper Bell Fyre was the better fighter, Daemon's secondborn had a highly limited repertoire.

Despite her young age, it was obvious that Bell would grow up big-boned and broad-shouldered, and it wasn't just that her body that trended to brute force. Bell herself admitted that she wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, and she preferred… simple solutions. Instead of spending so much time practicing how to best swing a sword, Bell would rather just smash her opponent's head in with a club.

As such, her sword style was honestly little more than hacking and slashing with the absolute bare minimum of technique, though given how absurdly strong Daemon's secondborn was, that tended to work out anyway. Regardless, even her stepfather had agreed that his stepdaughter ought to stick to clubs or maces in a fight.

Which meant that when it came to training technique, Daena was the first and best choice.

"Look at them. Acting like they're going to the battlefield." I heard a mocking voice say.

"Aye. Pants or no, they're just girls. One sight of blood and they'll all swoon." Another laughingly added.

I turned around, an idle gesture telling Daena to stop as well.

"There's only one sort of spear girls should be handling." A third japed. making an obscene gesture with his hips, the other boys hooting in amusement.

I took them in balefully. They were a group of squires around Oscar Tully's age and build. Five of them in the corner of the yard, openly laughing at Daena and I. Ser Wingood had moved to chastise them, but I waved him down, Bell's stepfather smirking, stepping back and letting me go ahead.

"And just what makes you boys think that the girls cannot fight." I mildly asked, approaching the five boys. "Ser Jonquil is a woman, and she can snap the five of you over her knee in less than a minute."

"I'd like to see her try." The fourth boy laughed. "Girls can't fight."

The fifth boy leaned forwards, so close that I could smell his bad breath.

"Go back to your dolls and dresses, Princess." He said. "We wouldn't want you to break a nail."

"So be it." I replied evenly, turning around and walking away.

"Hah, see, she's no real man!" The first boy laughed. "A coward and craven."

"Manners." I picked up my crossbow.

My voice was soft, and yet it carried, the five boys turning to look at me.

"Maketh." I pulled back the lever.

The Dragonseeds and those more familiar with me were clearing the way. A wise move.

"Man." I loaded a blunted bolt into the weapon.

Though outwardly I was calm, inside I was squeeing with glee. I'd always wanted to say that line.

"Do any of you know what that means?" I asked, lazily turning around to face the five squires.

There was a ripple of confusion from the five of them.

"Allow me to teach that to you."

I raised my crossbow and fired the weapon in the same move, crossbow bolt hitting the third boy in the groin. And blunted bolt or no, getting struck in the crotch at high speed by a crossbow quarrel hurt like hell. He went down screaming, and the other four angrily whirled around to face me.

"Well?" I asked, putting down my crossbow and picking up the wooden lance. "Are we going to stand around all day, or are we going to fight?"

The fourth boy angrily yelled, shoving the other squires aside as he raised a fist. A right straight. Swung with more strength than skill.

I backpedalled, allowing the blow to miss me. I immediately fell into stance, thrusting forwards with the blunted wooden tip of the lance. It took him straight in center mass, knocking him backwards.

The second and fifth boys moved around their companion, moving to pincer me. I immediately transitioned into a swipe, swinging my weapon with both arms and swinging the lance like a baseball bat and whacking the fifth boy on the temple. He wasn't wearing a helmet, and went down with a sickening crack.

I danced elegantly away from the clumsy blows of the second boy. Twirling around my lance and striking him in weak points. His sides. The back of his knees. His head. And here's the thing about long weapons like spears and staffs. If one twirled around just right, as I did, one could add quite a bit of centrifugal force and body weight to one's strikes. Especially if they were made of hardwood like my current weapon.

Angrily snarling, the squire caught my weapon with his right armpit, holding it between his right arm and torso. He struck out with a left straight, but I angled my body, letting the fist strike me in my helmet, right on the crown of the head, one of the hardest parts of the body. I shrugged off the impact. He didn't. Punching metal and bone barehanded was a recipe for broken fingers.

Dropping my weapon, I spun around him like water around a rock, grabbing his outstretched left arm in the process. My boot slammed into the back of his knee, dropping him to the ground even as I wrenched his arm behind him, holding it taut. I shifted my stance. I held his wrist in my elbow and struck out with my full body weight on his bicep. There was a great crack, and the boy screamed.

He collapsed to the ground as I let him go, falling to the ground while half sobbing, half screaming, in utter pain. Bone protruding out of his bicep.

The fourth and fifth boys lunged towards me, but I retreated elegantly, dancing around their blows, steps light as a feather and graceful as a crane, moving like a leaf on the wind.

The difference in experience was flatly showing here. These boys were around twelve or so, and from the looks of things, hadn't been trained in unarmed combat. They were simply swinging with brute force and mass. No technique whatsoever.

Meanwhile, I was a trained soldier and adult. In mind if not body. And I was wearing a full suit of plate, while this lot were unarmored and unarmed. There really was only one way this could go.

I casually dodged a wild swipe, spinning around the fourth boy and kicking him in the crotch with a steel-toed boot from behind. He screamed in pain, and I grabbed his shoulders, manoeuvring him such that his face ate the next punch thrown at me.

Oh, was that a tooth?

Ah well, he was young enough he'd grow it back.

The first boy finally cut into the melee, brandishing a sword. Probably a blunted one, but I wasn't taking any risks. Dark Sister left the scabbard on my back with an almost thirsty hiss. The sight of Queen Visenya's famed blade caused the boy to freeze up in fear for one second, which was all I needed. My blade shot out, catching his own. I spun my wrist, Dark Sister spinning around his own in an almost snakelike manner, wrenching the sword out of his hands and carving a bloody line across his breast in the same spin.

I could have slashed his throat with that move, but this wasn't a fight. It was a lesson. There was no need to reap lives today. My gauntleted fist slammed straight into his right eye, and as he reeled from the blow, I dropped my sword and grabbed his head with both hands. I yanked it down with all my strength, smashing his jaw straight into my armoured knee, and down he went.

The fifth boy, the last still standing, swung out at me with my own discarded lance, hoping that the reach would offset Dark Sister. It didn't work. I sidestepped the blow, snatching up my sword from the ground. One strike later, and Valyrian steel casually cut straight through the hardwood lance like it was a mere stick.

He blinked dumbly at the sight, and I dashed into his guard, sweeping his legs with my own, and causing him to tumble to the ground. He tried to rise, snarling, but my armoured heel slammed into his face, knocking him back down. A second kick struck his stomach. The third, his groin. Leaving him as a groaning mess on the ground.

I flicked the blood off Dark Sister idly, returning it to the scabbard with a flourish.

"Lesson over." I told the five injured boys. I turned to face the audience that had gathered around the training yard, all watching me beat the snot out of five of them. I saw a couple of knights purple with rage, held at bay only by the Kingsguard. The masters of the squires I trounced? Well, no matter. I was the Prince of Dragonstone. I was untouchable.

And, oh, was that Septa Myra? My old governess was practically frothing at the mouth at the sight of me. She was shaking, with rage or horror, I couldn't tell. Her mouth opened and closed like a goldfish, unable to enunciate her thoughts for words had failed her.

"The next time someone accuses me of not being a real man, they better not be squealing like girls when I am done with them." I declared, staring down the crowd.

Daena began clapping, cheering and whooping at my victory. Her siblings quickly followed suit, and before long, I had the entire training yard applauding me.

It really was good to be a Prince.