Ser Balon’s swing felt heavy as a plow-horse against my sword. Our blades met in a harsh clang of metal, and I only just managed to push him off in a parry. We disengaged, and I took the time to wipe off the sweat that rolled down the side of my face. Despite the cool spray of the sea, the helmet and half-plate armor I had on felt like a boiling pot cooking me as it would a crab.

We circled each other another time, swords raised at the ready, looking for any flaws in each other’s stances. I was the first to bite, a tentative swing to open him up for a counter. A trap.

Ser Balon didn’t seem to care. Instead of a cautious approach, he deflected my half-hearted attack and came at me relentlessly. First a lunge, a half-swing followed by a thrust, then twice against my leg.

I parried them all, my arm moving without waiting for my brain, but I couldn’t find reprieve long enough to try my hand at that counter. He was taller than I was, his reach longer. I tried to move under his guard in between strikes, but then again he was also broader, so he shouldered me half-way across the fighting ring when I closed in, and we were back to where we started.

For a moment I just stood there, panting heavily, my shoulders on fire with the weight of my dull training sword. Ser Balon stood across from me, unmoving but for the wind tousling his short bronze-colored hair. We were practicing in the same place Bronn and Jaime did in the show, a smoothstone terrace tucked against the cliffs beneath the Red Keep. Behind me, the terrace gave in to a sharp drop to the Blackwater. To the west, the setting sun painted the sky above King’s Landing the color of blood.

I usually came here to practice with Bronn, where a king could try his hand at some dirty fighting without causing a stir in court. But the former sellsword had been out in the city for the past week doing my bidding, and I’d brought my one useful Kingsguard and Ser Loras Tyrell with me.

I already knew well what fighting was. I’d done it all my life. Your focus narrows to the man opposite you, your breathing comes quicker and quicker still, hot blood pumps through your veins. That all doesn’t change. The feel is the same.

But as I’d learned these past months, swordfighting is a whole other beast compared to what I was used to, and Tommen’s memories were next to useless in that regard.

Still, they told me I was keen for a boy of fifteen, even if Tommen had never trained due to Cersei’s meddling. Ser Balon said I got it from Robert’s fighting vigor, but I knew otherwise. Let it not be said a son of Jaime Lannister had no talent with a sword in hand.

Then Ser Balon was walking up to me again, slowly. He was a methodical fighter, an immovable rock in the middle of a storm. Until he turned the switch on and became the whirlwind himself. But I had no waiting in me. When he was within striking distance, I lunged. The knight brought his sword down to deflect mine, but I pulled off at the last second and went for an overhead blow, aiming for the neck.

Then he twisted. His body moved out of the way quick as a viper. His sword met mine on its way down and rolled along the blade. Pain suddenly flared on my wrist. Were I a smarter man I would’ve dropped the sword and called it a day, but I was already stubborn before I ever got my wits about me, so I tumbled to the side and tucked into a half-roll, still clutching the handle of the sword despite the discomfort it caused me.

I turned to meet him again, intent on finishing the bout before my wrist gave out. And got a foot to the chest that took all the air out of my world. The sword flew out of my hand when my back hit the ground hard, and my helmet rang against the stone like a gong. I strained my neck and tried to curse the bastard, but it came out a pained groan. Before I could gather the energy to stand, Ser Balon was on top of me, his sword pointing down my neck.

I sighed and I let my head fall down to the ground. After the first sparring session where I told him off for taking it easy on me, Ser Balon withheld nothing in our practice. Because of that, he was still undefeated against me. In fact, I hadn’t won a single bout against any of my three training partners. It was to be expected, I knew. Tommen had never stepped foot on a training yard before I came into the picture, but all the losses stacking up like that still stung.

When I looked up again, Ser Balon had his hand pointed at me instead of a sword. I grit my teeth and took it, and he heaved me up like I weighed as little as Ser Pounce.

“Are you alright, Your Grace?” he asked, concern evident in his face.

I turned away quickly so he couldn’t see me scowl. Nothing rankled me like pity, even if I knew he didn’t mean it like that. I’d seen it all too often when I was a kid living off the streets, that look of pity tainted by distaste. That stayed with me, festered deep inside. Too deep to lose it with something as simple as dying.

I waved him away. “I’m fine,” I said, resting both hands on my knees. Still out of breath, my voice came out like a wheeze. “I’m fine.”

I heard applause coming from the side. I turned to see Loras walking up from where he was resting against the rocks, his own sparring sword on his hips. He had a beaming smile on his face, all white and shiny. Little prick.

“Are you mocking me, Ser Loras?” I asked. I was a sore loser.

Loras snorted. “Are you joking, Your Grace? You were magnificent. Three weeks ago you could hardly hold a sword properly.”

I frowned. “I’m quite sure people weren’t supposed to know that.”

He shrugged. “My grandmother is the Queen of Thorns,” he said, as if that explained it all. And it did, in a way. He reached behind his back, brought out a waterskin and offered it to me.

“Still,” I started. I grabbed the skin out of his hand and took a big gulp, then spat half of it out. “I still lost. Nothing magnificent about that.”

“I’m a Kingsguard, Your Grace,” Ser Balon said, his tone even as always. The man looked like he had hardly broken out a sweat. What a fucking monster. “If the King could guard himself, then what is the point of donning the white?”

The lines on his face creased. As I didn’t want to give him an existential crisis, I just nodded in his direction. I took another swig at the waterskin before handing it back to Loras.

“I intend to host a tourney in a month’s time,” I said suddenly.

“A tourney, Your Grace?” That was Ser Balon. I could almost see the gears turning on his head, the worry over the crowds and the feasts and the guests. Nothing on gold winnings and glory like most knights. Just duty.

“Indeed,” I said. “To commemorate our victories over the Starks and Stannis, and the passing of another year.”

Ser Balon only nodded, but Loras looked like a kid in a candy shop. “That sounds grand, Your Grace!” He slapped his hands together. “I will have to visit Tobho Mott’s shop before then. My silver armor has gained several chips during the war. Do you intend to ride yourself, Your Grace?”

“Not this time, I’m afraid.” I gave him an amused smile. “We wouldn’t want the King to embarrass himself in front of the whole city now, would we?”

“We wouldn’t have that problem if you practiced more with the lance like I said, Your Grace,” Loras huffed.

I shook my head. This kid was lucky he was my future brother-in-law. And a nice guy too, I supposed, if you took the cheek out of him.

“This tourney will be very important to my reign,” I told them. “I intend to choose some new members of the Kingsguard after the recent… tragic loss of Ser Meryn. He will be remembered fondly, of course. But the Kingsguard must go on.”

Ser Balon grunted. “Aye.”

“I hope to see you there, Ser Loras. No?” I shot him a meaningful look.

Ser Loras Tyrell flushed. “I, uh, yes, Your Grace. Yes, of course.” He bowed awkwardly. “It would be an honor.”

“Good.” I nodded. I didn’t just want to hand him a white-cloak without a good reason, promise to my betrothed or not. “I’m sure you will make myself and your family proud.”

We made our way back to the Keep after that. Loras headed to where his family was staying in one of the guest wings of Maegor’s Keep, and Ser Balon followed me to my apartments. He’d rotate his shift out after dropping me off for tweedle dee or tweedle dum, I couldn’t remember which. I was counting the days for when Tywin would off them.

When we reached my rooms, just after Ser Balon went inside to check if there weren’t any nasty surprises waiting for me, I stopped him on his way out. “Ser Balon,” I called.

He turned at the door. “Your Grace?”

I walked up to him and grasped his shoulder. “You are a good knight, Ser,” I told him. I looked him in the eyes to make my meaning stick. “A good knight. Take pride in that.”

I had to stop him from kneeling more than once before he finally left.