"Prince Oberyn."
"I see my reputation precedes me."
"Well, I would be a fool not to recognize the man who has fucked half of Westeros."
"A fool you are not, it appears. Nonetheless, I confess it is good to be known," he told her as he grabbed a gobl...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Sweat dripped down Ilyn's face, the beads of perspiration causing her skin to sting as the salt mixed with the still somewhat open wound on the side of her temple. With a grunt she elbowed the last guard in the stomach, causing him to stagger back for a moment before she swept his legs out from under him with her sparring sword and sent him tumbling to the ground.
The moment Ilyn had exited Cersei's chambers, anger had swelled in her chest, fueling her with a rage which she knew from experience could only be resolved with a long day of training in the sparring ring. So, rather than meeting with a Maester to ensure that the wound to her face would not leave a permanent mark as was suggested by her guards, Ilyn had made her way to the training grounds.
It mattered little to her whether the mark permanently marred her skin or not. She was almost keen on the thought, the mark perhaps standing as a symbol for the time she had stood up to the Lioness and had won the ensuing battle of wits.
The only element of the conversation that had transpired between the two of them which gave her pause was Ilyn's admittance to knowing the truth about Cersei and Jaime's relationship. She knew Cersei would want her dead for the knowledge she possessed—not only would the knowledge confirm the rumors and further ruin the public perception of the Queen Regent, but it would again call into legitimacy Joffrey's claim to the throne. And the realm would not be able to handle another war so soon after the conclusion of the last.
Still, Ilyn was confident that at least for the time being, Cersei would not make a move to kill her. After all, Ilyn's death would be viewed as a tragedy; it would shine light on the loss of Ilyn Baratheon, the proclaimed 'Untamed Doe,' and would rob Joffrey of his spotlight despite his impending nuptials. Nonetheless, after the wedding Ilyn would certainly have to be on her guard, an eye out constantly for any assassin which Cersei would sic on her.
But for now, at least, as she stood in the sparring ring, for a moment Ilyn did nothing but breath in the familiar scent of sweat and blood, did nothing but listen to the clash of swords as they met between opponents who wished for nothing more than to claim victory. In all of King's Landing, the training grounds had long been one of the few places where Ilyn truly felt comfortable—one of the few places she enjoyed.
"Again," Ilyn commanded as the three guards in front of her slowly rose to their feet, their movements sluggish and weighted down with exhaustion. She supposed she was being harsh on them, forcing them to spar round after round with her.
They can have a break after this round, she decided as she twirled her blunted sparring sword in her left hand.
Ilyn felt the guard at her left's attack before she saw it, the ability to do so curtesy her time training with the Faceless Men of Braavos. With ease, Ilyn ducked the swipe at her head as she raised her blade to meet the blow from the guard in front of her.
Quick as an asp, she twisted her blade, disarming the guard and sending his sword to hit the guard charging at Ilyn from her right. The flying sword took him by surprise, the handle of the blade catching him between the eyes and sending him crashing to the ground with a low groan.
