An Inconvenient Flame [Sandor Clegane]

Chapter 5 - Kings Landing

"The villain will always be the villain if the Hero tells the story."

          The sun was blazing down upon Kings Landing and the water reflected it like a million gems. I had always admired the sight from the Tower of the Hand. Every morning I stood on the balcony, it was one of the few things I could do while healing. My wound had almost completely healed but the skin was still extremely delicate, one wrong move and I could reopen it again.

A lot had happened since we arrived in Kings Landing, the days hadn't been all fun. Well Arya had fun, since father had found the sword, the one Jon had given her before we left Winterfell. He had actually agreed on giving her lessons, adamant that she should know how to use the sword if she was to own one. Had mother been here, we would all have been scolded.

The thought made me smile before turning away from the balcony. I pulled the shawl tighter around my shoulders and stepped into the dining hall. The table had been pushed aside because it would soon be time for Arya's sword, no dancing lesson as I liked to call it. Her teacher was quite nimble on his feet. It was a delight to watch instead of the brutish sword fight I usually saw.

When intending to leave the room, I stumbled upon one of the wooden swords Arya and her dancing teacher often used. I picked it up from the floor and held it up. It wasn't like a real sword at all, it was much lighter. I swung it a couple of times, feeling the balance while remembering the first time Arya had a lesson. The sentence 'you're dead' had become an occurring thing, and it annoyed her each time.

I continued to swing the sword around, being mindful of my wound but surprisingly it gave me no trouble today. The only thing I cursed out loud was my dress. It made it hard to move around. Father had been adamant to not let me wear trousers here. We were not in the north anymore as he so often reminded me. Then I heard footsteps, but ignored them, thinking it was Arya. "You know how to handle a sword." The thick accent made me understand it was Syrio Forel, Arya's dancing teacher.

I spun around, hair whipping into my face, despite most of it was being held up by the hairpin and lowered the wooden sword in the process. Syrio stood in the doorway, another wooden sword in his own hand and his arms crossed against his chest. The Braavosi man smirked to me before he straitened up. With two steps he had closed the distance between us. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have taken it." I held out the sword to him. But when I did, the man's expression changed, it faded into the same one he used whenever he taught Arya.

"A warrior never surrenders their weapon." Syrio Forel said, swinging his own wooden sword at me. I blocked it, almost losing the wooden sword in the process, but I stood my ground. My actions gained a smile from the teacher as we both readied for what came next. I begun a series of swings against the teacher, but he blocked each one of them with one hand behind his back. His footwork incredible, making mine look even more sloppy than it was.

"Dead." Syrio yelled when he managed to disarm me, my wooden sword flying across the room before it hit the floor and slid across it. He held the tip of his wooden sword against the crook of my neck. "Not bad young lady, perhaps I could teach you sometimes—"