𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝖉𝖞𝖓𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖞, 𝐚. 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧¹

𝟎𝟎𝟑. THE ART OF SWORDSMANSHIP

       FIGHTING WITH a sword was a form of art. Knowing where to move, when to duck, to block, to lunge, all of it was an art form, a dance. Balancing the weight of the sword whilst hurling your body in every direction, planting your feet perfectly to brace yourself for an incoming attack. Watching as sunlight gleamed off sharpened metal and polished armor, watching as muscles twitched and chests heaved, it was entrancing.

       Alysanne's eyes were locked on the long silver hair that fanned through the air with each twirl of Aemond Targaryen's lean body. She was entranced by that hair, watching as it bounced and arced perfectly around his head. There were few within the walls of the Red Keep that knew the dance of the sword as well as Ser Criston Cole, Prince Daemon Targaryen, and Prince Aemond Targaryen.

        There were so few young men that were as skilled at wielding a blade as Aemond was, and watching him at his young age best his mentor, the knight that had been hand selected by the Crown Princess for his skill, was captivating. Alysanne's lips were pulled into a faint smile as she gazed down at the prince and his mentor.

        His sword was a deadly extension of his arm, a weapon that seemed to be a part of him given how well he wielded it. Alysanne began to descend the stairs when Aemond discarded his broken shield and braced himself for Criston's incoming attacks. In her arms, she held a steaming bowl of beef stew and a bundle of fresh bread wrapped in a soft cloth.

        She was watching carefully as Aemond dodged several of Criston's attacks, his hair fanning around his lean, dark-clad body as he twirled around the knight. She was smiling when Aemond pressed the tip of his blade to the knight's throat, his chest heaving with breaths, his pale cheeks flushed a soft pink from the exertion. Her slippers crunched on the gravel as she made her way across the training yard, flashing smiles at the young squires and boys that held training swords in their hands, their foreheads beading with sweat as they trained under the intensity of the high afternoon sun.

       She reached the prince just as Criston discarded his mace and smiled at the victorious prince. "Well done, my Prince. You will be winning tourneys in no time."

       Alysanne smiled as she resituated the bowl of stew in her arms. "Yes," she said softly, her voice cutting through the crowd. "I do believe that I represent the entirety of the kingdoms when I say that we want our good prince to fight and win in the upcoming tourney dedicated to him and his sweet sister." The tourney dedicated to Aemond and his twin was rapidly approaching and she could not help but smile at the thought of Aemond fighting and possibly winning. He was a good swordsman and an even better horse rider. The thought of watching him fight was exciting.

        Aemond's gaze cut to Alysanne, who grinned widely at the breathless prince."I don't give a shit about tourneys." Her smile faltered and it took a lot of effort to not roll her eyes at Aemond. Of course, he would frown upon such events. He did, after all, have quite an air of superiority to him.