ᴀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ꜱᴏ ɢᴏʟᴅᴇɴ, ᴀ ꜱᴜɴ ꜱᴏ ʙʀɪɢʜᴛ

xii. i see the faces of my past in the people of my present

cw // detailed descriptions and fantasies of wounds and murder

┌─── ∘°❉°∘ ───┐

Ever since she had fully accepted her duties, her days had turned quite a bit more eventful. Perhaps because she trusted herself with more. Perhaps because she dared more.

She had run away from Lannister soldiers, helped solve a murder, run away from Vypren soldiers, met a wizard, encountered the Mountain again, and robbed two treasuries. All within a single moon's turn. So staying in a small town and just doing nothing was a nice change.

She had found shelter with the town's smith, a blonde-haired man named Tomas, and they had quickly started talking about weaponry. When she had mentioned she had no training with swords, yet that she liked to learn to wield one someday, he had pulled her outside, pressed a dulled blade into her hand, and started teaching her.

He was tough with her. She had always thought that with her previous knowledge with the spear and the dagger she would have an easy time learning the sword, but not with the way he was teaching.

Tomas pulled no punches and let her feel the full weight of every hit she failed to parry. Her arms and legs quickly started hurting, and she was certain her entire body would be covered in bruises by the time the sun set.

He reminded her of Oberyn in that. The Dornishman had had similar training methods - always forcing her to give it her all, even when she physically could not anymore. She learned to ride expertly in two moons, to swim in one, and rivalled Oberyn with the spear in a mere seven years. All thanks to him.

(There were also the things he had pushed her to do. The harp. Numbers. Trade. Relations between the great houses. The inner workings of a kingdom.)

And just like Oberyn's training had worked, so did Tomas'.

After a day her grip did not waver any longer when he hit her sword too hard, after another she had internalised the proper footwork, and after yet another she had stopped falling into the grass.

"You are a fast learner," he said one afternoon.

She was kneeling on the ground, trying to calm her breathing. "My father used to say the same."

She had called Oberyn her father.

Only to keep up appearances.

"Where is he now?"

"Back in his home, I think." Not hers. Never hers. "At least, that's where I saw him last."

He leaned onto his sword. "Do you miss him?"

Terribly.

"As much as I can."

Hooves thundered over the ground. She quickly stood up as a group of six horsemen stopped before them, five of them armed with spears.

"Smith! Where's my sword?" one of the men called.

Tomas walked forward, signifying her to stay behind him.

"Rafal. I expected you in a week."

"We're here now. So, out with it."

"I haven't finished it yet. Come back at the time we agreed upon."

The man, Rafal, seemed ready to retort something, when his gaze wandered past Tomas and settled on her.

He leaned forward in his saddle. "That girl... She wasn't here last time."

Tomas turned his head to throw a concerned look her way, before he stared at Rafal again. "Perhaps you just didn't see her. You showed quite little interest for anything but your new sword."