Rewriting Targaryen History

Chapter 130: Chapter 130: Troubles in the Yard

Ser Curtis Crakehall did not raise his voice. That made the insult easier to hear.

The training yard was crowded that morning, though not unusually so. Rain during the night had left the stones dark around the edges, and the dirt of the practice ground held just enough damp to keep the dust low.

Men-at-arms drilled in pairs near the eastern wall. Two squires carried blunted spears back to the rack. Ser Arryk Cargyll worked with Jace near the centre, while Ser Erryk stood several yards away with Luke, correcting his grip with the same patience he had given the boy for years.

I watched from the shaded walk above the yard. Not hiding. Merely distant enough that the boys did not feel my eye on every step.

Jace had grown steadier with a blade. He was not a prodigy, and that was good. Prodigies were often ruined by being praised before they had learned to lose properly. Arryk pressed him hard but honestly, forcing him to defend low, recover high, and keep his feet from betraying his shoulders. Jace took the corrections without complaint, though irritation still appeared in the tightness of his jaw when a mistake was too obvious to excuse.

Luke trained differently.

He would never have Jace’s natural confidence, but he had become less afraid of being seen learning. That mattered more than most men understood. Fear made boys stiff. Shame made them slow.

Erryk had spent years teaching Luke that a mistake in the yard was not a sentence passed on his courage. The lesson had taken root. Luke still hesitated sometimes, but he returned to stance faster now, and when Erryk corrected him, he listened instead of shrinking.

Aemond trained at the far side of the yard with Ser Curtis.

At fourteen, Alicent’s second son was all hard angles and deliberate control. He had grown tall, and the loss of one eye had not softened him. If anything, it had sharpened the rest. He fought with focus, absorbing instruction from Curtis with a hunger that was not quite patience. He wanted to be seen improving, but he hated needing witness. That contradiction lived in every movement.

He had just beaten a household man-at-arms after three difficult passes.

Not easily. The man had made him work, and Aemond’s breathing was heavier than he wished it to appear. Curtis gave a short nod of approval, then looked across the yard toward Jace and Luke.

I knew that look. Some men searched for opportunity the way hounds searched for scent.

Curtis removed his helm and tucked it under one arm. "Prince Aemond has had enough of men paid to fall back when they remember who stands before them. Perhaps it would sharpen the morning if he faced someone closer to his own station."

Arryk lowered his practice blade but did not turn fully from Jace. "The princes are training under separate instruction today."

"A separate instruction can still meet in the same yard," Curtis said. "Prince Jacaerys is of a similar age to Prince Aemond, and Prince Lucerys is no longer a child hiding behind nurses. A few controlled passes would do no harm if the teachers have confidence in their pupils."

Luke heard his name and stilled. Erryk saw it before I did. His blade lowered slightly, not in surrender but in warning.

Arryk’s answer was calm. "You will not arrange matches between royal children because the morning bores you."

Curtis smiled without warmth. "I did not know a Kingsguard needed permission to suggest proper training. Perhaps I have mistaken caution for instruction."

Aemond stood beside him, silent. His single eye moved from Jace to Luke, then back again. He was not smirking. That would have been simpler. He looked interested, and that was almost worse.

Jace glanced at Arryk, then toward me without meaning to. He did not know whether I had heard. I had. I did not move yet.

Ser Arryk rested the point of his blunted sword against the dirt. "Training is not a stage, Ser Curtis. If Prince Aemond requires a harder opponent, there are men in the yard fit for that work."

"Men, yes," Curtis replied. "Though one begins to wonder whether boys meant to become men should always be spared the discomfort of facing those who do not step as their usual teachers expect."

The words were not plain enough to punish. That was why he had chosen them.

Luke’s face tightened. Jace’s did too, for a different reason. He could hear the challenge and wanted to answer it. He also knew answering might be exactly what Curtis wanted.

Arryk took one step forward. "You would be wise to tread carefully around Prince Lucerys."

Curtis looked at him then, fully. "That sounds less like instruction and more like fear. I had heard you were a patient teacher, Ser Arryk. I did not realise patience had become another name for wrapping princes in wool."

The yard quieted by degrees. A sword struck somewhere and then stopped.

Erryk left Luke’s side and came to stand nearer his brother. The movement was not dramatic. It did not need to be. The Cargyll twins had the rare gift of making unity look like a thing forged rather than chosen.

"Careful," Erryk said. "You are speaking of princes and of a sworn brother."

Curtis turned his head slightly. "I am speaking of training. If that offends both Cargylls at once, perhaps the lesson was needed in more than one place."

Erryk’s eyes hardened. "A knight can speak of training without laying traps beneath children’s feet."

"Children?" Curtis repeated. "Prince Jacaerys is old enough to be watched as the heir’s heir. Prince Lucerys is old enough to fly a dragon. I am surprised to hear their own guardians still prefer that word."

Luke flushed. That was the first true wound Curtis landed.

Not because the word was cruel by itself, but because Luke had fought so long to stop feeling like the frightened boy from Driftmark. Curtis knew that. Everyone in that yard old enough to remember knew that.

Arryk’s voice lowered. "This is not Driftmark."

"No," Curtis said. "On Driftmark, boys showed sharper instincts."

The yard went still. There it was. Not plain. Not quite. But close enough that every man understood the shape of the thing he had placed between them.

Jace stepped forward before Arryk could stop him. "If you have something to say, Ser Curtis, say it to me."

Arryk’s hand moved slightly, restraining without touching. "My prince."

Jace did not look away from Curtis.

Curtis bowed his head with a courtesy too thin to be respectful. "I would not presume to lecture you, Prince Jacaerys. I only suggest that sparring between princes might prove useful. If some fear the match more than the fighters do, that is hardly my fault."

Luke’s hand tightened around his practice sword.

Erryk saw it. "Prince Lucerys, remain where you are."

Luke obeyed, but the obedience cost him.

Aemond finally spoke. "I do not need them forced into it."

His voice was controlled, but there was something beneath it. Pride, yes. Curiosity too. Perhaps even irritation that Curtis had made him appear as though he needed a match arranged like a trap.

Curtis glanced at him. "No one is forcing anything, my prince. I am merely offering your nephews the chance to meet you in honest practice."

"Honest practice begins honestly," Erryk said. "Not by insulting boys until one accepts out of anger."

Curtis’s face hardened at that. "You are very protective of anger, Ser Erryk. Perhaps too protective. A prince who cannot bear a knight’s words will one day struggle with sharper things."

That was when I came down into the yard. The men saw me before Curtis did. Their eyes shifted, and he turned because the yard told him someone had entered without needing a word.

I did not hurry. Hurrying would have given the matter too much life.

My boots struck the damp earth softly as I crossed between the pairs of men-at-arms who had forgotten their own drills. Jace straightened. Luke’s shoulders eased and then tightened again, embarrassed that my arrival had eased them. Arryk and Erryk remained still. Aemond watched me with that hard, searching eye.

Curtis bowed when I reached them. "Prince Othorion."

"Ser Curtis."

The title landed coldly enough that several men remembered to look elsewhere. I let the silence hold for a moment. "You were proposing a match."

"A controlled spar, my prince. Prince Aemond has shown improvement. I thought it might benefit all three boys to test themselves beyond familiar instruction."

"That is a reasonable idea when spoken by a reasonable man at a reasonable time."

Curtis did not answer.

I looked toward Aemond. "Did you ask for this?"

Aemond hesitated. Not long, but enough. "No. Ser Curtis suggested it after my last pass."

"Do you want it?"

His eye moved to Jace, then Luke. "I want to be tested by opponents who matter. But I do not need my knight to bait them into the ring."

That answer surprised several people. Not me as much as it might have once. Aemond was proud, but he was not stupid. He also disliked being made to look like a child’s weapon in another man’s hand.

Curtis’s jaw tightened. "My prince, I meant only to encourage proper courage."

"No," I said. "You meant to press a bruise and call the flinch instruction."

His eyes returned to me. "That was not my intent."

"Intent is often the shield men raise after they have already thrown the stone."

The yard remained silent.

I stepped closer, not enough to crowd him before the others, but enough that the conversation narrowed. "Ser Arryk refused you. That should have ended the matter. Instead, you insulted his teaching. Ser Erryk reminded you of your place, and you pressed further. You spoke around Prince Lucerys as if his history were a handle for your grip. That was unwise."

Curtis’s face remained disciplined, but anger lived beneath it. "With respect, my prince, a Kingsguard knight has a duty to see royal boys made strong."

"A Kingsguard knight has a duty to guard the royal family, obey the king’s will, and conduct himself with enough judgement that his white cloak does not look like a costume. Strength is not built by cornering children into proving they are not cowards."

"I did not call them cowards."

"No. You lacked the courage to speak that plainly."

A few men looked down. Curtis went still. Jace’s eyes widened slightly. Luke stared at the dirt. Aemond watched me more intently than before.

I lowered my voice, though not so much that the Cargylls could not hear. "Understand this, Ser Curtis. Prince Jacaerys and Prince Lucerys will train. They will spar when their instructors judge it useful, not when you decide the yard needs spectacle. If you want Prince Aemond tested, ask properly. Arrange it through Ser Arryk, Ser Erryk, or Lord Commander Lorent. Do not try to shame boys into giving you what you want."

Curtis bowed, shallow but correct. "I hear you, my prince."

"I hope so."

Then I stepped closer still, close enough that the next words belonged only to him. "And if you move too close to Lucerys again with old blood in your thoughts, you will discover consequences you do not enjoy."

Curtis’s eyes flickered. There was recognition there. He remembered Driftmark. He remembered Alicent’s command. He remembered the hand he had extended toward my son’s eye, and the fact that time had not made me forget it.

I stepped back before the threat could become a scene. Publicly, my face remained calm.

"Lord Commander Lorent will hear of this," I said. "Not because I require punishment for every foolish word, but because a Kingsguard knight who creates tension between princes needs correction before tension becomes injury."

Curtis bowed again, deeper this time. "As you judge, my prince."

"As your Lord Commander will judge," I replied. "I am merely ensuring he has the facts."

That distinction mattered. It also denied him the comfort of claiming I had acted as a father alone.

I turned to the Cargylls. "Ser Arryk. Ser Erryk. Continue with the boys after a short rest. Let the yard remember what training looks like."

Arryk bowed. "Yes, my prince."

Erryk followed. "Gladly."

Jace looked as if he wanted to say something. I gave him a slight shake of the head. Not here. Luke saw it too and lowered his eyes.

Aemond remained where he stood, helm tucked beneath his arm. Curtis had not moved from his side, but the space between them had changed. A teacher could humiliate a pupil by overreaching on his behalf. Curtis had come close.

Aemond spoke before I left. "Prince Othorion." I looked back. "If a match is arranged properly another day, I would meet Jace. Or Luke, if he wishes it. Not because Ser Curtis says so."

Luke’s head lifted. Jace looked at Aemond with surprise and caution both.

"That is a better beginning," I said. "A proper match will be considered when the instructors agree and when all involved understand what is being tested."

Aemond nodded once. "That is fair."

Curtis said nothing.

The yard slowly remembered itself after that. Men-at-arms returned to drills. Squires resumed carrying weapons with the urgency of boys eager not to be noticed. Arryk took Jace aside, speaking low. Erryk did the same with Luke, one hand resting briefly on his shoulder before stepping away so the comfort did not embarrass him.

I returned to the shaded walk, but not far.

A few minutes later, Jace came to me.

Luke followed, though more slowly.

Jace spoke first, because of course he did. "I wanted to accept."

"I know."

"I still want to."

"I know that too."

His frustration showed. "Then why not let me? If I refuse, they will say he was right."

I looked down into the yard, where Aemond had resumed practice with a different man-at-arms while Curtis watched in silence.

"Some challenges are designed so that accepting them proves less than refusing them costs. Curtis did not want a spar. He wanted a story. If you beat Aemond, men say you were forced to defend your pride against a slightly older boy. If you lose, they say you were exposed. If Luke enters and falters, they make Driftmark live again. That is not training. That is theatre."

Luke’s voice was quiet. "Would they really say that?"

"Yes, do not believe for a moment that people would stay quiet."

He swallowed, but he did not look away this time. "I hate that they can turn everything into that night."

"So do I."

Jace’s anger shifted, becoming less sharp and more thoughtful. "Aemond did not seem pleased with Curtis."

"No. He wants to be taken seriously. Being used to provoke you makes him look less like a prince and more like a stick in Curtis’s hand."

Luke glanced across the yard. "Would it be wrong to spar him one day?"

"No," I said. "If it is arranged properly, with rules, witnesses who want safety rather than gossip, and instructors who understand what lies beneath the match. You may need to face each other one day in a yard to keep from doing so somewhere worse."

Neither boy liked that. It was still true.

Jace leaned on the wooden rail. "You threatened Curtis."

"Yes." Luke looked up sharply. I did not soften the answer. "Quietly."

Jace frowned. "Because of Driftmark."

"Yes."

Luke’s grip on the rail tightened. "I am not helpless."

"I know, my son."

"I do not need everyone speaking as if I will break if Aemond stands near me."

"No. You do not. But being strong does not require allowing careless men to choose the terms of your courage."

That reached him. He breathed in, then nodded.

Jace looked back toward Arryk and Erryk. "Ser Curtis insulted them too."

"He tried to."

"Ser Erryk looked ready to strike him."

"Ser Erryk is better trained than that."

"Was Ser Arryk angry?"

"Very."

"He did not show much."

"That is why he is a good knight."

Luke looked toward the twins in white cloaks, both now speaking with Lord Commander Lorent, who had entered the yard and was listening with a face carved from displeasure.

"What will happen to Curtis?" Luke asked.

"Lorent will correct him. Perhaps formally. Perhaps in private. If Curtis is wise, he will take the lesson."

Jace looked doubtful. "Is he wise?"

"He has survived this long. That is not the same thing, but it suggests some talent."

The boys considered that.

Below, Lorent dismissed Curtis from the yard. Curtis bowed, then left without looking up at us. That was wise. Aemond watched him go, then looked toward Luke. For a moment, across the yard, the two boys held each other’s gaze. Not hatred exactly. Not forgiveness. Something rawer, older than their years and younger than the men around them wanted to admit.

Then Aemond turned back to his drill.

Luke exhaled. I placed a hand on his shoulder. "Return to Ser Erryk. Finish well. Do not let Curtis decide what this morning becomes."

Luke nodded and went. Jace remained a moment longer. "Would you have let me spar Aemond if Curtis had asked properly?"

"Perhaps."

"That is not an answer."

"It is the answer available to a father who also has to think like the husband of the heir to the Iron Throne."

He gave me a look far too similar to Rhaenyra’s for my comfort.

I sighed. "Yes, eventually. Not today. Not like this."

He accepted that better than I expected. "Then I will be ready when it is proper."

"Good. And Jace?" He paused. "Readiness is not only winning."

"I know."

"Know it harder."

That almost made him smile. He returned to Arryk, and the training resumed with more care than before.

I stayed until the boys finished. Not because I feared Curtis would return. Because sometimes children needed to see that protection did not always mean pulling them from the yard. Sometimes it meant leaving them there, under better eyes, to finish what another man had tried to spoil.

By the time the morning ended, Luke had completed his drills cleanly. Jace had taken three corrections without letting frustration turn his feet stupid. Rhaegar and Aerion, who had arrived late enough to miss the first tension and early enough to sense they had missed something interesting, were told firmly that no, there would be no dramatic retelling for their benefit.

Aerion declared that this was unfair to history. Rhaegar said history was often improved by omission. For once, I agreed with him.

That afternoon, I sent a full account to Rhaenyra and a shorter one to Lord Commander Lorent, who already knew most of it. Rhaenyra read mine twice.

Her face was calm when she finished. Too calm. " Ser Curtis again," she said.

"Yes."

"He did not touch Luke."

"No, I would not have let him get anywhere close to that."

"He did not speak plainly enough to be punished as he deserves."

"No, he chose his words carefully so that we could not demand harsher punishment."

She folded the parchment slowly. "Then we will do what can be done. Lorent will correct him. I will not make a public scene unless Curtis gives me public cause. But if he believes my father’s illness has made old offences safer, he is mistaken."

"He knows that now."

"Does he?"

"He knows I remember. He knows that I will not hesitate when it comes to the boys."

Rhaenyra looked at me then, and something in her expression softened beneath the anger. "Good," she said.

That evening, the yard was quiet again. The marks of practice had already been smoothed from the dirt. The swords were back on their racks. The rain-dark stones had dried. Nothing remained of the confrontation except memory.

In the Red Keep, memory was often enough.