Chapter 2 - Lessons of Songs and Battles

287 AFTER AEGON'S CONQUEST

KING'S LANDING, RED KEEP

A few weeks later at Prince Durrandon's Bedchamber.

DURRANDO'S POV

[YOU HAVE TAKEN A LONG REST IN YOUR OWN BED. HP HAVE BEEN RESTORED 100%. YOUR EXHAUSTION LEVEL HAS DECREASED BY ONE.]

I opened my eyes and rose from my bed, the familiar stone walls of Maegor's Holdfast greeting me with their usual cold indifference.

The morning light crept in through the narrow windows, painting long, thin lines across the chamber floor. My body still ached, the lingering sting of pushing myself too far the night before. 

Well, at least I hadn't collapsed again. That was a step forward, however small my feet still were.

Mental note: never exhaust yourself to the brink of death unless absolutely necessary. Megumin-style explosions might be funny in theory, but blacking out mid-combat? Not so much.

Still, I wasn't about to slack off. Not with the System in play, especially with one of its many side quests for me to improve myself.

[NEW QUEST: CHASING CATS AND HUNTING RATS]

*The Red Keep is home to a small army of cats, originally brought in by a previous Hand of the King to control the growing rat population after the crown decided to execute many rat catchers. These feline sentinels now prowl the halls, defending their territory. Prove your skills by approaching them unnoticed and help them in their never ending crusade to rid this castle of the near infinite rodents that call it home.

[CATCH A CAT WITHOUT ALERTING IT (20/50)]

[SLAY OR CAPTURE A RAT BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY (5/50)]

[REWARD: PROGRESS OVER YOUR ROGUE CLASS]

A grin tugged at the corner of my mouth. Another day, another chance to fulfill my quests in my system journal. Every night since then, I'd slipped into the quiet corners of the Holdfast, honing my skills.

But as you managed to see, it wasn't chasing the cats, skittish and sharp-eyed creatures they were, that gave me trouble. 

Stealthily stalking the vermin that skittered through the hidden nooks of the castle was surprisingly good practice, demanding of me tracking, patience and precise dagger work.

The main problem was that right now I couldn't swing my blade for shit, probably due to a combination of my Dexterity still suffering penalties due to my child body, and that my equipment wasn't helping bridging up the gap.

No magical enhancements. No glowing edges or whispering runes. Just standard-issue gear, perfectly average and my occasional strikes of luck.

And unlike the cats who mostly felt safe in the castle, these rats were always on high alert and I wasn't risking pulling out my shortbow yet.

So I had to think outside of the box, adapt to a different approach. Setting traps, not with cheese, but with nuts and small pieces of meat that I managed to save from my meals.

The quest made the distinction that capturing them was good enough, so I ditched the idea of stealing poison from Grand Maester Pycelle's collection and began farming the quest by catching and releasing them, though still falling to domesticate any one of them.

Though it was not the only side quest I got, the Holdfast was a fortress of secrets that spread throughout the Red Keep and I had every intention of uncovering them one lock at a time.

[NEW QUEST: PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT]

* The Red Keep has a network of secret passages and tunnels. The Conqueror's youngest son had them built to enable him to make a quick escape, should his enemies ever trap him. Prove your roguish heart by looking for access to these secret passages and unlocking secrets that have long been forgotten.

[GET ACCESS TO THESE SECRET TUNNELS]

[PICK LOCKS WITHOUT BREAKING YOUR TOOLS (0/15)]

[DON'T LET THE MASTER OF WHISPERS OR HIS SPIES NOTICE YOU THREADING IN THEIR WEB]

[REWARD: PROGRESS OVER YOUR ROGUE CLASS AND ALL THE VALUABLE LOOT YOU FIND IN YOUR JOURNEY]

Yeah, amping up the risk while presenting me with a great prize. You know me so well, System.

To explore these passages I would need to go around carrying my Thieves' tools, my kit still consisting of a small file, lock picks, narrow-bladed scissors, a mirror mounted on a metal handle and a pair of pliers.

Doubt any amount of persuasion could get me out of explaining what I was doing with equipment most criminals used to break in places they weren't supposed to enter, especially to Vary's face.

And even if I had the noble influence to overpower him, ruining this badly could have him end my life in a dark tunnel and pretend he hasn't seen me.

So before I did anything stupid, I needed to be damn sure I wasn't going to have trouble unlocking locks, that's why I cheesed one of the quest requirements by practicing it on my chamber's own door.

Slowly but surely, as I made progress with my other quests, as I reached past my fourth name day my efforts eventually paid off.

[CLASS PROGRESS UPDATE: ROGUE (RANK D)]

*Your constant practice has sharpened your skills. You have gained a new feature!

[CUNNING ACTION: Your quick thinking and agility allow you to move and act swiftly. Preparing yourself for an unexpected attack opportunity, slipping away from foes without exposing your back to them and even vanishing from sight.]

Oh, great! I could actually feel growing more competent!

Once I got the opportunity to test the new ability, I soon understood that my Cunning Action wasn't just about speed. It was the art of balancing multiple actions.

It meant I could still fail my first two stabs at a rat with both hands but still react in time to attack it one last time before he escaped me. Which more times than not have granted me the finishing blow.

I could dash across a hall and vanish behind a pillar before a guard's brain registered the movement. It was more than breaking line of sight, it was making whoever was alerted to my presence doubt I was ever there to begin with.

'Must have been the wind' if you will.

Of course, I wasn't planning on pushing my luck against the real threats of the castle just yet. And even when I practiced my stealth, it was during low stakes moments where even if I was noticed I had damn good justifications to not get me in trouble.

No, for now, I had more subtle prey.

I knelt by my own chamber's door from the inside, pulling out my lock picks. This wasn't my first time, but the lock still put up a fight, the delicate dance of pressure and precision.

Click. The lock gave way.

Another small but meaningful victory.

The System's intuitive progress was a silent reminder that every action mattered. Every rat killed or captured, every lock picked and every cat caught brought me more experience.

And speaking of cats…

I spotted a familiar streak of fur slipping beneath my bed, a mangy tom with one torn ear, likely one of the many descendants of the past Hand's mousers.

Quiet as a whisper, I eased forward, each step measured and slow. My breathing steady, my movements smooth.

Closer. Closer. Then— I pounced.

The cat let out a single startled meow before wriggling free and darting back into the shadows.

I chuckled softly.

Bit by bit, I was carving a path forward. Not as a prince coddled in Maegor's Holdfast, but as a Rogue in training, growing sharper, faster and deadlier.

And somewhere within this castle's maze of secret corridors and forgotten tunnels…There were more locks to pick.

————————————————————————

At long last, I was free.

Well… relatively and officially speaking.

For the first time in my short new life, I had been allowed through the drawbridge that led me out of Maegor's Holdfast, a small yet significant victory to finally be greeted by Lord Commander Barristan Selmy. 

No longer a prisoner of thick stone walls and constant surveillance, I now roamed the greater halls of the Red Keep, though as expected never without the ever-watchful gaze of guards and servants.

What brought me here wasn't just a matter of age, I had only recently passed my fourth name day, but of behavior.

No tantrums. No reckless games. No careless words.

While other highborn children squealed through corridors, tugged on their septas' skirts, or pestered knights for stories of old battles, I played the part of the perfect royal heir. I spoke when spoken to, answered with measured precision and held myself with the kind of poise children twice my age often lacked.

And so, the leash loosened. Not by much, but enough.

It meant more time in the Grand Maester's chambers, where Pycelle had appointed me his "apprentice." He paraded me as a precocious prince with a scholarly mind, while I gained access to his books, his medical and poison supplies, his letters and most importantly, the Citadel's ever-flowing river of information.

[BY CONSULTING A ACCURATE NONFICTION BOOK ABOUT MEDICINE TOPIC, YOU GAIN A EXTRA +5 BONUS TO ANY CHECK YOU MAKE ABOUT THAT TOPIC FOR THE NEXT 24 HOURS!]

I had just finished returning a stack of musty tomes to his desk, ones with the best medical records on human anatomy and its health I could find, when a soft knock echoed through the room.

The door creaked open and in stepped a girl, young, but not a childish.

[??? // LV: ?]

Golden hair fell straight past her shoulders, catching the candlelight like threads of fine silk, and her eyes, clear and blue as a summer sky, studied the room with polite interest. She wore a modest gown of pale grey-blue, its silver trim catching the light, fastened at her shoulder with a brooch shaped like a falcon in flight.

Arryn.

The brooch, the eyes, the girl was of the Vale. But her taller build gave me pause. Her father wasn't as tall as he used to be, but even so this girl's appearance gave me pause for some reason.

I sifted through the branches of the Arryn family tree in my mind, a tree I had committed to memory during long nights spent devouring Pycelle's records.

And there it was. Jeyne Royce, a First Men house that survived centuries after the Andals became prominent down south The Neck.

But another Jeyne? Heh, I keep forgetting how these names keep being used throughout Westeros in different families.

Regardless, Jon Arryn's previous wife, dead some years now, and this girl, her daughter.

Alys?

[HISTORY CHECK SUCCEED!]

No, Alysse! An actual original character.

[ALYSSE ARRYN // LV: 0]

I had skimmed over her name the first time I read the family records, dismissing her as a footnote in the old falcon's long life, a daughter of a previous marriage, quietly living in the Red Keep. A girl overshadowed by her father's duties as Hand of the King and his new union with a younger, more politically advantageous bride.

Yet here she stood, a delicate yet poised presence.

She was not bold, nor did she carry the steel-edged confidence of a girl who had been allowed to open her wings. But there was something there, a spark, a quiet grace that hinted at the woman she might one day become.

"Your Grace." Alysse said softly, her voice as smooth as still water. She lowered into a small, practiced bow, graceful but not excessive. When she rose, she offered a faint smile, warm and unforced.

It wasn't the bashful smile of a girl flustered by royalty, but the polite charm of someone taught how to address royalty, genuine, yet restrained.

"I have come to collect Lord Arryn's medicine." She continued. "I will deliver it to him personally."

There was no hesitation in her words, but neither was there any particular boldness. More of gentle courtesy.

"Grand Maester…" I said evenly, relaying her request to Pycelle while leading her inside. "Lord Arryn's daughter requests his medicine."

Pycelle, stooped and ancient, muttered something about "the good Lord Hand's delicate humors" as he shuffled to a shelf and carefully placed several small bottles into a cloth pouch.

"Milk of the poppy… dreamwine… a tonic of mint and thyme…" He mumbled. "Ah, yes…and crushed willow bark, for fevers."

Alysse accepted the bundle with a soft thank you accompanied by a smaller bow for Pycelle. But before she turned to leave, she spared me one last glance, a brief flicker of curiosity, before lowering her gaze once more.

Not fear. Not second interests. Just… awe. And then she was gone, her footsteps whisper-quiet as the door closed behind her.

Pycelle's voice eventually broke the silence.

"Prince Durrandon." He said. "Remind me: what ailments does that medicine treat?"

I didn't hesitate and immediately replied. "Milk of the poppy for pain, dreamwine to calm the mind, a mint and thyme tonic for the stomach and willow bark to lower a fever."

Pycelle gave a slow nod. "And what was missing?"

A test? I let my gaze drift back to the shelf, running through Lord Arryn's known ailments.

[MEDICINE CHECK SUCCEED!]

"The herb of lemon balm." I said simply. "For his heart."

A flash of satisfaction crossed Pycelle's face, a rare sight, before his jowls sagged back into their usual indifference.

"Very good." He murmured, returning to his scrolls.

I said nothing, only inclining my head in acknowledgment.

But as I set about organizing the Grand Maester's papers, a task I had long since learned was the perfect excuse to skim the Latest Gossip of the Known World, my thoughts drifted beyond the walls of the Red Keep.

The letters from the Citadel painted a bleak picture.

The shortening of the seasons was growing harsher. Even the Reach, the realm's golden breadbasket, reported a concerning decline in its crop yields.

The North was colder than it should be, winter's bite lingering even in summer's grasp.

Dorne grew hotter by the year, their rivers running lower.

The Iron Islands were unnervingly silent, like a drawn bow, waiting to loose its arrow.

The Stormlands' climate was creeping into the Crownlands, bringing heavier rains and sudden squalls. A ripple effect… possibly of my own making.

The Vale, Alysse's home, was grappling with increasingly bold mountain clans.

The Riverlands and Westerlands were seeing a rise in banditry and smuggling, discontent brewing beneath the surface.

And beyond the Wall… the Night's Watch pleaded for more provisions, a sure sign that the Wildlings were stirring once more.

But it was the last report that gnawed at me.

The glass candles at the Citadel had begun burning again. Sorcery. Magic long dormant…waking.

I tapped a finger lightly against the edge of Pycelle's desk, a steady rhythm lost in the quiet.

The world was shifting, with or without me being ready for it.

————————————————————————

After finishing my tasks, I walked out of Grand Maester Pycelle's office and was halfway down the hallway when I spotted them.

Two men, one a bull of a man draped in a yellow mantle with a black stag roaring on his chest. The other, his shadow, leaner and dour, his dark grey tunic and the stiff set of his jaw giving him a permanent scowl.

The first was The Demon of the Trident. The Whoremonger King. Or just Usurper, to some.

I had to call him…your grace, and occasionally, father.

The second man in the former's shadow, both metaphorically and literally, was my uncle.

[STANNIS BARATHEON // BATTLE MASTER // LV: 10]

Stannis Baratheon. Azor Ahai reborn and the Prince That Was Promised to some. The Unsmiling Lord, the Resentful and Bitter Middle Child to others.

I didn't need my INSIGHT skill to know Robert was looking for an excuse to avoid his duties. He carried the same half-bored, half-agitated air he always did when talk of ruling the realm soured his mood. Stannis, meanwhile, was speaking with the grim determination of a man who knew his words would be ignored.

They noticed me at the same time.

Robert's face lit up, not with fatherly affection, but with the glee of a man spotting an unexpected escape from responsibility.

"Boy! What are you doing skulking about?" He called, his voice booming off the stone walls. "Plotting some mischief, are you?"

I stopped in my tracks, offering a slight bow, just enough to show respect without seeming too formal.

"Your Grace, Lord Stannis." I greeted, earning a stiff nod from my uncle. "I've just finished helping Grand Maester Pycelle and was heading back to my chambers."

Robert chuckled, already losing interest, but I caught the flicker of something behind his eyes. Maybe disappointment? 

[INSIGHT CHECK SUCCEED!]

He thought I was weak. Soft. More a scholar than a warrior, and certainly nothing like him.

Good. That was the opening I could make use of.

"Though…" I hesitated, just long enough to make it seem like I was nervous about speaking my mind. "He did mention I should spend more time outdoors, to strengthen my body. Said I'm developing fast for my age, and it wouldn't do for a prince to be frail."

Robert's brow furrowed.

Stannis, ever observant, tilted his head. "Pycelle said that?"

I gave a small nod. "Yes, my lord. He says the body must grow alongside the mind or else I'll be… lopsided." I scrunched my face a bit, as if trying to recall the Grand Maester's exact words.

Robert's laugh was loud and sudden. "Hah! Lopsided! Gods be good, the old man has a point!"

Stannis, however, did not share in his brother's mirth. "Strength is expected of a Baratheon." He said, voice clipped. "Even of a prince."

I let that hang in the air. I didn't push. I didn't ask for training. I simply gave Robert a problem to solve, a weak son who, to his mind, needed to be hardened.

[DECEPTION CHECK SUCCEED!]

And predictably, he took the bait.

"Seven hells, I won't have my own blood growing up soft!" Robert declared, his voice echoing down the hall. "If you're old enough to lift a book, you're old enough to lift a shield!"

Stannis opened his mouth, likely to caution him about my age, but Robert was already on a roll.

"I'll speak to Ser Barristan." He said, as if the idea had just struck him. "He'll make a man of you…that is, if you've got the stones for it."

I lowered my gaze, letting just a hint of a smile tug at the corner of my mouth, not enough for Robert to notice, but more than enough for Stannis.

He was staring at me.

Not with pride, but with suspicion. Like he'd caught a glimpse of the wheels turning behind my eyes.

[DECEPTION CHECK FAILED!]

Before he could say anything, Robert clapped me on the back hard enough to nearly knock me off my feet.

"That's settled then!" The King boomed. "You'll be Barristan's page. If you cry to your mother about it, I'll have him hit you twice as hard next time! Oh, and I almost forgot, your mother has been asking for you."

I simply bowed my head. "Yes, Father."

As they turned to leave, Stannis lingered a moment longer, his gaze still fixed on me.

"Strength without discipline is nothing." He muttered, his voice low. "Remember that, young prince."

I met his eyes and gave the smallest of nods. "If it is required of me to become a warrior, I will do my duty without complaint, uncle."

Stannis said nothing else, but I could see from his stare that I had earned a few points with him, before following Robert down the corridor.

A soft ping echoed in my head.

[QUEST COMPLETED!]

[FIRST STEP TO LEARN HOW TO FIGHT: FIND A WAY TO BE TAUGHT THE BASICS OF PROPER COMBAT, SO YOU CAN STOP BEING A WEAKLING THAT PREYS OVER THE RATS!]

[REWARD: BE ACCEPTED BY AN ELITE TUTOR THAT WILL GUIDE YOU THROUGH ONE DAY BECOMING A LEGEND]

As I turned to head toward my mother's chambers, I allowed myself a single, fleeting grin of relief.

That was a close one. 

————————————————————————

After climbing the stairs to the royal bedchamber, I was greeted by my other uncle standing guard, Ser Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer himself.

[JAIME LANNISTER, KINGSLAYER // CHAMPION // LV: 12]

Even now, Jaime was a striking figure, the very image of a knight from a bard's song. Tall and broad-shouldered, with a lean strength that spoke of both battlefield prowess and courtly elegance. His golden hair, the hallmark of his family, shone like polished sunfire in the dim light of the corridor, and his green eyes, sharp and amused, carried the easy confidence of a man who had never known true defeat. 

His white cloak of the Kingsguard draped over his gilded armor, pristine and untarnished, more a symbol of his status than any real necessity for protection.

"Dear nephew." Jaime greeted me, flashing a roguish smile that seemed effortlessly elegant, though it faltered for a heartbeat at the sound of a baby's cry from within the Queen's chambers. "By the Gods, are you sure you're only four name days old? You carry yourself like a boy of twice that age."

His words were lighthearted, but there was a flicker of something in his gaze, curiosity, perhaps, or wariness. After all, I was hardly the typical child and the family had begun to notice.

"It's good to see you too, uncle." I returned his smile, keeping my tone light. "I heard my mother might need some help."

Jaime's grin sharpened, a flicker of amusement in his green eyes as the muffled sound of a baby's cry filtered through the door. "Ah… yes. I'm almost certain she does."

With a playful wink, he knocked on the door, announcing my name. The door soon opened, and I was met with the breathtaking sight of Queen Cersei.

It was no wonder Jaime would risk everything for her.

My mother was a vision of regal beauty, golden hair cascading in soft waves down her back, emerald eyes that seemed to smolder with both warmth and warning, and skin as pale and smooth as polished ivory. She wore a gown of crimson silk, the bodice adorned with glittering rubies that gleamed like drops of blood, while her jewelry, a necklace of diamonds and emeralds, a golden ring with a large green gem and a delicate tiara crowned with more emeralds, all but screamed wealth and power.

A lioness draped in gold and blood, ever flaunting the Lannister name.

Yet despite her splendor, there was an unmistakable weariness etched into the corners of her mouth, a subtle crack in the porcelain mask she wore. Motherhood, it seemed, had finally begun to weigh on her, though she'd never admit it.

Classic Mother.

And she was not alone.

Two handmaidens hovered nearby, their heads slightly bowed but their eyes keenly watchful. One was a young girl with auburn hair, arranging fine cloths atop a nearby table, and the other, an older woman with streaks of gray in her brown hair, both held a silver rattle, clearly trying and failing to soothe a restless infant.

It reminded me that, despite my efforts to help the castle's servants, my mother never truly approved. She viewed my kindness to those she deemed beneath us as a quiet embarrassment…though, luckily, it never grew into outright disdain.

As I bowed respectfully, I kept my voice warm. "Greetings, Mother. How was your sleep? Did the twins give you much trouble?"

Her smile, that well-practiced mask of charm, faltered for the briefest of moments, before she regained her composure.

"Ah, yes, my darling. Your siblings were quite restless last night. Your brother couldn't sleep because of your sister, and your sister only stopped crying when exhaustion took her." She tilted her head slightly, a glimmer of something softer in her eyes. "You know, she only quiets when you sing to her. It would do them good if you visited more often."

I bit back a sigh.

Ah, yes. Thanks to Joanna, I had a solid excuse to practice my Performance skill. My singing was passable at best, but the songs I remembered from my past life? Those were my secret weapons.

[JOANNA WATERS, PRINCESS OF WESTEROS// LV: 0]

Joanna, or Anna, as I liked to call her, was my little princess.

I spoiled her far more than I should, but I wasn't her father. I didn't need to play the bad cop, demanding she grow into a proper lady. That was for Mother and Father. Though, given how busy they were pursuing…other interests outside their marriage, I wasn't holding my breath.

[LANN WATERS, PRINCE OF WESTEROS// LV: 0]

Then there was Lann, my younger brother. With him, my goal was simple, ensure he never became the next Joffrey.

"Apologies, Mother." I kept my response light. "I've been caught up with my studies and assisting the Grand Maester. I didn't mean to neglect you. I'll make sure to visit more often."

Her expression softened, and, to my surprise, she embraced me, a rare show of affection.

No need to mention my recent conversation with Father about combat training. It was better to ask for forgiveness than permission, after all.

Another wail pierced the air and the moment. High-pitched, insistent, and familiar.

Cersei sighed, a flicker of frustration breaking through her composure, and for a brief moment, I saw not the proud queen, but a tired mother. "Why can't she behave like you did?"

"Don't worry, mother." I murmured. "I'll calm her down."

Her gratitude was subtle, but real.

I crossed the chamber to the cradles, separated, of course, most likely to prevent the constant squabbling that seemed to erupt whenever they were placed together.

"Shhh… it's alright, Anna, my dear." I whispered, watching Joanna's tiny hands reach up for me. She stopped crying the moment she saw me, her eyes lighting up as I gently lifted her.

"Dondon." She giggled and babbled with a gummy smile, trying and failing to say my name as her tears were already forgotten.

"Yes, it's me." I chuckled softly. "How are you, my little lady?"

She couldn't understand my words yet, but the sound of my voice seemed to soothe her.

Noticing Lann's sour expression, I scooped him up as well, a necessary step to keep him from growing jealous.

"Hey, buddy." I told him. "She won't bother you anymore."

They usually squabble like cats in a sack, but when I was around, they at least pretended to get along and set aside their not so silent feud.

I shifted both of them in my arms and smiled. "How about a lullaby?"

Neither of them answered, of course, but I didn't need one.

"Lann, this first one's for you." I said before letting the words flow softly and sang the familiar tune from a cartoon I remembered from my past life. "Leaves from the vine, falling so slow, Like fragile, tiny shells, drifting in the foam. Little soldier boy, come marching home. Brave soldier boy, comes marching home."

[PERFORMANCE CHECK SUCCEED!]

Lann's eyelids drooped as the melody washed over him, and by the time I repeated the verse, he was fast asleep.

I turned to Joanna, who stared up at me, fighting sleep. Her emerald eyes blinked sleepily, her small hand grasping at my disguised padded armor.

"Your turn, Anna." I whispered and then I sang. "Let me sing a lullaby, as you close your eyes. And as you're drifting off to sleep, how I hope that the dreams that you find are bright."

[PERFORMANCE CHECK SUCCEED!]

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed my mother watching me. Her usual distant expression had softened, the mask slipping for just a moment.

"Love, can we meet again soon in the bluest of skies? Where a tomorrow waits for you and I." 

There was something vulnerable in the way the Queen looked at me, something almost like maternal affection.

"So hold me tight one more time, but don't kiss me goodbye. Because I know that I'll see you on the next twilight."

Joanna's eyes grew heavy, and by the time I repeated the last line, she was asleep.

Cersei stepped forward and placed a hand on my shoulder, not the cool, calculating touch of a queen, but the hesitant grasp of a mother. "Thank you, my little lion."

Her voice was quiet, almost tender.

I simply nodded, not trusting myself to say anything.

Returning the twins to the two handmaidens who placed them both back into their cradles, I kissed their foreheads, one by one. Then I turned back to my mother, offering her a final hug.

"Rest well, Mother."

And with that, I left the Queen's chambers, the faint echoes of a lullaby still lingering in the air as my mother seemed to have found it catchy.

————————————————————————

A few days later, with my father's approval secured, I met Ser Barristan at the training yard.

[SER BARRISTAN, LORD COMMANDER OF THE KINGSGUARD // BATTLE MASTER // LV: 16]

The Lord Commander was already there, his white cloak a stark contrast to the dust and grime of the practice grounds. His expression, though composed, betrayed a quiet satisfaction, less boisterous than Robert's, but unmistakably pleased that I had chosen not to confine myself to the comfort of royal privilege or the safety of my books.

If I remembered correctly, Barristan had entered his first tourney at Blackhaven when he was only ten, donning the armor of a mystery knight. While others laughed at the sight of the small, untried boy, it was Prince Duncan Targaryen, the Prince of Dragonflies, who took pity on him and gave him his epithet: Barristan the Bold.

By the time he was sixteen, he had earned his knighthood from King Aegon V after unhorsing both Prince Duncan and Ser Duncan the Tall, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard at the time, at a winter tourney in King's Landing.

His valor was legendary, and like any aspiring combatant, I recognized the weight of his accomplishments. Still, a quiet part of me, the part that remembered who I once was, couldn't help but wonder: Would I surpass him someday?

Perhaps even Barristan himself saw a glimmer of that potential in me.

"As you wish, my Prince." He said, bowing respectfully, a subtle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

And then—

[QUEST ALERT!]

[EXERCISE TRAINING! STUDY UNDER THE LORD COMMANDER OF THE KINGSGUARD: THE EARLY STEPS IN THE ART OF COMBAT!]

[OPTIONAL REQUIREMENT: IMPRESS YOUR TEACHER]

[REWARD: ACCESS TO THE TRAINING YARD]

[EXTRA REQUIREMENT REWARD: BARRISTAN SELMY WILL BECOME FRIENDLY TOWARDS YOU]

[DO YOU ACCEPT?]

[YES/NO]

I gave a mental nod.

I was only four in this life, but even with the experience of my previous one, I had never truly fought, not in the way this world demanded. Picture one of those viral videos of toddlers swinging plastic baseball bats at their parents. That was me, except more focused, more dexterous… but still a child.

Around the edges of the training yard, a handful of Red Keep guards lingered, some on duty, others finding thin excuses to remain nearby. I noticed them sparing glances my way, their expressions a mix of mild amusement and genuine curiosity. A few minor nobles, older men clad in fine yet understated tunics, observed from a shaded alcove, murmuring softly among themselves.

No doubt wagering on how long the crown prince would last under the Lord Commander's tutelage before hurting himself or giving up.

But it was the pair of golden lion's eyes watching from the far side of the yard that truly caught my attention.

Jaime Lannister.

He stood apart from the others, a picture of effortless grace with his youthful, handsome features and a sword strapped to his hip. He wasn't quite the bitter Kingslayer he would have become by the start of the books, just a young knight of twenty-one, but his gaze lingered longer than the rest.

Not with condescension, but with something closer to interest. The Kingslayer was watching me.

Perhaps, even then, some part of him recognized a spark of talent, or at the very least, something… promising.

Was it the way I adjusted my stance after every missed swing? The odd patience I showed, far too methodical for a child? Whatever it was, it didn't really matter for now.

Gripping the wooden sword Barristan handed me, I felt its weight, heavier than I expected, each swing a clumsy arc through the air.

But Barristan didn't simply throw me into combat like some squire at a tourney. No, his lessons extended far beyond mere swordplay.

Between slow, deliberate strikes against wooden dummies, he spoke of the tenets of knighthood, honor, courage, and loyalty, weaving each virtue into the movements he taught me. He explained that a knight's sword was more than a weapon; it was a symbol of justice, bound by law and faith.

"You must know when to unsheathe your blade, my Prince." He said calmly, correcting my grip. "Violence without cause is butchery. Strength without purpose is ruin."

He taught me how to care for weapons, not just wield them, how to clean a blade, oil leather, and tighten straps on a suit of armor. "A knight who neglects his arms..." He told me. "…neglects his duty."

When I struggled with the weight of the sword, he didn't mock me. Instead, he instructed me in the basics of physical conditioning, squats to build my legs for riding, stretches to loosen the muscles needed to pull a bowstring, and breathing techniques to maintain composure in the heat of battle.

As we paused for a brief rest, Barristan's lessons shifted again, this time to the principles of military strategy.

"Victory is not always won by strength of arms." He said. "A true knight must know the ground he stands on, the lay of the land, the weather in the skies. A battle is fought long before swords ever clash."

He spoke of past campaigns, not in vivid, bloody detail, but in broad strokes, allowing me to glean the foundations of leadership and the weight of command. Even at four, with my heightened intelligence, I recognized the seeds of wisdom he was planting.

He did not shield me from the realities of war either. 

"Justice..." He said. "…is a knight's shield, but it must be tempered by the law. You will one day sit in judgment, my Prince. Remember this, a knight is no executioner. He serves justice, not vengeance."

The training was grueling, but not just for my body, it was a crucible for my mind.

And when he humored me with a spar, it was less a fight and more a lesson in humility.

To him, I was a young pup barking at a direwolf. 

He toyed with me, sidestepping my clumsy swings with the ease of a man flicking away flies. Once, he didn't even bother to draw his sword, just a step back, a flick of his wrist, and my wooden blade met only empty air.

But I noticed his fleeting glances, as though gauging my form, testing me. I was out of my depth, a rogue in an open duel, but I wasn't stupid enough to charge him head-on.

Instead, I focused on minimizing mistakes, relying on my luck only to avoid critical fumbles, a tactic that seemed to amuse Barristan greatly. Perhaps it even unnerved him a little, seeing a four-year-old so methodical, so… deliberate.

From across the yard, I felt Jaime's gaze sharpen.

It was subtle, the way his arms folded a fraction tighter or the slight tilt of his head whenever Barristan murmured a rare word of encouragement my way.

I may have been too young to be a threat, but maybe, just maybe, I had begun to earn a whisper of their curiosity.

Still, the grind was worth it.

Because I didn't just complete the quest, I hit the bonus objective too. Barely.

I suppressed the childish giggle bubbling inside me. This was, without a doubt, one of the highlights of my new life so far.

[CONSTITUTION SAVE FAILED! EXHAUSTION 3]

"Ugh!" I groaned, almost collapsing from sheer exhaustion.

Had I not been used to pushing past my limits since my earliest days in this life, I would've made a fool of myself right there in front of the Lord Commander, and the Kingslayer.

"That's enough for today, my Prince." Barristan said, signaling for me to return the wooden sword. "You have learned much already."

I wiped the sweat from my brow and watched him turn to leave, but something in me refused to let the moment end just yet.

"Wait, Ser Barristan!" I called out.

The Lord Commander paused, a curious, almost amused glint in his eye.

"You recover quickly." He noted. "Even after such exertion, you still have the spirit to press on? Perhaps tutoring you will prove to be one of my wiser decisions."

"Thank you, Lord Commander." I replied politely. "But… is there a way I can train by myself? A book, maybe, or exercises I can practice on my own time?"

His smile deepened.

"I may have some old treatises from my time training under the Kingsguard." He mused. "The Westerosi Iron Style, passed down to me by my predecessors."

But then his expression hardened. "Yet remember, my Prince, a sword cannot be mastered by words alone. Strength your body must gain, and wisdom your mind must hold."

He gestured to the wooden dummy.

"Strike. Learn its weight. Build your strength. Just… do not push yourself too far."

"Thank you, Lord Commander." I said with a slight bow. "I will respect my limits."

A lie.

[DECEPTION CHECK SUCCEED!]

As Barristan left, his white cloak billowing behind him, I turned my attention to the wooden dummy in the corner. Jaime was still there, still watching, though his expression remained inscrutable.

The moment they were both gone, my focus snapped back to the weapons. This was it. Another piece of the puzzle. The grind was finally becoming fun.

Even the Master-at-Arms set up a few practice targets for me, handing me a short bow with a draw weight suited for a child. Still, every arrow loose was a step closer to mastery, even if I miserably missed all my targets.

For hours each day henceforth, I trained, mind and body aligned with a single goal: to be ready for the wars to come.

One day, as I returned to the Red Keep after another of my many training sessions, I was sore, exhausted, and yet… energized. I requested a bath from Jayne, retreating to my chambers with one of the daggers I earned from my Class Quest strapped securely in my boot.

Whenever I had a quiet moment, I practiced with the blade, twirling it, sharpening it, though throwing it with precision was still a work in progress.

And slowly, I built a small hoard of hidden coins, about 29 Golden Dragons worth, carefully stashed from various sources.

Just in case.

Tucked away with my emergency plan was my Burglar's Pack, a silent promise that if things ever went south, I wouldn't be caught unprepared. A backpack filled with essentials: ball bearings, a crowbar, a hooded lantern, rations, rope… everything I might need should I ever have to run.

Because if there was one thing I refused to be in this life, it was vulnerable. And with every swing of my blade, every shot of my bow, and every coin added to my stash…I was one step further from ever being caught off guard.

————————————————————————

288 AFTER AEGON'S CONQUEST

The Red Keep was alive with its usual symphony of noise, the clinking of armor as guards patrolled the halls, the soft shuffle of servants bearing trays of food or armfuls of linen, and the distant murmur of courtiers exchanging rumors like coins. 

The stone walls, draped in banners of Baratheon and Lannister, seemed to lean in, ancient witnesses to the constant flow of life within the castle.

And through the crowded corridors, I dashed.

[ACROBATICS CHECK SUCCEED!]

The air buzzed past me as I weaved between servants and nobles alike, my feet light against the cold stone floors. My heart pounded, not from exertion but from the sheer thrill of the chase, a rare moment of childish indulgence in a life that rarely allowed for it.

Behind me, the bright sound of laughter followed like an echo.

"Wait, my prince!" Alysse Arryn's voice rang out, breathless and amused.

She chased after me, her golden hair, a shade so fair it seemed to steal the sunlight from the narrow windows, bouncing with every hurried step. Her blue eyes sparkled with determination and a hint of playful frustration as she struggled to slip past a pair of servants carrying a long candlestick stand.

"You are faster— I admit it!" She called again, giggling even as she nearly sent a woman carrying a basket of fruits toppling over.

"Pardon me! So sorry!" Alysse gasped, steadying the woman with a fleeting touch before darting back into pursuit.

The servants, of course, were not blind to our antics.

"Watch where you're going, my lady!" A flustered maid huffed, clutching a basket of fresh bread.

"Careful with those candles! They're for the King's chambers!" Another barked, though her scolding was softened by a faint smile.

The commotion was not without cause. This was not a random chase through the Red Keep but the aftermath of a bold, and frankly foolish, challenge. 

For the past year, I had grown unexpectedly close to Alysse, the daughter of the Hand of the King. Our bond was a curious thing, two outliers in the original world and story created by George R.R. Martin. 

She was a noble girl denied the chance to study anything beyond maidenly lessons, until I manipulated things in our favor, and I was… well, a prince with more knowledge in my head than anyone regardless of their age should rightfully possess.

We were misfits, yet somehow, we fit together.

Alysse had once foolishly believed that outrunning me, a boy of barely five name days, would be a simple task. That was before she learned that I was not a typical child.

Grand Maester Pycelle often reminded me that I was a "worthy heir to my grandfather's legacy", though his version of praise was as subtle as a storm when we were just the two of us. 

This Pycelle, however, unlike his show counterpart, was an expert in his craft, his old man acting so convincing that few suspected the cunning mind beneath the frail exterior.

And so, when Alysse had challenged me to a race to the Grand Maester's office, I hadn't just accepted.

I had won.

Now, with her trailing behind, still hoping to close the ever-growing distance between us, I could only smile to myself.

"Be careful, Alysse! I'd hate for you to lose and break something valuable!" I teased over my shoulder, my voice a sing-song taunt.

"You'd hate it even more if you lost this time due to your overconfidence!" She huffed, her cheeks flushed not only from exertion but from the sting of losing to me yet again.

The sun streamed through the arched windows, casting shifting patterns of stags and lions on the stone walls as we ascended the spiral staircase leading to Pycelle's tower. Dust motes danced in the sunbeams, a rare moment of quiet beauty amid the rush of our childish game.

At last, I reached the third floor, my hand already moving to knock on the heavy wooden door.

"Don?" Alysse's voice came from below, a touch of disbelief in it. The race was over, she knew it, but her competitive spirit refused to let her admit defeat so easily.

The door creaked open at my knock, and a familiar voice called out from within. "Come in!"

I slipped inside the Grand Maester's office, shutting the door behind me with a satisfied smirk.

The room smelled of parchment and ink, a faint aroma of dried herbs lingering in the air. Towering bookshelves lined the walls, stretching up to the very top of the four-story tower, packed with ancient tomes and scrolls so old they looked ready to crumble into dust. 

A large desk stood at the heart of the room, cluttered with stacks of parchment and delicate glass vials, a chaotic order only a Maester could understand.

Beyond the windows, the capital of Westeros sprawled out in all its chaotic glory, the rooftops of King's Landing a sea of red tiles and twisting streets.

"Ah, my Prince." Pycelle rasped, though his eyes, sharp and calculating, betrayed the feigned frailty in his voice. "So eager for today's lesson, are we? And where is Lady Arryn? You two have become quite the inseparable pair."

"She's on her way." I replied smoothly. "We were both excited to begin."

Pycelle gave a thin smile, his fingers still dancing over the letter he was writing, likely some report to Lord Jon Arryn or a missive to the Citadel regarding the planting cycles of crops.

Moments later, Alysse arrived, her hair slightly askew, her cheeks flushed, but her posture still poised, a noble even in defeat.

"Got lost on the stairs?" I whispered just loud enough for her to hear.

She elbowed me, gently, of course, as the lesson began.

"Tell me, children…" Pycelle said, his voice a slow drawl as he set aside his quill. "…have you any experience handling animals?"

We shook our heads.

"Good." He said, his smile more thoughtful than kind. "Then today, you shall learn how to send letters by raven, a skill every lord and lady must master, and in time, you will learn how to care for horses and cattle."

The next two hours were a blur of quills and feathers, of scribbled notes and Pycelle's steady voice explaining the diets of ravens, the intricacies of their training, and the fascinating uses of various animals across the Seven Kingdoms.

He spoke of the great sand steeds of Dorne, the massive destriers bred for war and even the exotic creatures rumored to exist beyond the Jade Sea.

"You are learning this faster than most acolytes at the Citadel." Pycelle remarked, his voice tinged with a rare flicker of pride. "Not even the boys training to wear the chain grasp these concepts as swiftly."

I absorbed every word like a sponge, not only for the knowledge of better understanding my Animal Handling skill, but for the sweet ping of my system.

[BY CONSULTING A ACCURATE NONFICTION BOOK ABOUT ANIMAL HANDLING TOPIC, YOU GAIN A EXTRA +5 BONUS TO ANY CHECK YOU MAKE ABOUT THAT TOPIC FOR THE NEXT 24 HOURS!]

Alysse, on the other hand, leaned more heavily on me, an unspoken request for help that I was only too happy to oblige.

[YOU HAVE SUCCESSFULLY HELPED YOUR ALLY!]

*A character can only provide help if the task is one that he or she could attempt alone. For example, trying to open a lock requires proficiency with thieves' tools, so a character who lacks that proficiency can't help another character in that task. Moreover, a character can help only when two or more individuals working together would actually be productive. Some tasks, such as threading a needle, are no easier with help.

Of course, Pycelle likely believed he was the sole source of our growing knowledge. He was wrong, only I had the broken game mechanics that turned simple lessons into opportunities for power.

As the lesson ended, Alysse and I closed our books, exchanging a glance that was equal parts exhaustion and satisfaction.

"Thank you, Grand Maester." I said, ever the respectful pupil.

Alysse mimicked me, adding a playful wink in my direction as we stepped back into the hallway.

The air in the corridor felt lighter, the burden of study momentarily lifted.

As Alysse and I strolled through the stone corridors of the Red Keep, the soft clinking of her boots against the marble floor echoed faintly. 

The late afternoon sun spilled through the narrow windows, casting long shadows that danced along the walls. She walked beside me, her blue eyes flicking to the satchel slung across my shoulder, the one where I kept my deck of cards.

"You know..." She started, a sly grin tugging at her lips. "I've been thinking about our last match."

I arched an eyebrow, already knowing where this was headed. "Oh? The one where your entire royal line crumbled after I played the Usurper? Or the one where you tried to build an unstoppable dynasty with Aegon and both his sisters… only to lose them all to a Faith uprising?"

Alysse groaned, playfully shoving my arm. "You tricked me into believing the High Septon card was useless." She accused me. "I thought you said he was only good for defense!"

I chuckled. "He is—unless you pair him with the Faith Militant and a few Noble supporters. Then he's more than capable of toppling a king."

She folded her arms, nose wrinkled in mock annoyance. "You make it sound so obvious after I've already lost."

"That's because the game isn't just about the cards." I said, spinning a random card between my fingers, a habit I'd picked up. "It's about who you think I am when I play them. Am I building a kingdom? Or am I laying the foundation for its fall?"

Her eyes narrowed at me. "So you lie."

I smirked. "I bluff."

Alysse laughed, shaking her head. "One of these days, I'm going to outwit you."

I gave her a look of exaggerated surprise. "And when that day comes, Lady Arryn, I'll personally crown you Queen of Cards."

"Better start polishing the crown then." She quipped, a gleam of determination in her voice.

We rounded a corner, the playful banter still hanging in the air, when her expression softened and she asked, her voice hopeful as we began reaching my chambers. "By the way… have you come up with another song?"

I smiled. "As a matter of fact, yes. Want to hear it?"

Her grin widened. "Always."

And with that, we wandered deeper into the Red Keep, a prince and a Hand's daughter, bound by friendship and ambition.

Not long after, finally at my personal chamber, I began to pluck the strings of my lute, each note resonating softly, weaving a delicate melody that seemed to still the very air around us. 

[PERFORMANCE CHECK SUCCEED!]

Alysse's expression shifted immediately, her usual playful demeanor melting into something quieter, more vulnerable, as the music drew her in.

Then, with measured breath, I began to sing, not a song of this world, but one I carried from a life long gone.

"These scars long have yearned for your tender caress. To bind our fortunes, damn what the stars own. Rend my heart open, then your love profess… A winding, weaving fate to which we both atone."

I watched as Alysse placed a hand over her heart, visibly moved by the words. Her lips parted slightly, as if the song had reached somewhere deep within her, a place untouched by the courtly ballads of the Red Keep.

"You flee my dream come the morning. Your scent, berries tart, lilac sweet. To dream of golden strands cascading down. Shining moon of blue eyes, glistening as you weep."

The final note of the verse hung in the air like a whisper. It wasn't magic, just raw emotion laced with practiced skill, but the way Alysse stared, wide-eyed and silent, you'd think I had cast some spell over her.

I let the pause stretch for a heartbeat longer than needed before continuing, pouring a bit more into both voice and instrument, striking that perfect balance between vulnerability and control.

"The falcon I will follow into the moonlight. To find your heart, its passion displaced. By ire ever growing, hardening into stone. Amidst the cold to hold you in a heated embrace."

Eyes closed now, I let the music guide me with the sharp edge of longing, of a life lost and a song that didn't belong to this world.

"You flee my dream come the morning. Your scent: berries tart, lilac sweet. To dream of golden strands cascading down. Shining moon of blue eyes, glistening as you weep."

As the last chord faded, I opened my eyes. Alysse stood unmoving, her only motion the slow rise and fall of her chest and the single tear slipping down her cheek.

Then— 

[PING!]

The familiar chime of my Game System broke the silence, pulling me back to reality. Before I could process the notification, Alysse clapped softly, the sound almost hesitant, as if she didn't want to disturb the lingering echo of the song.

"That was… so beautiful, Don." Her voice wavered slightly as she quickly wiped the tear from her cheek. "I've never heard anything like it."

Praise wasn't something I was used to, at least, not for my talents. Back home, I was basically invisible, a shadow blending into the crowd. Here… well, things were different.

I managed a warm smile, my Deception skill smoothing over the slight awkwardness I felt. "I'm glad you liked it. Truly."

Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink, and for a moment, she seemed caught between words, as though the song had left her disarmed.

Sensing the need to break the tension, I added, "There are still a few notes I need to get right… some rhymes aren't working as well as I'd like… but nothing a bit more practice can't fix. Would you mind helping me with that sometime?"

Alysse blinked, her blush deepening. "Not at all," she said softly, though her gaze lingered a little longer than necessary.

I chuckled inwardly. It didn't take a master strategist to notice the signs, the way she kept tucking her hair behind her ear, how her voice softened whenever she spoke to me.

She had a crush. A sweet one, at that.

But while I appreciated her affection, Alysse was still just a girl, younger than me in every way that mattered. No matter how much I might look younger than her, the distance between us was more than just a few years.

Gently, I cleared my throat, pulling her back from whatever daydream she'd wandered into. "Thanks again." I said, offering a playful smirk. "I'll see you later?"

She nodded, cheeks still tinted pink. "Of course."

As she turned to leave, I let out a quiet sigh, shaking my head with a faint smile.

Poor girl. She wasn't bad-looking by any means, but whatever she imagined this was, well, it wasn't that.

Still… I couldn't dwell on it. Because—

[PING!] 

—there it was again. The notifications.

Now, where was I? Ah, yes. The new update.

The System hadn't told me the exact class I would be unlocking for completing its requirement, but I'd figured it out after a while. A quest that constantly tracked my progress.

[QUEST COMPLETED: THE PATH OF THE PERFORMER!]

[REQUIREMENT: Gain access to a Music Instrument and get sufficient practice with it]

[REQUIREMENT: Successfully pass 25 Performance Checks (25/25)]

[REWARD: Unlock a new Class]

Twenty-Five performances. Twenty-Five moments of proving that my music wasn't just noise but a crafted skill. From playing for Alysse and my half siblings, to even singing a ballad in the Sept once, each moment had pushed me closer to this point.

[NEW CLASS ACQUIRED!]

A familiar chime echoed in my mind, followed by the bold gold letters of the System's notification.

[WORDS AND MUSIC ARE NOT JUST VIBRATIONS OF AIR, BUT VOCALIZATIONS WITH POWER ALL THEIR OWN. YOU HAVE ENTERED THE PATH TO BECOME A MASTER OF SONG, SPEECH, AND THE MAGIC THEY CONTAIN!]

[YOU ARE NOW A BARD!]

*True bards are not common in the world. Not every minstrel singing in a tavern or jester cavorting in a royal court is a bard. Discovering the magic hidden in music requires hard study and some measure of natural talent that most troubadours and jongleurs lack. It can be hard to spot the difference between these performers and true bards, though. 

My heart did a little flip. Finally.

I'd been working toward this moment for weeks, ever since I noticed the pattern behind how my Classes seemed to unfold like classic RPG progressions. 

What better way to weaponize words than to lace them with magic?

The next set of notifications rolled in, feeding me the sweet, sweet details.

[CLASS FEATURES — BARD (Rank D-)]

*Proficiency in one skill of your choice.

Definitely picking PERFORMANCE! Testing my artistic skills before people that either really liked me or were at least afraid to criticize my work was one thing, other entirely different will be standing before a crowd that doesn't know who I am or simply didn't care about it.

*Proficiency with one Musical Instrument of your choice.

My trusty LUTE has served me well, besides half of my trick is singing amazing lyrics that were very popular in my previous life.

[ABILITIES UNLOCKED:]

*BARDIC INSPIRATION (Rank D-): You can supernaturally inspire others through words, music, or dance.

Awesome, pair this with my Help and I might after all become a truly great teacher!

*DIVINE HALFCASTER (Rank D-): You have learned to cast spells through your bardic arts.

[NEW CANTRIPS LEARNED! FRIENDS AND VICIOUS MOCKERY]

[NEW SPELLS LEARNED! SLEEP AND HIDEOUS LAUGHTER]

I grinned. Oh yeah, baby! Who's ready to toss a coin to your Witcher?

Not that anyone here would get the reference, which, honestly, only made it funnier.

But this wasn't just another stroke of luck. No sudden quest reward handed to me on a silver platter. This was earned.

And now? Now I could finally weave magic into my music.

But the "halfcaster" part was actually a surprise. Granted, Bards were never as powerful spell-slingers like sorcerers or wizards, but I still was pretty sure they fit the Fullcaster group.

Having said that, that was still fine by me. My current focus wasn't raw magical firepower, but its versatility.

Words could sway a crowd, inspire an army, or break a heart. And that was just Rank D- stuff.

The real question was how this would grow. If this was the starting line, what would the higher ranks unlock?

I clenched my fist, already imagining the possibilities. The crowd control. The subtle enchantments. The potential to move both hearts and minds with a single verse.

But there was work to be done. Talent wasn't enough.

I needed practice, not just in private, but in front of real audiences. It seemed like performing for others had been another "special ingredient" missing from my usual grind sessions.

From now on, every song I played, every story I told and every speech I gave would be more than just words in the wind. They would be stepping stones to mastering this new Class.

I chuckled to myself.

"Looks like I'm going to need a bigger audience."

————————————————————————

[LEVEL: 3/4 // PROFICIENCY BONUS: +2]

[CLASS: ROGUE D // BARD D-]

[HP: 2 // ARMOR CLASS: 10 (PADDED ARMOR)]

[DIVINE POINTS: 2 (MAX TIER: 1)]

[SPEED: 3.5mph (30ft)]

[TRAITS: …BARDIC INSPIRATION// DIVINE HALFCASTER]

[STR: 8 (-1) // CHILD'S BODY PENALTY]

*ATHLETICS: +1 (BOOK BONUS +5)

[DEX: 8 (-1) // CHILD'S BODY PENALTY// PROFICIENT SAVE (+1)]

*ACROBATICS: +1

*SLEIGHT OF HAND: +1

*STEALTH: +3 (EXPERTISE)

[CON: 8 (-1) // CHILD'S BODY PENALTY]

[INT: 16 (+3) // PROFICIENT SAVE (+5)]

*HISTORY: +5

*INVESTIGATION: +5

[WIS: 13 (+1)]

*INSIGHT: +3

*PERCEPTION: +5 (EXPERTISE)

*ANIMAL HANDLING: +1 (READING BONUS +5)

[CHA: 18 (+4)]

*DECEPTION: +6

*PERSUASION: +6

*PERFORMANCE: +6

[TOOLS: …LUTE]

[CANTRIPS: FRIENDS // VICIOUS MOCKERY]

[FIRST TIER: SLEEP // HIDEOUS LAUGHTER]

————————————————————————

Magic wasn't supposed to be subtle.

In the stories, it roared, dragons breathing fire, sorcerers hurling bolts of lightning, dark priests cursing their enemies with a snap of their fingers, and Druids causing devastating storms of destruction.

Magic was loud. Obvious.

My magic? It was more like a clever whisper in a crowded hall, heard by few, noticed by fewer, and understood by none.

Which suited me just fine.

The first trick up my sleeve was a freebie spell my System identified as [Friends], a spell as misnamed as Robert at a war council. "Friends" didn't make people like me, didn't foster loyalty or build bonds. No, it was a magical slap of charm that worked just long enough for me to get what I wanted.

The steward, a thin-lipped man whose name I didn't bother to remember, had already dismissed me twice despite my Charisma attribute being so high.

I needed a record from the royal archives, nothing of importance, just a record of past tournaments, but I knew if I asked him a third time without something extra, he'd start complaining to Cersei or Robert about the "impatient young prince".

So, I worked the spell.

A gentle touch to my cheek, as if wiping off some imaginary speck of dust, the somatic component. Just enough to draw attention to the faint dab of rouge I'd placed below my eyes, a bit of makeup for the material component, easily explained away as a flourish of courtly fashion.

One I made sure my father never heard about.

"I only need a moment of your time, good ser. It would mean a great deal." I said, voice smooth as silk, as I approached my target.

His eyes softened. His mouth, once a stern line, curved into something dangerously close to a smile. And just like that, the tournament records were mine.

Of course, when the spell wore off, his expression shifted, less "How dare you use magic!" and more "Why the fuck did I just do that?".

A quiet confusion. Suspicion, perhaps, but no cries of sorcery. It wasn't magic to them, just a moment of weakness, easily exploited by better schemers than me.

And really, isn't that what most charm boils down to?

It should've ended there. A minor deception, another spell cast in secret, forgotten by everyone but me.

But then—

"How curious."

The voice was smooth. Soft. A whisper wrapped in silk.

I stiffened, turning towards it, slowly, and there he was. Completely undetected by my Perception skill.

[VARYS, THE SPIDER // MASTERMIND // LV: 8]

The Master of Whispers stood just beyond the doorway, his hands gently folded over his stomach, a placid smile on his face. His robes flowed like liquid shadow, and his eyes, dark, unreadable, flicked from the scribe to me, then back again.

The spell faded just as the scribe placed the record before me. His fingers lingered for half a second too long, his brow furrowing, confusion creeping into his features as though waking from a pleasant dream.

Varys watched that, too.

"Curious?" I repeated, keeping my voice light, playful, an echo of innocence.

The Spider's smile never wavered.

"The scribe…" He said softly. "…seemed most… resolute a moment ago. And yet, with but a word, you melted his resolve."

A beat of silence.

Not an accusation. Not yet. Just a subtle observation, a thread laid carefully at my feet, waiting to see if I would pull it.

I met his gaze and forced an easy chuckle.

"A prince's charm." I said smoothly. "Some men are more susceptible than others."

Varys's head tilted, the motion slow and deliberate. "Indeed."

There was a quiet weight to the word, like a hand resting too gently on the hilt of a dagger.

The scribe, oblivious to the game being played above his head, muttered something about fetching more records and hurried off, perhaps confused by his own actions but not enough to question them. Not yet.

I waited until we were alone.

"Did you need something, Lord Varys?" I asked, making sure to let just a hint of appeasement bleed into my tone, not enough to be obvious, but enough to disarm the man's worries.

I didn't dare use [Friends] on him just to slip away more easily, not with the Spider's reputation. If anyone could sense a sudden shift in their own mind, it was Varys.

For that, I would have to rely on my good old reliable Deception skill, and trust my luck.

[DECEPTION CHECK SUCCEED!]

Varys's smile widened by a fraction. 

"Oh, nothing at all, Your Grace. I merely go where whispers lead me." His voice dipped, barely above a murmur. "And today, it seems, they led me here."

A polite bow. A step back.

And then he was gone, vanishing down the corridor, his silk robes trailing behind him like a shadow slinking back into the night.

The silence he left behind was louder than a thunderclap.

I stood there for a moment, my hand resting on the cover of the old tournament record that really wasn't worth all this trouble, but my mind was far from the names and dates scrawled within.

Varys hadn't seen me cast the spell. He hadn't heard the Valyrian words or noticed the faint rouge beneath my eyes, of that I was sure.

But he approached me suspecting something had happened. 

[WISDOM SAVE FAILED! YOU ARE FRIGHTENED FOR A MINUTE!]

*A frightened creature has disadvantage on ability checks and attack rolls while the source of its fear is within line of sight. The creature can't willingly move closer to the source of its fear.

Sometimes, the quietest moments were indeed the ones that left the deepest scars.

This encounter just served to hammer home that magic worked best in the shadows. Out of sight. Out of mind.

Having been forced to understand that, I proceeded with exploring my other spells with an extra level of carefulness.

[Sleep] was more useful, at least when I wasn't trying to knock out some unusually vigilant guard during one of my night escapades.

Lann was wailing in the nursery one evening, a rare sight. He was usually more placid than a cow in a summer field, but not that night. Cersei was there, rocking him back and forth, her patience thinner than the wine in Robert's cup.

"He refuses to close his eyes." She hissed, believing even I wouldn't be able to calm him down.

I almost told her that babies weren't known for their sense of duty, that if Lann had inherited any trait from her, it was stubbornness, not obedience, but I valued my relationship with her enough.

Instead, I knelt beside them and whispered in High Valyrian. "Nyke gōvī, se ao ūndegon. (I sing, and you sleep.)"

It wasn't just the words, it was how I said them. Soft. Lulling. A gentle, musical rhythm that made even me yawn.

The somatic component was easy, a simple flick of my hand, disguised as adjusting Lann's blanket. The material component, rose petals, I'd crushed between my fingers beforehand, letting their scent drift through the air.

Cersei didn't notice. She was too tired. And within moments, Lann's eyes fluttered closed.

A success.

Even better, Cersei's head lolled back against the chair, and soon enough, she was asleep too.

Two birds, one spell.

Of course, that was my one casting for the day. My magic, or what my System called my divine points, was limited. After one casting of my first tier spells, the well ran dry. It was like having a sword that only swung once before vanishing into thin air.

But the trick wasn't in casting the spell, it was in making sure no one thought I'd cast one.

Then there was [Hideous Laughter].

Now, this one was tricky, less about magic and more about timing.

The target was Robert, which was both an opportunity and a risk. On one hand, if I could make the king laugh, it was a victory. On the other… if he figured out I was using magic, I'd probably be joining the skulls in the dungeons sooner than I had anticipated.

So, I didn't aim the spell directly at him. Instead, I told a joke. "Even a prince can be beaten by a drunken knight, as long as the knight swings hard enough."

A chuckle from Robert. Good.

Then I layered the magic into the next joke, hiding the Valyrian verbal component within the punchline by immediately translating my words. "Valonqar yno hen ñuha korze, yn kesā rhaenagon. The little brother steps aside, but you swing anyway."

The somatic component? An exaggerated reenactment of a clumsy sword swing, with some comedic props like feather and tart, just enough to sell the joke.

And Robert… lost it.

He roared with laughter, doubling over, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. It wasn't the spell forcing him to laugh, it just amplified the humor, pushing him over the edge from amused to uncontrollably howling.

When the magic faded, Robert was still chuckling, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

To everyone watching, I was just a witty prince, finally bonding with the father that had long been avoiding him.

No magic here. Just a sharp tongue that even Varys wouldn't lose his sleep at night.

By the time I returned to my chambers at the end of each day I used this recently earned Bardic Magic of mine, I could feel the emptiness inside me. My well of magic, my divine points, were spent.

[DP: 0]

One spell a day. That was my limit. For now.

But the best part? Aside from the Spider that was most likely bluffing to get a reaction out of me, one suspected a thing.

Not Robert, not Cersei, not the stewards or the nobles or the guards. And definitely no spider looking me funny or longer than necessary.

To them, I was just Durrandon Baratheon, the clever, prodigious, silver-tongued prince.

And I intended to keep it that way.

After all, there's nothing more dangerous than a spell caster no one sees coming.

————————————————————————

Days later, I opened my eyes once again in my bedchamber, the familiar glow of a notification hovering before me.

[YOU HAVE TAKEN A LONG REST IN YOUR OWN BED. HP AND DP HAVE BEEN RESTORED 100% EACH. YOUR EXHAUSTION LEVEL HAS DECREASED BY ONE.]

I smiled, pushing the window aside with a practiced swipe of my hand. Another small win.

Yesterday had been spent buried in the Maester's office, dealing with his never-ending stream of ravens and letters. Surprisingly, I found myself enjoying the work, until Alysse pointed out the sun had long since set.

Stretching, I quickly freshened up and changed into a new set of clothes before donning the padded armor Jeyne had washed for me. It wasn't much, but it was definitely better than nothing.

Once I was ready, I turned to the small stray cat curled up at the foot of my bed. "I'll be back later, girl. Try not to take over the whole bed while I'm gone."

The cat flicked its tail lazily in response, a half-hearted "Meow" the only acknowledgment I received.

"Real fierce." I muttered with a chuckle before making my way through the Red Keep.

In the courtyard, I spotted Ser Aron Santagar overseeing the castle garrison's morning drills. His sharp eyes caught me the moment I stepped onto the training grounds. A hard man, lean as a whip, with hair more silver than black, Santagar was a Dornishman through and through.

"Out of bed at last, my prince?" Aron's voice was dry, but his smirk gave away the good humor beneath it. 

A few of the guards chuckled softly, still not entirely used by my presence in the training yard, though they quickly stifled it under Santagar's sharp glare. His smile, however, lingered.

I nodded back in acknowledgement and he motioned toward the training dummies. 

After an hour of running around with training armor and equipment, which was more meant to be heavy than defensive, practicing a few moves on the dummies and watching my footwork while missing less than I did back when I first started, I returned to my chamber to find a still sleeping stray cat. 

"Grr." The kitten sitting over my bed announced its boredom for me to hear it, almost like ordering me to play with it.

I certainly needed to train it better.

I mean, it certainly wasn't a magical creature, but this little cat wasn't a push over either. It's laziness might be due to the constant activity I've been ordering it to accomplish.

Catching doves and rats while also helping me find more stray cats was definitely a feather in its cap.

[CAT // LV: 0]

Before I could find something to do, an older woman with blonde stringy hair and a thin form entered my chamber carrying a basket with clothes and fruits.

She bowed respectfully and began working in silence.

[WALDA, SERVANT OF THE RED KEEP // LV: 0]

Seeing the faint window above her head, I began to ponder.

The average worker here seemed to be at level 0, but I've also seen several influential figures, clearly around the same age as the workers, if not younger, having their levels around 1 to 4, with most relevant figures even going past 9 and as far as 16.

Why was it so?

Perhaps they simply had received better training and were lectured and trained by someone like a Maester or a Knight. My current working theory was that it all depended on their class, the more mundane they were the easier it was to level it up.

As for the Ability scores, anything equal or less than 9 on any one of them was considered "below average", more akin to children and elderly people. That's where my three physical status were currently stuck at.

From 10 to 11, it was probably regarded as "average", or what the peasant equivalent was supposed to be, with its modifier being neither a bonus or a penalty. Any healthy peasant should be capable of meeting this standard.

Perhaps 12 to 15 would finally be where the "above average" found themselves in. That's where my Wisdom fitted in.

As for what lies beyond that point, 16+, I knew my father's strength and constitution were supposed to be, as well as Pycelle's Intelligence and Varys' Wisdom were, probably due to them specing into different builds.

By the time I returned to the training grounds the next day, Ser Barristan was waiting for me, arms crossed over his breastplate, his white cloak billowing ever so slightly in the wind. His mere presence was a lesson in discipline.

"My prince." He greeted me with a small bow. "Are you ready for today's lesson?"

I inclined my head, unclasping my small cloak. "Apologies for the delay. I was—"

He raised a hand, stopping me gently. "There's no need to explain, my prince. You have many duties beyond the sword. Though, I must admit, I admire your willingness to tend to both."

His words, simple yet sincere, made me stand a little taller.

"Thank you, Ser Barristan." I said, tightening my grip on the practice sword. "I promise I won't let those duties slow me down."

He nodded approvingly. "Good. Then let's begin with your footwork. Remember, mastery of the blade begins with mastery of your stance. A man who cannot control his own feet cannot hope to control his opponent's."

I nodded before changing into my personal training armour that suited my still small body despite its cumbersome weight.

[ANYONE CAN PUT ON A SUIT OF ARMOR OR STRAP A SHIELD TO AN ARM. ONLY THOSE PROFICIENT IN THE ARMOR'S USE KNOW HOW TO WEAR IT EFFECTIVELY, HOWEVER.]

[IF YOU WEAR ARMOR THAT YOU LACK PROFICIENCY WITH, YOU HAVE DISADVANTAGED ON ANY ABILITY CHECK, SAVING THROW, OR ATTACK ROLL THAT INVOLVES STRENGTH OR DEXTERITY, AND YOU CAN'T CAST SPELLS!]

'Great, the things I do to not die in an accident.' I thought while gritting my teeth as I got ready.

Before me lay a stretch of uneven ground littered with small obstacles, stones, logs and loose soil. It wasn't the first time he'd had me run these drills, but the added weight of the training armor always made it feel like the first.

I exhaled and stepped onto the course, moving deliberately, each footfall careful but steady. Slow at first, but steady.

Barristan watched me like a hawk. "Good. Keep your balance, my prince. A knight who trips on the battlefield dies on the battlefield."

It was slow going, twice as long to cover the same distance, but my Cunning Action gave me an edge, helping me dart between obstacles with a rhythm that, while clumsy, was improving.

When I finally finished, Barristan gave a small nod. "Better. You're moving more fluidly now—less hesitation."

A faint smile tugged at my lips. 

"Now." He continued, motioning to a climbing wall set against the far end of the yard. "Let's see if the treatise I gave you on exercising has paid off. Climbing may seem simple, but on the field, scaling a wall or a steep hill may be the difference between victory and death."

I would've groaned in annoyance if I wasn't so adamant about not letting my physical attributes dictate my own actions.

Which definitely sounded more inspiring before I fell several times due to my strength failing me every time I reached past halfway through the climbing wall.

[ATHLETICS CHECK FAILED!]

[ATHLETICS CHECK FAILED!]

[ATHLETICS CHECK FAILED!]

"You're improving, my prince." Barristan said, his voice calm despite my evident struggle. "Last time, you could barely hold your own weight on it. Today, you managed to reach the halfway point."

"Thanks." I muttered, still gasping from my latest fall. "But it doesn't really feel like it."

The Lord Commander smiled faintly. "Give time to time, my prince. Strength does not come overnight—it is earned, one fall at a time."

Despite myself, I couldn't help but let out a tired laugh. "I'll be sure to add 'falling' to my list of talents, then."

He chuckled softly. "A useful skill in its own right—so long as you learn to rise just as swiftly."

With a sigh, I pushed myself to my feet once more, grabbing my practice sword and stepping onto the sparring ground.

"Shall we move on to the part where I'm better at standing?" I quipped.

Barristan's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "A spar, as always. Focus on defense, move with your opponent's strikes, watch for openings."

I spun the practice sword in my hand, setting my stance. "Understood."

"Then let us begin." Barristan announced, his voice steady as steel. Without hesitation, he advanced, not with the full might of a Kingsguard, but with enough weight behind his strike to remind me who I was facing.

His practice sword arced toward my neck, a simple, testing blow. I raised my wooden blade, parrying the swing with a sharp crack of wood against wood. The force of it still made my arms ache.

Make no mistake, Barristan was holding back. Even with my training, I was a child, barely able to match a skilled squire, let alone a seasoned knight that Barristan could defeat with his eyes closed. 

But I wasn't helpless. I'd learned the basics and honed them with relentless practice. I couldn't overpower him, but I could outthink him.

I waited, using Insight to read the smallest shifts in his stance, the twitch of a shoulder, the weight shifting between his feet. When I saw an opening, I lunged, aiming for his chest, but my strike veered off-course, grazing his left shoulder instead.

Too slow. Too imprecise.

Barristan countered with a thrust toward my stomach. His movements were smooth, practiced, but I didn't need to match his skill. I needed to avoid his blade.

Seeing my opponent going on the offensive, and knowing I wasn't doing much on my own offensive, I decided to Dodge, focusing entirely on avoiding attacks and even going as far to pull a acrobatic stunt by rolling under the man's legs, a move that drew a slight lift of his brow.

Thanks to my Cunning Action ability, I managed to slip away from my opponent's reach without opening myself for any Opportunity Attack.

But Barristan wasn't fooled for long. He pivoted, faster than I expected and reached for me, despite my efforts to avoid him, a clear attempt to grapple. Perhaps he thought I relied too much on speed and tricks.

For a brief, panicked second, I thought he had me. But then—

[HEROIC INSPIRATION SPENT!]

I darted out of his grasp, my sudden burst of movement earning a rare look of surprise from the Lord Commander.

"Enough!" Barristan declared, stepping back, his expression caught between pride and puzzlement. We lowered our practice weapons and exchanged formal bows.

"That was brilliant, my prince… quick and effective." His praise was genuine but measured. "Although…" He hesitated, clearly mindful of my pride.

"Speak freely, Ser." I unfastened my training helmet, letting the cool air hit my sweat-drenched hair.

"…you lean too far into your thrusts. A strong attack means nothing if it leaves you overextended. Against a faster opponent, you'd be dangerously exposed."

I nodded, committing his words to memory. "Understood."

"Good." His smile softened. "Again."

I secured my helmet once more and raised my sword, both hands gripping the hilt. My heart still raced, but I focused, watching. Studying.

[INSIGHT CHECK SUCCEED!]

Barristan's weight shifted onto his left leg. He wasn't going to charge, he was about to circle me, aiming for my side.

He moved, exactly as I predicted, swinging his sword in a wide arc. I blocked, but the force of the blow drove me to one knee.

Damn. My Strength was still lacking.

Panting now, I could feel my body getting ready to be forced to make another Constitution save. 

I twisted my blade, trying to break the clash and Disengage, but Barristan followed up instantly, swinging down at my shoulder.

I threw myself to the side, barely avoiding the strike, and retaliated with an upward swing, a calculated risk. I tapped into my Weapon's Mastery, channeling a Vex flourish into the move.

As it actually landed this time, my attack had provided an opening, one I didn't have the chance to exploit before Barristan stopped his weapon near my neck.

But he pretended as if he hadn't and moved on, blocking my next attack despite the advantage I still had.

Barristan then decided to test my stamina and began swinging at me again and again, forcing me to do nothing else but to Dodge and deflect his strikes. 

Understanding that my opponent was letting me avoid his strikes, I just braced myself against the onslaught of attacks with the extra determination that my latest notification gave me.

[CONSTITUTION SAVE SUCCEED!]

Barristan was much faster than me, but he was clearly holding back, and I knew full well the Kingsguard wanted me to take advantage of that.

Suddenly, the tip of my sword connected. A clean hit. Barristan's eyes widened, not in pain, but in surprise. For just a fraction of a second, the great knight froze, not expecting me to land a strike.

I didn't hesitate. I slid under his legs again and, as I rose, drove a kick into the back of his knee. Barristan dropped, one knee hitting the ground.

Seizing the moment, I pressed my wooden blade against his neck.

"Yield." I demanded, adrenaline still pumping through my veins.

A beat of silence. Then—

[PING!]

'Not now!' I ignored the notification, keeping my focus squarely on Barristan.

The Lord Commander blinked, his lips parting in astonishment. 

"How did you…?" He chuckled, still stunned. "That was… clever, my prince. Very clever."

He shifted, still kneeling while dropping his weapon which was almost skillfully angled to allow a last mutually assured destruction strike, and gave me a slight bow. "I yield."

Relief flooded through me, but I didn't let it show. Months of relentless training, gritting my teeth through sore muscles and late-night drills…had led to this.

Sure, Barristan had held back. But I had earned this moment.

As we stood, the Lord Commander studied me with something close to admiration. "You've improved beyond what I expected. I've seen squires much older than you who wouldn't last half as long."

I allowed myself a rare smile. "I've had a fine teacher… and relentless practice."

His answering grin was warm. "And yet you want to push yourself even harder."

I tilted my head. "Is there any other way?"

Barristan laughed softly. "No. No, I suppose not."

We walked off the training yard together, his voice slipping back into the role of a mentor.

"Your upper body strength is developing, but you need to strengthen your legs. Endurance is key, unlike duels a battle can last hours, and a warrior must stand through it."

I nodded, absorbing every word. "I'll focus on my legs more, Ser."

He patted my shoulder, a gesture more fitting for a father than a sworn sword. "I must confess, my prince, that last trick of yours, sliding and kicking behind the knee, I've only seen something like that from the water dancers of Braavos."

"All thanks to your teachings." I replied smoothly. "You gave me a solid foundation. I'm simply building upon it."

The Knight chuckled. "You're ahead of most twice your age. I dare say you might be ready to become a squire soon. Most lads don't start until their ninth or tenth name day."

"Well, I did break the record for the youngest page in recent history." I reminded him, lifting my chin slightly.

Barristan smiled. "That you did."

For a moment, his expression grew distant, melancholic, and I knew his thoughts had drifted to Prince Rhaegar.

There was nothing I could say to ease that old wound. So I simply bowed. "I'll take your advice to heart, Ser."

Barristan nodded, his voice softer now. "Go on, my prince. Supper awaits you."

I left the yard, passing through the Red Keep's winding halls.

On my way to my chambers, I slipped by the kitchens, snatching a piece of fish for my cats, a small indulgence.

By the time I reached my room, two of the cats were already curled on my bed. I set the fish down for them, then settled at my desk.

Finally, I allowed myself to glance at the glowing text hovering in the air, which was vivid against the dim light of my chambers.

[QUEST COMPLETED: THE PATH OF THE COMBATANT!]

[REQUIREMENT: Find yourself a competent combat teacher (1/1)]

[REQUIREMENT: Sufficient training with Medium Armor]

[REQUIREMENT: Sufficient training with Shields]

[REQUIREMENT: Sufficient training with Martial Weapons]

[REQUIREMENT: Successfully pass 50 Athletics Checks (50/50)]

[REQUIREMENT: Make your combat teacher take you serious during a spar session (5/5)]

[REWARD: Unlock a new Class]

Finally!

Do you have any idea what I went through for this? Months of pushing my child's body past its limits, the constant ache of overworked muscles, the near misses with exhaustion, the looming threat of a level of fatigue too many, ending me before I even had a chance to properly enjoy this new life of mine.

And now…

[NEW CLASS ACQUIRED!]

The familiar chime echoed in my mind, a sound I'd come to associate with either my greatest achievements or my biggest blunders. 

Bold, golden letters blazed before me.

[WITH BLOOD, BATTLE AND BRAVERY YOU STAND STALWART IN THE FACE OF DANGER, SHOWING BOLDNESS IN THE FIRES OF WAR. YOU LIVE YOUR LIFE AT THE BLADE'S EDGE!]

[YOU ARE NOW A FIGHTER!]

*Fighters share an unparalleled mastery with weapons and armor, and a thorough knowledge of the skills of combat. They are well acquainted with death, both meeting it out and staring it definitely in the face.

Couldn't help myself from letting a grin tug at my lips. About damn time.

The text shifted again, revealing my hard-earned spoils.

[CLASS FEATURES — FIGHTER (Rank D-)]

*Proficiency in Medium Armor and Shields.

Praise the gods! No more wearing armor that felt like it was punishing me for daring to put it on. And now, shields could finally be more than just extra weight strapped to my arm.

*Proficiency with Martial Weapons.

[WARNING! Heavy Weapons still grants you disadvantage on attacks if your Strength score isn't at least 13.]

Not quite the victory lap I hoped for, but progress all the same. So gratifying for me to know that those long days in the Red Keep's armory with Ser Barristan, learning the balance of a blade, the weight of a warhammer, the cold bite of a spear, hadn't been for nothing.

If only my Proficiency Bonus wasn't still scraping the bottom of the barrel.

[ABILITIES UNLOCKED:]

*FIGHTING STYLE 1# (Rank D-): You have honed your martial prowess and gained a Fighting Style of your choice. Defense is recommended. 

Sure, why not? Let's be real, anyone other than Barristan would happily knock me on my ass just to make a point. Better make them work for it.

*SECOND WIND (Rank D-): You have a limited well of physical and mental stamina that you can draw on.

A way to bring my HP back up if it gets dangerously low, will be fantastic, at least once my Health Points reach the double digits count so that I survive the first blow I take.

*WEAPON MASTERY (Rank D-): Your training with weapons allows you to use the mastery properties of three kinds of weapons of your choice with which you have proficiency.

Already had plenty of time to get used to both: Nick which let me slice through the air with twin daggers in a single beat, quick and relentless. And Vex, if I managed to land a hit, could force an opening for a follow-up strike. Too bad I was still too slow to capitalize on it most of the time.

Makes me wonder what else I will get. Guess I will have to continue practicing to find out.

I leaned back in my chair, rereading the notifications over and over, a flicker of satisfaction blooming in my chest.

My fingers, still rough and aching from the day's training, hovered over the worn pages of the small notebook I had taken out of my stash. I flicked through the cramped lines and half-formed thoughts, songs and stories clawing their way back from the depths of my memory, echoes of another world.

The tale of a broken king, returning from the brink of death to reclaim his throne from a dark lord cloaked in shadow… a ring of unimaginable power, lost and found again in the most unassuming of hands.

Yeah, this grim world could definitely use some classic heroism of the Lord of the Rings.

A legendary witcher, a hunter of monsters and men alike, bound by destiny to a girl whose power could shake the very foundations of their world.

Nice, hopefully the bards will one day also sing songs about my awesomeness.

And the story of a forgotten land where mages draw their magic from the Fade, a realm of dreams and nightmares, while knights clad in silver and blue fight to keep demons from clawing into reality.

Oh, that reminds…I will never be able to play the epic return of the Dread Wolf! Noooooo!

Regardless of that, I kept jotting down each of my stories' skeletons, names shifted, details blurred, but the essence remained. 

Atemporal songs that have been proven so popular in my previous life were also great options for me to plagiarize…I mean, be inspired by. Besides, it's not as if their original owner would be against having their work spread to more people.

I scribbled a few more lines before finally pushing the chair back with a soft scrape. The sound startled the two cats curled at the top of my bed.

"Easy now." I murmured, breaking off a piece of the fish I'd snatched from the kitchens. "Dinner's here."

They eyed me with a mix of suspicion and hunger, then cautiously padded over to claim their prize.

As they ate, I slumped onto the mattress, the day's weariness settling into my bones. My new class… my progress… the quiet pride of earning a rare nod of approval from Barristan Selmy…

It was all there, simmering just below the surface.

But for now, for just a little while, I closed my eyes.

The battles could wait until tomorrow.

————————————————————————

(03/08/2020)

(28/09/2021)

(24/02/2022)

(01/01/2025)

*Hey there! Thanks for reading my work! I hope this chapter is of your liking.

Any ideas for perks, skills and anything else that might be a good match with my fic is more than welcomed. I might not use anything, but you will have my gratitude for trying.

If this chapter is a mess of grammatical errors, please wait, I'll try to fix it as fast as I can. But for that I need your feedback.

Thanks as always for your time, hope you have a fantastic day and please stay safe. 👋 Bye.