Chapter Text
“Who was the giant?” Sena asked, eyeing the (expansive) retreating back of the oversized man leaving the player’s tent.
“A hedge knight. No one really” Tanselle replied, wiping her palms on the front of her dress the way she always did when they got clammy.
“That is a monumental amount of man to deem no one” Sena mused, arching an eyebrow at her friend, “and a monumental amount of blushing”.
“He is sweet I suppose”
“I meant from you”
“I did not, I - Sena!” Tanselle exhaled, the blush creeping back into her cheeks, “I have no interest in knights. We both know what they are like, knights and their swords”
“If by swords you mean cocks, yes I do know” Sena replied, a smile playing on her lips.
“I thought you were a Lady. Scandellous!" Tanselle teased, waltzing over to sit next to her friend.
“I am. I meant in a figurative sense, ladies talk, men talk. I like to listen”
“You detest gossip and court. Is that not why you’re hiding in my tent?”
“I’m not hiding, but a fair point. Enough jabbing at me, tell me more about your mountain of a knight” This caused Tanselle’s blush to return instantly.
“He is not mine and I am not interested”
“He’s certainly interested”
“Well I am not. He’s not the first knight to offer me coin and he won’t be the last I’ll decline”
“He offered you coin?”
“Yes… well. To paint his shield"
“Tanselle, forgive me for being a sheltered maiden but is that a euphemism for something else?”
“No. I think he genuinely wants me to paint his shield"
“So he did not really offer you coin?
“I guess not, not yet”
“Tanselle” Sena said aspirated, she looked at her friend wide eyed and slack jawed. “That man came in here looking like he wanted to offer you his heart on a golden plate for a chance at your company, not his coin for an hour of your evening and you dismiss him on the basis of other men’s misgivings?!"
Tanselle simply shook her head, pressing up from the lounge they were lazed on. “You are ridiculous. And I have not finished my uncle’s costume for tonight, you and your distractions must go”
“Go?! Go where?”
“Whereever you Ladies go. I’m sure you have lots of important duties to attend to, septa lessons and embroideries and what not”
Sena did not have anything else to do. Since being made ward to the Tyrell’s of Highgarden, Sena had succeeded in making herself their least favourite house guest. Between her insolence (smart mouth), inappropriate hobbies (sword fighting and horseback racing - not to be confused with the perfectly acceptable hobby of horseback riding) and her lack of aptitude for the feminine applications (a total disinterest in Septa Ferna and Lady Tyrell’s incessant lessons in embroidery, seduction, music and dancing), she was not well liked at Highgarden.
In fact the only one who tolerated in her company was Lilliana, Lady Tyrell’s youngest daughter, much to her Lady’s distress. At least now Lady Tyrell had given up trying to turn Sena into a respectable wife for some unlucky Lord, deeming her completely unfit for marriage to even the most desperate of suitors. The only reason she had not been swiftly returned to her home at Winterfell was her name, and perhaps the generous trade agreements the Tyrell’s were afforded by her cousin, Lord Beron Stark.
Sena pushed up off the couch and stalked towards the tent’s opening, “I’ll be back tonight for the show, try not to butcher the line about where the knight should stick his sword this time” she called without looking back.
The afternoon passed slowly, Lilliana, Sena’s most favourite Tyrell was in lessons with her septa from which Sena was promptly ejected from for being too much of a distraction. She’d wandered the grounds of Ashford, avoided the other Ladies and suffered through dinner with the Tryell’s. Which included another painfully descriptive lecture on luring a husband through the art of seduction (whilst of course still remaining chaste), delivered by Lady Tyrell, who was entirely too deep in her cups and began to offer advice to Sena and the other young ladies at their table that bordered on improper and very unchaste behaviour.
It was after the dinner that Lady Tyrell pulled her aside and shoved coins into Sena’s hand.
“For you girls!” She tittered, “Go! Enjoy the show tonight, I shall find you an escort”
She turned, swaying in a wide arch, “Martinnnnn” she called loudly, a stupid smile on her face. “Martin, come escort the Ladies to the puppet show tonight”
The young, spotty faced Martin reluctantly approached his drunken Aunt.
“Sena will go, of course she will, she spends all her days in the players tent. But don’t tell anyone, it would be terribly improper, not that she cares” The lady broke off in a fit of giggles.
Sena rolled her eyes, though she’d learnt to hold her tongue, Lady Tyrell was much more palatable when she was drunk and happy then when she was drunk and angry.
“Lilliana will go too, your septa said you applied yourself splendidly today my little flower” Lady Tyrell grazed her daughter's face lovingly with one hand whilst her other tipped wine down Martin’s front.
The young nobleman wisely kept quiet.
“Right, we’ll be off then” Sena said, forcing a smile to her patron as she gripped Martin and Lilliana each by the arm and tugged them towards the tent’s exit.
“Oh Martin” Lady Tyrell called after them, loud enough for the entire mead tent to hear, “Do make sure Lady Stark behaves herself, you know she’s prone to dalliance”
Sena grit her teeth and tugged her companions into the night air.
“Must we see the play?” Lilliana asked and Sena steered them towards the players tent.
“Oh, and what would you propose for our evening?” she asked.
“I should like to go to a wine tent” Lilliana said, craning her head around and scanning the folly, her eyes were sharp and pointed. She’d had just enough wine to give her boldness but not so much to curb her senses, yet.
“I hear Lord Baratheon’s tent is an exciting affair” Martin offered.
Sena had seen and heard the happenings of Lord Baratheon’s rambunctious evenings, she was certain that Lady Tyrell would gut both her and Martin if she’d found out they’d let her daughter anywhere near that debauchancy.
“I hear they have pillow girls. I would like to meet one, I have so very many questions for them” Lilliana said thoughtfully.
Sena choked on air.
“What’s a pillow girl?” Martin asked, this did nothing to help Sena’s choking.
“She means” Sena breathed in greedily, her fit behind her, “whores”
“My Lady!” Martin’s ears went red down to his shirt collar and alarm lit his eyes.
“Oh Martin. It’s time you learn that us Ladies are not as proper as you think us to be” Lilliana said it so matter of factly. Sena jammed an elbow into her companions side, the younger girl glared but took the hint anyways, “At least not in thought and word. In action we are every bit as chaste and you must treat us accordingly” she corrected.
Martin nodded meekly, but his blush didn’t fade.
“Anyways. As improper as someone us may be in thought and word, you are still a Lady, Lilliana and you will not be conversing with pillow girls, lest your mother hang me by my boot lacings. We’re going to the play, tonight's show has a dragon, and fire. It shall be an affair”
They reached the tent and Sena handed the coin to Martin, letting him play the gentleman and pay their way. The show had already started when they entered. Tanselle was almost unrecognisable, her glossy curls hidden away under chain mail, painted armour disguising her figure. She was playing a brave knight, setting off on a quest to slay a terrifying dragon and save his people.
Sena loved the play, she often thought she might like to be a player if she were not so talentless in the art of acting. The idea of being something else just for a night was a wistful dream she’d harboured since childhood. Since she’d spied on her cousin Beron’s sword and riding lessons, she’d wanted nothing more than to join him.
When she was just a girl she’d insisted on it, snuck off from every lesson, leaving botched embroidery and enraged septa’s behind to pick up a wooden sword and practice with Beron in the kept of Winterfell. Eventually her father had permitted her to join, on the condition that she must stop evading her other, more lady-like lessons.
She’d surpassed Beron quickly, she had speed and accuracy and most importantly the heart for it. When Bryden Rivers stopped by Winterfell castle and found Sena, nine years old and tumbling in the mud with more ferocity than some of his Raven’s teeth, he’d taken her under his wing. In between the rebellions and his travels, he made time to return to Winterfell always under the guise of duties, but Sena knew he was there for her. She’d been a good student, his lessons were hard, any miss steps and he did not pull his punches. Sena often wore the colours of her failings in dappled green and purple on her skin.
She hadn’t seen her tutor in years, not since the rebellion pulled him away from Winterfell. There had been others, swords from Essos and the free cities, soldiers from the Iron Islands, even a spear wielding Dornish man, though he didn’t stay long, fleeing home at the first frost of a Northern winter. And then her father had passed and she’d been shipped to Highgarden, time to settle and become a real lady, time to leave the swords behind her, her Lord cousin had told Sena as he took on her fathers mantle.
Still, she itched to have a blade, even a wooden training sword back in her hands, to train and move as she did. To feel the sting of a jab she’d failed to block, to hit back even harder in retaliation.
Fuck being a player, fuck pretending thought Sena, she wished to be a knight.
The play had reached it’s crescendo, Tanselle fought valiantly, dodging jets of fire and swinging her sword. Out of the corner of her eye Sena saw red and white movement, a figure entered the tent and brought a hush with them.
The crowd was completely silent as Tanselle struck upwards, burying her sword in the dragon puppets neck and setting loose a spray of red confetti.
Sena could see the figure more clearly now, there was no mistaking the Prince. His close cropped white hair, the lush red velvet shirt, the cruel sneer. She’d seen him enough at the tourney, dressed in his ridiculous armour.
The silence broke and suddenly things moved very quickly, the crowd screamed and shouted and heaved as the exit was rushed. Sena found herself crushed to Martin and Lilliana as they were carried in the tide of bodies towards the exit. She turned back toward the stage desperately, she’d lost sight of the Prince but she could see Tanselle stood upon the stage, she could see the fear in her friends eyes.
“Take this” Sena demanded, shoving the bodies away just enough to give her leave to pull the small dagger from her boot. She pressed it into Lilliana’s hands.
“Get her out of here” She told Martin, the teenager looked at her stricken but finally his eyes cleared and his lips straightened into a thin determined line. He gave Sena a curt nod before they were carried away in the crowd towards the tent flaps.
Sena pushed her way forward, shoving against the bodies till she was spat out at the back of the crowd. Before she could recover herself she felt a firm grip on her wrist tugging her sharply.
“Go girl, leave this place” It was a knight in black armour. His breath was sour and his face hard and on his chest he bore the dragon sigil.
“No” She told him firmly. Behind him she watched the Princes’ back as he slowly approached the stage, stalking Tanselle. “That’s my friend”
“Not anymore. Go” he shoved her away, sending her careening into the dirt. She hit the ground with a thud but this time Sena recovered herself far quicker.
Her leg shot out, sweeping his ankles as he made to walk and sending the knight down into the dirt beside her. Sena rolled, throwing an elbow into his ribs as she went, before clambering onto his back and sending another elbow into the soft patch of skin at the back of his neck, peaking out from the gap in his armour.
The knight cried out as he crumpled beneath her. Whatever relief came from his collapse was quickly thwarted by the attention the sound of his cry had brought.
Two more knights rounded on her, one drew his long sword and Sena realised how completely unarmed she was and how completely stupid her actions were. Her eyes flickered frantically around the disarrayed tent, looking for something to protect herself with.
The room was in tatters now, from the crowd or the knights she didn’t know, but brasiers were up ended, miscellaneous possessions scattered and the players set upon, but the Prince had stopped his stalking, he’d turned to watch the commotion Sena was causing.
Pushing to her feet Sena met the first guard as he reached her, dipping quickly under the swing of his arm she crouched low and let his body thud into hers before pushing up. His feet left the floor and his body was sent backwards over her shoulder, crashing into a fleeing puppeteer. This only incensed the guard and he came back at her with vigour.
But she was fast and he was slow, his punches missed, his hands grabbed for air and Sena landed hit after hit, removing his helmet swiftly to strike at his face. She’d almost had him beat, split lipped and swollen eyes when the second guard intervened. The sudden swipe of his sword almost killed her, kissing the space where her neck had been just a second before.
She grabbed the only thing she had on her person at that moment, the coin purse at her waist and swung, catching him right in the face. She parried blows with both of them now but she was out numbered and tiring, she began to catch hits and a scratch to the neck. Finally she took them down, climbing atop the disarmed guard to knock the majority of his teeth from his mount with lash after lash from her heavy and now bloodied purse.
Sena was so incensed she didn’t hear the approach till hands grabbed her arms and pulled her from the bloody knight and tugged her roughly before the white haired Prince.
His eyes were a brilliant shade of purple, she hadn't realised this before, had never been close enough to take notice. Which was a good thing, she considered, as his unreadable eyes were wholly unnerving. His face in itself was all cruel cut angles, it was a face made to hold a sneer, made to look at people from down his nose.
Absentmindedly, she wondered what he thought of her, chest heaving with panting breaths, her hair loose and fanning around her face, pretty dress all bloodied, perhaps she looked wild.
He told her as much, “You are feral”.
“What’s your name” he asked, leaning in till he was close enough that she could feel his hot breath on her mouth. Sena figured she was already doomed and spat a mouthful of blood in his face.
The look in his eye burned through her, no longer unreadable and it shout through her like lightening, frightening her. His tongue darted out, licking the blood, her blood, off his mouth as he shot her a looked so crystalline cruel that Sena knew he’d enjoy all the hurt he was about to cause her. But Tanselle was safe for now, out of the corner of her eye Sena tracked her friend edging towards the tent wall.
Aerion’s eyes followed hers, he turned behind him to face Tanselle, freezing the player in her tracks.
“Come here” he demanded.
“Don’t” Sena called to her friend, panic edging in.
Aerion turned back to her, eyes alight with rage. He closed his hand round her jaw gripping it tightly, dully Sena noted his hand was usually warm but this notion was quickly eclipsed by the fear that struck her.
“I think we’ve had enough of your defiance for one night” His tone was firm and warning. Sena shut her mouth.
Tanselle approached gingerly, eyes flickering between Aerion and where Sena was held, restrained and on her knees.
“Here” Aerion offered Tanselle his hand, slowly her trembling tanned hand found it’s way into his pale steady one. He released Sena’s jaw, curling his fingers around Tanselle and abruptly dragging her back toward the stage. She staggered behind him, soft cries leaving her lips as he pulled her up and forced her to her knees.
“What shall I do with you?” He taunted, attention pinned on Tanselle, “A blasphemer, a traitor. To jest at the Targaryen sigil is a slight upon our honour”
He yanked Tanselle’s hand up menacingly, his other hand coming to grasp her finger.
Sena struggled against her captors, crying out for her friend desperately. She felt so utterly useless and foolish. The Bloodraven had told her years ago that her hubris was that she let herself be ruled by emotion, if she continued to let her hot head rush her into things, she’d end up this way. She’d never truly believed him until now.
Tanselle’s finger broke with a sickening crack and all hell broke loose that very same moment.
Sena suddenly found herself free and careening towards the earth yet again, she caught herself and rolled up. By the time Sena had realised what the commotion was, Tanselle’s lovesick hedge knight had flung the prick of a Prince from the stage. He landed in a pathetic heap beside her and Sena wasted no time, snatching back up her coin purse and launching a fresh assault on a new, un-battered knight.
Sena and the hedge fought well together, she noted between strikes and parries. He had strength where she was weak and she had speed where he was slow. They’d managed to make their way to Tanselle before they were in danger of being overwhelmed.
A shallow slash, Sena failed to dodge properly cut across the front of her neck, the Princes blade tearing her skin. Though it was little more than a scratch, blood welled from her neck almost instantly and Sena hissed, pressing one hand into it. The Hedge knight collected the Prince by the waist and threw him backwards several feet toward an upended brasier.
“Go, get her out of here” He told Sena, before turning back to the onslaught.
Sena didn’t need to be told twice, she yanked Tanselle to her feet and made for the wings. Stopping only to peer over her shoulder, she found purple eyes tracking her escape, the Princes’ lip curled in frustration. Too afraid to face the violent storm that was the Hedge knight between them to pursue the girls. Sena flashed him a satisfied smirk before disappearing behind the canvas.
They didn’t stop till they’d bundled back into the Tyrell tents, Tanselle settled down on the lush cushions, tears dripping down her cheeks silently.
Sena moved forward gently laying a hand over her friend's shoulder. She knew these tears weren’t from the pain, and yet she didn’t know what to say.
“Where have you been?” Lilliana’s whisper cut through the air, saving Sena from the impending attempt of comfort.
She crashed into their quarters, dropping down onto the pillows before she froze, taking stock of the girls, “Oh”.
“It’s been a long night” Sena told her, “Fetch us some water and bandages?”
“I’ll bring herbs and tea too” Lilliana said, pressing up. She leant over and squeezed both Tanselle and then Sena’s arms gently, flashing them a soft and understanding look. They were safe, she’d tell no one and she’d patch them up, she seemed to convey all this in one fleeting look. Lilliana was much better at comfort than Sena.
“I- I’m so-”
“Don’t” Tanselle interrupted her, finally meeting her friends eye, “You have done enough”
“I should hav-”
“You should have done nothing Sena” Tanselle said, her uninjured hand gripping Sena’s tightly, “You’ve probably damned yourself and it’s all my fault. You should have left when you saw him.”
“I could not” Sena said, squeezing back.
“I know, you are a foolish girl” Tanselle let her head fall onto Sena’s shoulder, the tears on her cheek dampening her dress.
“And you are my friend. Don’t ask me to leave or sit by and watch while..” She huffed, “I will not, I cannot. I love you too much”
“I will have to leave” Tanselle said, she began to cry again.
“Will you go back to Highgarden?” she asked softly.
“I don’t know”
Lilliana entered their quarters again, arms overflowing with bandages and pitchers, with Martin in tow.
“Which is the worst, I’ll patch that first” she said.
Sena insisted on having Tanselle’s finger set first, whilst Lilliana worked she wondered what Tanselle must be feeling. Having to up and flee so suddenly, with the fear of retribution from the crown following hot on their heels. Their tent and possessions destroyed, puppeteers reputation besmirched and future wholly uncertain.
Sena would come out largely unscathed thanks to her station and name, despite laying hands on royal knights and spitting on a crowned Prince. She was struck by the memory, the way his tongue darted out his mouth to collect the blood she’d splattered on his face, to taste it. His eyes had never left hers and the heat of his look had been suffocating, it had been strangely intimate and the image was stuck with Sena.
Martin recounted the rumours happenings that occurred after the brawl.
“The young Prince Aegon”
“The one that was missing?” Lilliana interupted.
“Yes that one! He stopped Aerion just as he was about to have Ser Duncan’s teeth removed.”
Tanselle visibly flinched at that, Sena shot Martin a pointed glare.
“Well he didn’t, he still has all his teeth, but rumour is he’s to face Aerion in a trial of seven on the morrow”
“A trial of seven?” Lilliana asked.
“Seven knights against seven knights" Sena told them, “It’s an Andel tradition. If Ser Duncan is victorious, Aerion will be forced to rescind his claim”
Sena’s head spun, cogs turning considering possibilities even more reckless than her actions thus far in the night.
By the time they were packed up and Sena had walked Tanselle back to the players tent, it was all but packed up. The last carts were being loaded and Tanselle’s uncle rushed over to them, thanking Sena profusely for getting his niece out. Before Sena could speak more than a few words of good bye, a teary Tanselle was bundled onto a cart which set off into the night and Sena was left feeling so very alone and so very angry.
Sena was never one to sit on anger, she felt it best to do something with it, to direct it. Lest it bubble out at inopportune times, the trial of seven, she thought, would be a fantastic direction for the fury raging under her skin. So she set off, first to her tent to plan, then in search for Tanselle’s very brave, very stupid and entirely love sick hedge knight, Ser Duncan.
In the early hours of the morning, she found him in an ale tent with Raymun Fossaway. Pushing back the tent flaps, the deep gravelly drawl of Ser Ducan’s voice met her ears first.
“Maybe the God’s figure this is what I deserve.” His voice was grave, his shoulders stooped forward under the weight of his fate.
“For doing what you were supposed to do?” Raymun asked, the bite of disbelief edging into his words.
“For not knowing my place”
“From what I saw tonight, I’d say your place is wherever the fighting is thickest” Sena spoke finally, both men’s heads snapped to hers, their eyes went wide and their spines straightened.
“You” Duncan started, his face lit with recognition, “You’re the girl with the purse”
The poor hedge knight was bewildered.
Sena straightened, her hand skimming over the coin purse at her belt. She’d kept it of course, a trophy of sorts, the purse itself now far more valuable to her than the coin inside.
“The girl with the purse?” The young Fossoway asked.
“She was there tonight, in the players tent” Duncan said, eyes flittering between Raymun's and Sena’s. “She took down three of the Princes’ knights with only per coin purse” Duncan’s tone was unabashedly laced with admiration and unbegrudging respect. Sena had already decided that she liked the man when he’d come to Tanselle’s aid, however her fondness only grew in the face of his openness (and his admiration of her).
“I was lucky” she replied, taking a seat on the bench "My Lady saw it fit to bestow on me some extra coin for the evening”. Sena patted at the full coin pouch with a humored smile.
Raymun broke out into a chuckle, even the solemn hedge knight offered her a meek grin, but it was clear he wanted her to leave.
“I hear you are to face a trial of seven on the morrow?” she asked, though her tone was light the mood in the tent returned to it’s stale seldomness, Sena did not enjoy the taste of impending doom that hung in the air.
“Have you come to wish him luck, M'Lady?” Raymun asked.
“I have come to offer more than luck” Sena said, she ran her palms over her skirts thinking of Tanselle, since when had she picked up her friends' nervous habits? “I have come to offer my sword”
“You have a knight willing to fight for me?” Ser Duncan asked, his brows turning upwards sweetly.
“I am a knight, and I am willing to fight for you” She said, hoping to sound more sure than she felt.
“I uh, forgive me my Lady, but you are… well a Lady” Raymun said dumbly, gesturing meekly towards her skirts as if it were to add to his point.
“I am. A Lady of House Stark. The only child of Lord Cregan Stark, and hence I inherit his knighthood as is done in the North” Sena told them exactly as she’d rehearsed.
“You’re Lady Sena Stark?” Raymun’s jaw was in danger of becoming completely unhinged.
“I am”
“How did you end up scraping in a players tent?!” Duncan asked, Sena was beginning to think bewilderment was his baseline state of being, “and where did you learn to fight like that?”.
Sena gave him a small smile, “I can here to offer my sword not my secrets Ser Duncan"
“It does not matter. You are a knight in title only my Lady. Inherited knighthoods are.. not one and the same. Think of them as an incentive for young sons to prove themselves worthy or a way to honour daughters.” Raymun looked pained, though he were trying to pick his words carefully as not to offend her, but he clearly thought her ideas fanciful.
“I know that” Sena said carefully, “But the rules of the trial of seven are written. I’ve read the Andel texts and they are delightfully loose in their terms. They don’t specify that a knight by inheritance cannot fight, simply that seven knights must fight seven knights.”
“Maybe so, but they will not have a girl- Lady, forgive me. They will not have a Lady fighting in a tourney” Duncan reasoned. Sena had known this was part was to come, she’d rehearsed it already.
“I can find armour, they need not know”
“You don’t even have armour?”
“Do you?”
“No. But that’s beside-"
“Ser Duncan. I grew up wielding steel in Winterfell under the Bloodraven’s tutelage. I have learnt from the greatest knight in the nine kingdoms, and I have spent my summers at the wall testing my skill. I have practiced under the many knights who visited Winterfell, from the Stormland warriors, the Dornish speer wielders to the river dancers from the free cities. Yes I am untested in real battle, but that is only because I have not been given the chance, not because I lack the skill. You cannot afford to turn me down Ser Duncan”
Sena let the last words huff out, the cool tempered approach she’d practiced had dissipated and given way to hot irritation. She had hoped that Ser Duncan was unprejudiced enough, or even desperate enough to accept her help. Though it seemed she’d underestimated the fortitude of his honour, he was too righteous to let a woman throw herself into the tourney for his honour.
“They will kill me anyways, if they find out I let a Lady fight”
“No. I’ll tell them I lied. That you did not know. My Lord cousin is due to arrive tomorrow morning, naught know what his armour looks like, he seldom wears it. Last I saw him, we had a similar build and height.”
“You want to lie to the Princes? Tell them you’re the Lord of the North?”
“No. I am a Stark and I carry a knighthood, if only by inheritance. Leave that out and let them deduce the rest”
“You were tutored by Brynden Rivers?” Raymun asked, his eyes glazed in thought.
“For many years”
“By gods” he said, letting silence settle over them.
It was Duncan who broke it, “But why? Why fight, surely this cannot be for sport?”
Sena met his eye, soft blue to hard brown, “Tanselle is my friend. She is kind and she is gentle and I love her dearly. I cannot stand for what he did to her, he must pay and this is the only way I can make him pay without committing treason against the crown and bringing my house to ruin”
“Well put” Duncan replied, he looked thoughtful and for the first time since Sena entered the tent, like hope was within reach.
Any chance at acceptance vanished as a little bald child pushed back the tent flaps, “Ser”
“Egg” Duncan replied, his voice pitching up sweetly in surprise. “What are you doing?”
“I’m your squire ser, you’ll need someone to arm you” Little Egg told him with far too much seriousness for someone so young.
Sena could not help but wonder about the relationship between the young prince and the Hedge knight and more specifically just how a hedge knight ended up with a prince for a squire. But she decided that these strange occurrences bode well for her, if princes’ could make squires for hedge knights, ladies perhaps could make for tourney knights.
“Does your father know you’ve left the castle?” Duncan asked, a frown creasing his forehead.
“I hope not” drawled another voice, the curtain flaps opened again as a hooded figure entered the tent behind Aegon. Sena stiffened as she caught a glimpse of pale hair, as he pushed back his hood. Her hand jumped to her calve, where the dagger was tucked in her boot. But the hair was too long and too blonde, spun gold, not silver.
“I don’t think I could bear another foot whipping tonight” Daeron Targaryan said as he removed his cloak.
Duncan pounced upon him before Sena could figure out what was going on, grabbing the prince by his shirts and shoving him backwards onto the table, blade to his throat. Egg and Raymun shouted, tugging at his arms where they held Daeron down.
She stood quickly, backing away from the unfolding scene, suddenly feeling very foolish for coming here tonight, putting herself in the way of more trouble. She needed to leave, lest she face the consequences of being witness to a Princes’ execution.
“Please, don’t hurt him” It was Egg’s begging that made Duncan finally let up. With one final grunt he pushed up roughly, removing himself and his blade from Daeron’s throat. The Prince looked, though a bit scuffed up, quite indifferent to the threat that Duncan’s anger posed him. Sena suspected it may have been the drink, she’d heard the wine soaked rumours that followed the eldest of Maeker’s sons.
Sena watched them bicker and talk of the trial, still feeling out the connection between Duncan and the young Prince. She was beginning to understand it, he was clearly loyal to Ser Duncan, clearly looked up to him. Enough to sneak out the castle and seek out his friend, to spill the plans his father and brother were busy spinning for the trial in hope to give his Hedge Knight some sort of advantage, a drop of water on a stacked playing field.
“My father has commanded the King’s Guard to fight as well” This caught Sena’s attention. The way Duncan and Raymun’s eyes snapped to each other, the fear that filtered between them.
“Only the three that are here” Daeron tried to pacify, it had no effect.
“Who do you have Ser?” Egg asked.
“Raymun’s cousin” Duncan said glumly, his eyes then snapped to hers, “And Lady Stark”.
“Lady Stark?” Daeron asked, his eyes found hers and widened, as though he hadn’t realised she was in the room.
“You cannot be serious, Dunk?!” Raymun cried, his hands flung up into the air in aspiration.
“I have no one else. And if she is half as good with a sword as she is with a coin purse, she will make a fine Knight”
“Coin purse? You were the girl that beat the black knights with her purse?” Daeron asked, his eyes lit with amusement.
“They were behaving in an unknightly manner”
“Oh I’m sure” Daeron replied, a broad smile on his face, “Though I saw them at the masters afterwards, you made a mess of them.”
Sena couldn’t help but smile, “Perhaps they will have learnt their lesson then”.
“I should have liked to have watched you in the trial Lady Stark, such a pity I will be face down in mud pretending I am dead”
“I can bring people Ser, Knights. I can” Egg interrupted his brother, for which Sena was grateful for. She had enough sense to be wary of the attentions of a prince, especially after the night she’d had.
They went on to discuss the specifics and strategy for the trial between themselves and Sena let herself fade into the background. Septa Lissa had told her that all good Lady’s had perfected the art of transforming themselves into a pretty piece of furniture when the men were speaking. Whilst Sena had loathed the sentiment, she did begrudgingly acknowledge the benefits of the skill.
Sena didn’t need to hear anything else of what was said that night. Ser Duncan would have her, she would have her chance in the tourney and she would make Aerion pay for what he did to Tanselle. That played over and over in her head as she sat in the wine tent grinning to herself like a madwoman.