The day starts heavy.
Elia is pale and careful. Pain day. She hides it with good manners and a shawl. It fools everyone who wants to be fooled.
I don't.
Rhaenys knows, too. She keeps close without fuss. Small hands, big heart, quiet.
I work my job.
Three guards, same route, same hour. Nothing else to do so.
Anyway.
Bored: straw in his teeth, boots loose, eyes on nothing. He leans on the wall like it owes him rent. If trouble comes, he'll meet it on the second try.
Cruel: clean gear, clean smile, dirty inside. He enjoys saying "move along." He says it when no one needs moving. He watches Elia the way a wolf watches a lamb and calls it admiration.
Honest: square shoulders, scuffed knuckles, checks on servants without making them jump. He nods to Rhaenys like she's a child. He makes sure the others drink water in the heat. He'll be slow to draw, fast to stand.
I fix their rhythms in my head. When they blink. Where they pause. Which door they prefer. Patterns make threats predictable, and predictable is beatable.
KeenEyeI- watcherprofilessaved
Elia settles on the bench with a cushion she pretends isn't there. Rhaenys brings a thin book and the cat, in that order. The cat claims my spot and dares me to complain.
I refuse to be bullied by fur. I take the other side of the sill and call it a tactical retreat.
"Read to Velmir," Elia says, warm but low. "He will correct you if you cheat."
"I do not cheat," Rhaenys says, deeply offended for a person with dirt on her nose.
She opens the book.
"'The… gar… den…'"
"Slow," Elia says. "Taste the word. Then swallow."
Rhaenys slows. She tastes. She swallows. Good.
I practice Roost while she reads. Not just "sit." Proper Roost.
Still body. Low breath. Eyes half, ears full. Heartbeat down. The kind of rest you can launch from.
It's harder than it sounds. Doing nothing on purpose always is.
The draft from the gallery door slides over my back. I let it carry heat away. I count to sixty, then to sixty again, not missing a single guard footstep or page turn.
Elia sips watered wine like it's medicine. It probably is. Her hands shake once. She stops them. She thinks no one noticed.
Rhaenys notices. She reads louder.
"'The lemon… trees are… bright.'"
They are. Today they smell like another country.
Cruel Guard swings by. He cracks a joke at Honest Guard that isn't a joke. Honest gives him the look a man gives a gnat. Bored picks his teeth and watches a cloud invent shapes.
Rhaenys reaches a hard word. Stalls. Glances at me.
I tap the word with my beak. She tries again. Nails it. Pride blooms. Elia smiles with her whole face, pain and all.
We break for fruit. I get seeds. The cat gets everything else through theft-by-eyes. It purrs like a saw. I accept its terms.
Back to Roost.
I relax each claw one by one until I am part of the stone. I let breath fall into a steady four-count. I keep half an eye on the arch and both ears on the walk.
I'm not sleeping.
I'm ready.
Roost- efficiencyincreased.
Afternoon heat tries to bake the world flat. The garden shrinks to shade and stubbornness. Elia dozes sitting up, dignity intact. Rhaenys tucks the shawl tighter around her.
"Mother?" she whispers.
Elia wakes smooth. "I'm here."
Rhaenys nods, reassured by the rhythm, not the words. She sets the book in my lap like I can read with my knees.
"Your turn," she tells me, solemn.
I peck at a line. She giggles at my antics.
Honest Guard does a round with a jug of water for the others. He leaves it where Cruel can see it and says nothing. Cruel drinks anyway. Bored forgets to say thanks and remembers halfway through the swallow. Honest shrugs like gratitude isn't the point.
Okay. If I need a human on short notice, I know which one won't ask for a tip.
Rhaenys leans against the sill, chin on hands. "Velmir," she says, "if I read all the pages, will you fly to the lemon tree and come back?"
I look at Elia.
Elia weighs it. "If he goes and returns at once."
"Once," Rhaenys repeats, making it a spell.
I pop off the sill, cross to the nearest branch, touch down, and return in one breath. No loops. No heroics.
Rhaenys claps once, quiet. Contract honored.
Roost- Masteryattained.
Stationaryrecoverynowfaster;
launchfromrestgainsstability.
Nice. Perch, heal, pounce. Bird jiu-jitsu.
Late day. Shadows get long and honest. Varys passes at a distance, speaking to no one worth our attention. The garden keeps its small peace.
Elia wakes fully and blends pain back into poise. She smooths Rhaenys's hair with a touch that says everything and demands nothing.
"Hands," she reminds.
Rhaenys obeys, then returns to read the last page. She stumbles on "promise." Figures it out. Looks at me when she says it.
I hear it.
Later.
Rhaenys fights a yawn and loses.
"Bed," Elia says.
"Story?" Rhaenys tries.
Elia nods at the book. "You told it." She kisses her brow. "Sleep, my sun."
Rhaenys pads to bed. She pats the sill twice, our ritual. I settle. The cat claims my tail like a treaty.
Elia meets my eyes. "Thank you," she says, barely a breath.
For what? For being a bird without a job? For staying?
Either way. You're welcome.
Night moves in.
I keep the watch, because someone has to, and I fit the space.
Small. But fire.
And now, a rock when I need to be.