The wandering sword of Braavos, Sessa, moved.
His long blade flowed with elegance upon elegance.
There was nothing crude or barbaric in his movements, his dance resembled a ballet beneath moonlight. He invited the king into his rhythm, and even the fool ceased his antics. The entire hall became his stage.
Swift as a deer, silent as a shadow.
Fast as a serpent, still as water.
Strong as a bear, fierce as a wolf.
Immovable as stone.
This was the way of the Braavosi water dancer, side-on to the foe, favoring slender blades.
Braavosi assassins were known for their flamboyance and quarrels, killing one another over whores in alleyways.
Water dancers, however, honed their art to perfection.
King Jaehaerys II led the applause. Thunderous claps echoed through the hall. To host such a refined and skilled Braavosi swordsman was an honor indeed.
The Kingsguard, however, were unimpressed.
Encased head to toe in plate, greaves, gorgets, gauntlets, and steel boots, they regarded water dancing as nothing more than a Braavosi parlor trick, unworthy of comparison with Westerosi heavy cavalry. On the battlefield, such flourishes would earn only scorn.
Rhaegar, by contrast, watched Sessa's every movement with intense focus.
This man was a true sword of steel.
If his loyalty could be won, so much the better.
The Free Cities, Braavos, Lys, and their ilk, kept no standing armies. They purchased sellswords, slaves, and in recent years, even Dothraki. They lacked Westeros's tradition of frontal knightly combat; instead, they relied upon Faceless Men, water dancers, and poisons from Lys, deadly as tears.
Rhaegar studied the swordsman thoughtfully.
"Water dancing and Westerosi heavy spears," he said quietly, "are merely different branches of the same tree. A man of such talent, why does he wander still?"
"You remember much," King Jaehaerys II replied, "though your attention drifts. His sword may not equal the Sea Lord's First Sword, but it is not far behind."
Rhaegar examined the wanderer more closely.
Black robes, somber brows. In Braavos, both true swordsmen and nobles favored such dark, earthen hues.
"Braavos ages a man," Sessa said at last. "It forces him to remember things best forgotten."
He fell silent.
The king did not press him further.
Braavosi swords were often drawn for maidservants, yet their bearers rarely left their city unless compelled. Both king and prince had considered purchasing the man, rootless men made ideal guards. Water dancers were swift, lethal, and bound by little.
Rhaegar's interest did not go unnoticed.
Jaehaerys saw straight through him.
The king summoned a page and whispered an order.
After Sessa's dance ended, the attendant stepped forward.
"Honored sword," the page announced, "your skill is peerless. His Grace has a beloved grandson, known as 'Lucky Rhaegar,' famed for his wit. If you would remain to instruct the prince, the dragon shall reward you generously."
The knights glared, jealousy and resentment mingling in their eyes.
A foreigner, invited so close to the dragon?
Yet none dared challenge him. His skill was undeniable, and Braavosi blades were frighteningly swift. No one wished to risk humiliation.
A flicker of refusal crossed Sessa's face.
"I thank the dragon for his grace," he said. "But a wanderer drifts as the wind wills. A prince is far too precious, how could he be taught such lowly tricks? I am a rootless savage. Harsh instruction might displease him."
He refused.
Teaching a prince was thankless labor.
Nobles coddled their children like caged canaries, praising trivial talents. Sessa had long grown accustomed to this. Few princes possessed the perseverance of the Sea Lord's heirs, let alone the dragon-blooded of Westeros.
"Bring me a wooden sword," Rhaegar commanded.
Jaehaerys watched closely.
His grandson loved weapons. Perhaps today he would steal the spotlight. For reasons he could not name, the king felt a sudden surge of confidence, and nodded.
A child-sized wooden sword was brought forth, its hilt weighted with lead.
"Longer," Rhaegar tested it, then ordered.
Sessa eyed him with doubt.
The prince was tall for his age, but there were no born warriors, skill was forged only through sweat. Still, as heir to the Iron Throne, he was bathed in applause. Sessa chose his words carefully, already preparing to spare the boy's pride.
Rhaegar lifted the sword and bowed.
It was time to show this wanderer a Westerosi marvel.
Rhaegar was not merely gifted, he possessed a singular edge.
The wooden blade rose.
Steel seemed to sing.
He was small, yet perfectly proportioned.
Silver hair danced in the air.
Black fur and a crimson dragon burned fiercely upon his chest.
That fire could melt all things, terrifying thousands.
Though the ancient master was long dead, his blade-light walked the world once more.
No flourish.
Only sweeping force, like mountains and rivers crashing forward.
The wooden sword rose, thrust, cleaved, pierced.
The connoisseurs saw the truth almost at once.
The prince's sword was not water, it was fire.
Not a child's game, but the calm born of countless battles.
Charisma: Beloved Dragonkin
(True dragon, born warrior, you have won many hearts)
Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Gerold Hightower were stunned. They had thought the prince merely proud.
Instead, they beheld a natural swordsman.
Could King's Landing truly hide yet another master of the blade?
"Impossible," Sessa thought. "Still a child, yet already bearing an artisan's soul. Perhaps this is how geniuses are born."
He gazed upon the vision before him, towering mountains, winding rivers, vast and unrestrained, utterly unlike Braavos's languid grace.
Disbelief gave way to reverence.
Rhaegar, though small, displayed true strength, fierce and direct. Not a prince's toy, but steel capable of splitting armor.
Sessa bowed deeply.
"A crude wanderer cannot glimpse the heavens beyond heaven. If His Grace permits, let us learn together, but I will never call myself his master."
Rhaegar raised him up.
"Rise, sword-friend. Your dance is beautiful. I wish to learn it as well."
"Fire Dance!"
"Fire Dance!"
When Rhaegar spoke, the applause doubled.
Lords and ladies cheered wildly.
What a charming young warrior.
As if to declare,
Braavosi skill is not unmatched.
Our prince can stand beside it.