Arthur stood before the gate to the Red Keep, ehile two Goldcloaks in their yellow and black cloaks stood at attention on either side. He took a breath and stepped forward, expecting the same curt dismissal he had received every other time he approached the keep without an escort or summons.
One of the guards looked him up and down, noting the plain outfit and the sword at his hip. "State your business."
"Arthur of Harrowfield. I am expected by Ser Duncan the Tall," he stated.
The guard on the left glanced at his companion, then back at Arthur. He nodded. "You are on the list. Enter."
The other guard stepped aside and pulled one of the smaller sally ports open. "Straight through the yard. Someone will meet you."
Arthur blinked, caught off guard by the lack of questions or suspicion. He inclined his head. "Thank you."
He passed through the gate and into the courtyard. The yard inside was busy with servants moving between buildings, horses being led to stables, and a few men-at-arms drilling in formation. He had barely taken ten steps when a figure in gleaming white armor approached from the direction of the keep. The man was tall, though not as towering as Ser Duncan, with a neatly trimmed beard and brown hair.
The knight stopped in front of Arthur and inclined his head slightly. "Arthur of Harrowfield?"
"Yes, ser."
The man extended a gauntleted hand. "Ser Gerold Hightower of the Kingsguard. The Lord Commander asked me to bring you in."
Arthur clasped the offered forearm firmly. "It is an honor to meet you, Ser Gerold."
Gerold gave a small nod of approval at the grip. "Come. The White Sword Tower is this way."
After Arthur greeted him they walked side by side across the yard, Gerold setting a brisk pace. Servants and guards alike stepped aside as they passed, some of them commenting as they saw Arthur walking with him. Gerold spoke without turning his head. "You will perform many duties while you are here. You will maintain the Lord Commander's armor and weapons, clean the white cloaks, tend to the horses in the tower stables, carry messages across the keep, stand watch when required, and assist with training when the Lord Commander or any of us call for it. You will also serve as a runner for the small council when they need something delivered quickly and discreetly."
Arthur kept pace. "I understand, ser. I will do whatever is asked."
Gerold glanced at him sideways. "Just because you are not a Kingsguard does not mean you should perform at a lower standard. Every task you do reflects on the Lord Commander. A smudge on his plate armor is a smudge on his honor. A late message is a delay in the king's business. You will be held to the same expectations as any sworn brother, even if you do not wear the white cloak."
Arthur nodded. "I will not let him down."
They passed through an archway and into a smaller courtyard where the White Sword Tower rose, Gerold kept talking as they approached the entrance. "You will rise before dawn. You will break your fast in the tower hall with the other squires and any knights who are present. After that you will report to the Lord Commander or to whoever he assigns. If he is at council you will wait in the tower until he returns. You will learn to anticipate his needs, when he needs his armor oiled, when he needs fresh quills for his letters, when he requires a horse saddled. You will stand watch at night when it is your turn. You will train every day, even when you think you cannot lift your arms. And you will keep your mouth shut about anything you hear in the tower or the council chambers."
Arthur absorbed every word. "Where is the Lord Commander now?"
"He is busy. The Lord Commander is expected at the small council meetings on top of his other responsibilities, so he will not always have time for you. You will wait when he is occupied. You will not complain. You will use the time to clean, to study, to practice forms in the yard."
Arthur nodded quickly. "I understand. I apologize if I sounded impatient."
Gerold frowned and stopped walking. He turned to face Arthur directly. "Keep your back straight and walk with pride. A man should never apologize for what he does not know unless he purposely closes his ears to it. Asking questions is how you learn. Apologizing for asking them makes you look weak."
Arthur straightened his shoulders. "Yes, ser."
Gerold studied him for a moment, then gave a small nod of approval and resumed walking. They entered the tower through a heavy oak door banded with iron. Gerold guided him up one flight to a small room at the end of a short hallway. He pushed the door open. The chamber was simple and small, a narrow bed against one wall, a wooden chest at the foot, a table with a single chair, a washstand with basin and ewer, and a stand for armor in the corner. A narrow window looked out over the yard.
"This is yours," Gerold said. "Put your things down and get changed into the outfit we have provided. It is on the bed."
Arthur stepped inside and saw the clothes laid out. It was a fine wool tunic in dark grey, breeches, belt, boots, and a tabard with the sigil of house Targaryen embroidered on the chest. Next to them sat a full set of steel armor on the stand; breastplate, greaves, vambraces, pauldrons, all simple and unadorned but well made and polished.
Gerold stepped back into the corridor. "I will wait outside."
Arthur closed the door and changed quickly. He stripped out of his clothes and pulled on the tunic and breeches first. The fabric was finer than anything he had worn before, even the new clothes he had bought with Willems gold. He buckled the belt, then moved to the armor. He strapped on the greaves, then the vambraces, then the breastplate. The pauldrons came last. Everything fit well, though it was heavier than his old set. He tested his range of motion and found it acceptable.
He opened the door. Gerold looked him over and gave a short nod.
"Have you eaten?" Gerold asked.
Arthur nodded. "Yes, ser. Before I left the orphanage."
Gerold let a small smile grace his lips. "Good."
...
Arthur dropped to his knees and threw up into the grass. His hands clutched the dirt and his stomach twisted again.
Behind him, Gerold's voice rang out. "I'm impressed, Arthur. Over six hours and not once did you ask to stop. That's better than I expected."
Arthur's chest heaved. His arms ached. His legs shook. Sweat poured down his back and soaked the padding beneath the steel. Every part of him hurt. His palms were blistered. His fingers cramped.
Eight hours.
That was how long he had been swinging the axe and dragging timber. Eight hours of what Ser Gerold had called the Iron Mile. A tradition made by Ser Duncan himself. In full plate, the squire was expected to enter the Kingswood and cut down trees until the total length of their trunks measured a mile. The trees then had to be moved to a marked place for collection as to not waste them.
No help. No cart. No horse. Just the axe and himself.
Arthur had only managed half a mile. He had measured it with the notched staff they had given him. Each tree he cut down took more out of him than the last. Some were too thick and needed to be hacked at for nearly an hour. Others fell quickly, but rolling them into the pile took more strength than he had expected. He gritted his teeth and tried to roll the latest trunk. It was wet underneath. The ground offered no grip. The bark bit into his palms. He pushed and strained until he lost his balance and fell onto his side.
+1 Constitution
+1 Strength
Gerold rode over on his grey destrier and dismounted. He stood above Arthur and stared at the unconscious boy sprawled in the dirt for several long seconds before he finally shook his head in open disbelief. Most of the knights who thought themselves suited to the Kingsguard were put through this test at some point in their early service. It was never something they were supposed to actually achieve.
The Iron Mile existed to test dedication and endurance, to separate the men who wanted the prestige of the white cloak from the men who understood what the cloak actually demanded. So many came to the tower full of pride and ambition but few truly respected the weight of the duty. All Kingsguard worked until they collapsed, and when they woke they kept going. That was the true spirit of a Kingsguard.
What surprised Gerold the most was that Arthur had unknowingly gone the furthest distance outside of the Lord Commander himself. He had also lasted the longest before he finally collapsed. Half a mile in eight hours was nothing to scoff at when wearing full plate and hauling logs. The Lord Commander had completed the full mile in a single day many years ago, but even he had admitted afterward that it nearly killed him. The rest of the Kingsguard had never come close to that mark. They all failed, they all passed out, and they all got back up to try again. That was what mattered in the end.
Gerold had not expected this from the lad. While he had been impressed at Arthur's swordsmanship during the tournament he had not found him that much more special than the hundreds of other talented men who thought themselves able to become knights. Facing down the Blackfyre to protect the prince had earned a little respect from him, but this was something else entirely. The boy had pushed himself past the point where most would have quit and kept going. Gerold knelt beside Arthur and checked to make sure he was still breathing.
He took a water pouch from his saddle and poured it over Arthur's face.
Arthur woke up immediately, sputtering and coughing as the cold water shocked him back to awareness. He looked around in a panic, his eyes wide and unfocused, hands scrabbling at the dirt before he realized where he was. "What! Where—"
"Easy," Gerold said firmly. "You are still in the Kingswood. You passed out."
Arthur pushed himself up on shaking arms, blinking water from his eyes. "I failed."
Gerold stood and offered him a hand. "You failed the Iron Mile, but that does not matter. There is much more training left to do. Get up."
Arthur took the offered hand and let Gerold pull him to his feet. His legs trembled under the weight of the armor, but he locked his knees and stood straight. He breathed heavily through his mouth and forced himself to stand and not collapse.
Gerold mounted his horse again and motioned for Arthur to follow on foot. They started back toward the Red Keep, the destrier walking slow so Arthur could keep pace despite his exhaustion. The sun had moved far across the sky during the hours Arthur had spent chopping and dragging. By the time they passed through the outer gates the light had turned golden and long shadows stretched across the courtyard.
Gerold dismounted near the stables and handed the reins to a groom. He turned to Arthur. "Come with me."
They walked into the keep proper and through several corridors until they reached the inner courtyard where many of the Kingsguard trained. The sun was setting now, painting the walls orange and red. Arthur was hungry and bone tired, every muscle aching from the day's work. His stomach growled loudly enough that Gerold glanced sideways at him.
Gerold stopped in the center of the courtyard and held out his hand. "Let me see your sword."
Arthur was surprised but he obliged at once. He unbuckled Sunset from his belt and handed it over hilt-first. Gerold took the blade and turned it slowly in the dying light. He hummed in his throat as he studied the steel and the faint orange hue that appeared when the sun struck the edge at the right angle. "Where did you get this?"
"It is a family heirloom. My great-great-grandfather was said to have found a light that fell to the ground from the sun on the last sun of summer. He forged the sword from it," Arthur lied.
Gerold examined the hilt and the cross guard for several long seconds. "I have only ever seen one sword like this before and it belonged to House Dayne. Though I see that there are slight differences, such as the hilt and the way the blade has an orange hue when the light hits it."
He looked at Arthur directly. "Your family could have become lords of vast lands if they had sold this weapon."
Arthur met his gaze steadily. "I am sure they could have, ser, but there are some things that do not have a price."
Gerold held his eyes for another moment, then nodded. "Rightly said." He handed the sword back. "You will not be allowed to use Sunset while you train here. Keep it with your wives or in your chambers. It will only hamper your training to train with such a sword. A true swordsman can fight with a butter knife and still carve through his enemies like he were cutting a cake."
Arthur took the blade and sheathed it carefully. "I will, ser."
Gerold turned toward the tower entrance. "Normally we would continue your training, but it is your first day. Get something to eat and get some rest. Tomorrow you begin your duties for Ser Duncan at dawn."
Arthur bowed. "Thank you, ser."
Gerold watched him go for a moment before he headed inside. It was his turn to guard Prince Duncan tonight, so he needed to start heading over there to take over from Jonothor. He walked through the corridors until he reached the royal wing. Walking from that direction was Ser Duncan the Tall, the big knight smiled when Gerold approached.
"Ser Gerold," Duncan greeted him with a nod.
"Lord Commander." Gerold stopped and inclined his head.
Duncan pushed off the wall. "How did the day go with the new squire?"
Gerold hesitated for a moment. "We only just returned. He managed half a mile over eight hours."
Duncan stared at him for a second then gave a full belly laugh as if it were the most amusing thing he'd ever heard. "Half a mile? I knew the lad was dedicated, but I did not imagine he was this dedicated."
Gerold allowed himself a small smile. "He is a good lad. It is a shame he will not be a Kingsguard."
Duncan nodded slowly. "Aye. But nonetheless a loyal knight in service to the king will be a good second."
He clapped Gerold on the shoulder. "I will not keep you. Rest well after your watch."
Gerold inclined his head again. "Thank you, Lord Commander."
Duncan walked away down the corridor while Gerold took up position outside the prince's door. He settled into the familiar stance with his eyes forward and hand on his sword.
Meanwhile Arthur headed toward his own chambers in the White Sword Tower. He climbed the narrow spiral stair and pushed open the door to his small room. The space looked exactly as he had left it. He closed the door behind him and began unbuckling his armor piece by piece. The breastplate came off first, then the pauldrons, greaves, vambraces. He set each piece carefully on the stand, wiping sweat from the inside with a cloth. He could have gone to eat in the common hall, but honestly he was too exhausted. He had not felt this worn out since the days back in Harrowfield.
He sat on the cot in his smallclothes and stared at the wall for a long minute. He missed Mira and Cassie already. The bed felt too empty without them on either side of him. He hoped to visit them soon, maybe steal a few hours tomorrow after training if Ser Duncan allowed it. The thought of their arms around him, their warmth made the ache in his chest hurt more.
He unbuckled Sunset from his belt and looked at the blade for a moment. "Goodbye for now," he said softly to the sword. He focused on his inventory and placed Sunset inside it. The blade vanished from his hand.
He reached into his inventory and pulled out the small vial of Doyen's growth pills. He had been resolute about taking these when he turned twenty, as the warning label suggested. But he could not wait any longer. He felt like he would progress more if he was taller, especially training under Ser Duncan and the other Kingsguard. If he took thirty pills he would be around six feet eight inches, which was more than tall enough. He would have to space them out however, as he wanted his frame to stay strong as well.
He tipped one pill into his palm and stared at it. The small white capsule looked harmless enough. He hoped it would not do anything bad. He placed it on his tongue and swallowed it dry.
A small amount of pain spread through his body almost immediately. It started in his bones and moved outward, a deep ache that made him grit his teeth. It was not unbearable, just uncomfortable, like growing pains stretched over minutes instead of years. He breathed through it until the sensation faded.
Arthur lay back on the cot and stared at the ceiling. Exhaustion pulled at him hard. He closed his eyes and let sleep take him.
(AN: So here we have Arthur's first day. Tbh I may be taking some liberties with the Kingsguard but the only really known canon character who was part of Aegon's Kingsguard was dunk. I like to think with the type of person Dunk was he wanted to make a Kingsguard of true dedicated Knights. I also like to think this is the reason why Aerys had one of the best Kingsguards in history. Anyway hope you enjoyed.)
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