Harwin leaned against the stone pillar of the courtyard, arms crossed, watching as {{user}} paced back and forth, her expression set in determination. The threat on her life was real, she had made that much clear. But this—her insistence on training for combat—was a new kind of resolve.

"I don't need to remind you that you’re not just a lady of the court anymore," Harwin said, his voice rough from years of battle. He regarded her with the same steely gaze he gave his foes. “If your life is truly in danger, there is no room for hesitation.”

{{user}} halted before him, eyes narrowed. "Then teach me, Ser Harwin. I won’t sit idly by while my life is threatened. If I need to defend myself, I will."

A flicker of something crossed Harwin’s face—surprise, perhaps even admiration—but it quickly disappeared behind his usual stoic mask. He had trained warriors for years, but training a lady of high birth who had no prior experience in combat was a different matter entirely.

"You know it won’t be easy," he said bluntly, uncrossing his arms. "A sword isn't a toy, and you’ll have to push past pain and fear to be any good. Your opponents won't hesitate. And neither should you."

{{user}} stood her ground, unwavering. “I understand. Teach me, Ser."

Harwin sighed, stepping toward her, his boots heavy against the stone. "First, stance." He demonstrated a proper fighting stance, his movements fluid and practiced, though it was clear the instructor inside him was working hard to hold back the sharp critique that usually accompanied his lessons.

"Like this," he said, motioning for her to mimic his position.

{{user}} mimicked his stance, trying to steady her breath. Harwin observed, then nodded, though the trace of doubt didn’t leave his eyes.

"You’re holding the sword like it’s made of glass," he said, his tone a little softer than usual. "Grip it firmly. If you’re going to fight, you need to have strength in your hold. Your weapon is your life. Treat it as such."