PROLOGUE

Through the haze of black smoke are the writhing bodies of men clad in armor. The clashing of swords and screams of pain intermix with the crackling sounds of fire. Heat engulfs his face as he tries to see the carnage in front of him. Blood soak the ground as every man went for each other's throats.

He feels something heavy in his right hand and looks to see a long sword caked with blood. Dawn, he recalls seeing the sword numerous times in the paintings that hung in the walls of Starfall. He realizes how far away he was from home when the cold wind bit him. Shivering, he drags his eyes through the vast lands of white. Another dream.

A shadow fell over the battlefield. In the sky, a large creature with red and black scales and wings as broad as a ship flies overhead. Another dragon dream, he corrects himself. He watches, mesmerized as fire come pouring out of its mouth. The flames spared no one. The shadows in front of him are writhing in pain, shrieking for the flames to stop but for him, they seem like they're dancing a macabre dance of flames and death. Suddenly, the dragon landed in front of him, regarding him with red, menacing eyes. There was nothing to fear; the dragon knows him. They were of the same blood, like brothers. He walks towards the dragon, reaching his hand out to touch it. The menacing eyes became softer as it leans its head to his touch. He caressed the sharp scales, feeling heat emanating from underneath the skin. The dragon raises his head, looking behind him.

He turns to see a slender figure dressed in breeches and tunic. A hood was pulled over her head, revealing nothing. His eyes travelled to delicate-looking hands wrapped around the hilt of a sword so thin it almost looked like a needle. There was an aura of danger around her, sending shivers down his spine. His brother shifted uncomfortably as it lets out a low growl. It is not the growl of menace but rather, a warning. The dragon's heat was being replaced by cold. He shoots a look at the hooded figure, not comprehending if the coldness is coming from her.

"Who are you?" he demanded, tightening his grip on Dawn. Beside him, his brother seems to cower in fear. Dragons never cower, he thinks as frustration tugs at his heart.

"I am No One," the hooded figure says in a monotonous voice, betraying only a faint accent. Goose pimples rose from his arms. "You are the Sword of Morning."

He frowns. "I am not. I am—"

"You are Edric Dayne, Lord of the Red Mountains and Starfall. The Sword of Morning."

The Sword of Morning is a title given to the greatest knight in Dorne, a title only a Dayne is worthy to behold. But he was no knight. He was just a squire. He should not even be here. Frantic, he takes a step back.

"What do you want from me?"

"It is not what no one wants. It is what No One will give." Her strange way of speaking was getting to his nerves. Though her eyes were hidden and he could only glimpse shadow through her hood, he could feel her eyes on him.

"I'm here to give you a gift from the Many-Faced God."

CHAPTER ONE:

EDRIC DAYNE

Edric Dayne's eyes sprang open to see the faint light of dawn through the window of his room. 'It was just a stupid dream,' he thought when he hears a familiar laugher. Still, he could feel the numbing cold and most of all, the terror. It was just one of the many strange dreams he have had. Yet this was the scariest. Standing up, he walked towards the window. Outside the courtyard of Blackhaven was alive with activities; peasant tending to their daily chores, children being trained by the master-of-arms, and horses being saddled. The last one broke him from his stupor. He jumps away from the window, hurrying to get himself ready. Outside, he helped Lord Beric Dondarrion put on his armor and went about other tasks. He has been squiring for the Lord of Blackhaven since he was ten and one. Now, ten and six, he's soon to be knighted.

Their long caravan was an assortment of knights, squires, singers and jesters and Lord Beric's household. There waas the Tourney in celebration for the new Hand of the King, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. Knights from all over the Seven Kingdoms would surely be attending, for the honor, riches and women that come with winning the tournaments.

Brushing his pale hair out of his eyes, Edric watched Lord Beric, wondering if he would let him compete. Perhaps, if the king sees his prowess, he might knight him instead. Everyone says Edric is the reincarnation of the mightiest knight of Westeros, Ser Arthur Dayne. They even say that he's the new Sword of Morning.

Lifting his head with pride, he urged his horse faster to ride alongside Lord Beric. It was a long ride North and King's Landing was as magnificent as what they say. Though there was a faint stink in the air, Edric understood why so many ambitious lords lust for the Iron Throne. With the giant walls of the Red Keep looming all over the city, it gives him an image of a formidable fortress. Once, the banners that were flying at the top of the castle were black with a red three-headed dragon, now it was a simple crowned head stag.

Ours is the fury, Edric thought, still not understanding how stags could be furious. Wolves, yes. Lions, yes. Even bears. But stags?

Lord Eddard Stark was every bit the Northerner that he is. With burly features, dull brown hair and sullen gray eyes, he seems to carry all of the winters of the North with him. Lord Beric had brought Edric with him to the Tower of the Hand to discuss some matters.

"My lord," Lord Beric said. "This is my squire, heir of Starfall, Edric Dayne." Lord Stark regarded him with cold gray eyes, but there was kindness in them. Edric bowed courteously, saying, "my lord."

"Wait outside, Ned."

"My lords," Edric bowed again. Ned is Edric's nickname, same as Lord Stark. He saw a small smile on the Northern lord's face, probably amused that they share the same nick name. Closing the door behind him, he noticed two men wearing gray armor with a direwolf sigil walking down the hallway towards him. They both have unkept beards like the Lord of Winterfell. The younger of the two was bending down towards the small figure behind them. It was then that he noticed a girl about the same age as him. She pouting miserably.

"You should not have kept the prince waiting, m'lady," the younger one says.

"I don't like the prince, " she whined and was about to add something when her eyes caught him. Unruly brown hair was threatening to fall out of her high pony tail and fiery gray eyes. A wild Northern beauty as the rumors say.

"Arya."

He saw the fire in her eyes growing into something more than recognition. Her lips curled in contempt while the rest of her face remained unmoving. "What are you doing here?"

His heart clenched at the needles in her voice. "Lord—"

"Don't mind that," she cut him off, turning instead to the Stark men guarding her. "I'll talk to my father later."

With that, she marched off, the Stark men following her in silence. She left in her place a coldness that Edric knew he could never appease.

"What are you?" The pupils in her haunting gray eyes were dilated. Her face paler than possible as moonlight shone across it. "What are you?"
He feels something wet in his hands. Blood. There was blood everywhere. He raised his eyes to meet hers. There was blood in her face.
"What are you?"