Purple Haze
Eddard Stark – Hand of the King's Tourney. 298 AL
Damm Robert and this folly, Ned thought, after exiting from the small council. The crown was million's of coin in debt, and the King wished to throw a tournament in honour of a man who didn't even want to be in this city. Ned sighed, lamenting on his old friend, they called themselves brothers when they were younger, and Ned had hopped 10 years would have mellowed out Robert's more callous tendencies. He was still the strong willed boar headed man he had been in his youth, full of time for drinking, fighting and wenching, but Ned felt he was a hollow copy of the man he should have been, the man he could have been. He was left pondering whether Lyanna would have changed him, or whether they would have both been doomed when a soft voice interrupted his thoughts.
"My lord hand" Varys' voice even when normalized sounded like a whisper, like he knew the very secrets of the wind. "I'm afraid the King is rather extravagant in his ventures, I can assure you, he merely wished to show the realm his favour of you as his Hand."
"That may be, Lord Varys, but I fear for the crown's future, where exactly does Baelish magic his money from? If anyone knows it must be you?"
A small giggle escaped the eunuch's lips, Ned never trusted Varys, but since coming to Kings Landing he had proved helpful. "Worry not, my Lord, the King is married to a Lannister and a Lannister always pays their debts." This was Ned's worry, Tywin Lannister had the King firmly set in his sights, was surely slighted that Robert had chosen Ned to be Jon Arryn's successor and was not a man to let such things go lightly. "Besides, I hear there are many promising youth's who wish to test their mettle in such manly pursuits, you may even have special interest in one of them."
Suddenly, a simple conversation took Ned's breath away. Varys' face spread into a small smile, not giving anything away. Ned was left with one thought – he knows.
Ned Stark – Tower of Joy – 283 AL
"I looked for you on the Trident," Ned said to them.
"We were not there," Ser Gerold answered.
"Woe to the Usurper if we had been," said Ser Oswell.
"WhenKing's Landingfell,Ser Jaimeslew your king with a golden sword, and I wondered where you were."
"Far away," Ser Gerold said, "or Aerys would yet sit theIron Throne, and our false brother would burn in seven hells."
"I came down onStorm's Endto lift thesiege," Ned told them, and the LordsTyrellandRedwynedipped their banners, and all their knights bent the knee to pledge us fealty. I was certain you would be among them."
"Our knees do not bend easily," said Ser Arthur Dayne.
"SerWillem Darryis fled toDragonstone, with yourqueenandPrince Viserys. I thought you might have sailed with him."
"Ser Willem is a good man and true," said Ser Oswell.
"But not of the Kingsguard," Ser Gerold pointed out. "The Kingsguard does not flee."
"Then or now," said Ser Arthur. He donned his helm.
"We swore a vow," explained old Ser Gerold.
Ned's wraiths moved up beside him, with shadow swords in hand. They were seven against three.
"And now it begins," said Ser Arthur Dayne, theSword of the Morning. He unsheathedDawnand held it with both hands. The blade was pale as milkglass, alive with light.
"No," Ned said with sadness in his voice. "Now it ends."
The fighting was brutal, 3 against 7 were odds in Ned's favour, but it was 7 tired and weary men against 3 of the finest warriors of the kingdom. Five of his companions were on the floor, Howland Reed was out of sight, and Ned alone was left facing Arthur Dayne, the finest knight in the realm. Dawn clashed with Ice, the two swords glistening in the light, Ned was losing and he knew it, short of breath, struggling to parry and dodge Arthur's relentless blows, when amazingly Arthur grunts, s spear poking through his arm. Howland had came to his rescue.
"This is over Arthur, just let me see my sister."
"All Knights must bleed Ned, the realm knows you as an honourable man, please take me back home after this is over." A scream interrupts Arthur, but he continues. "Rheager didn't take her Ned, she fled for him, this war is not what you think." His words faded into nothing as Ned rushed up the stairs.
Darkstar– The Kingsroad, south of Kings Landing. 298 AL
Darkstar watched Jon, the young Lord of Dayne, spar with Daemon Sand at 15 years of age his swordsmanship was peerless, he was quick, graceful, strong and most of all, smart. His flowing silver hair sparkling in the early morning sun, sweat glistening off of his torso. He had spent 5 years in Sunspear, 5 years with The Red Viper taking his natural martial skill and training it into an artform and the Viper had turned him into a tool, a tool for vengeance.
Oberyn wondered back into camp, his eyes drawn to the two young men clashing their weapons. "They call him the rising star you know," His eyes glinting with amusement. "The sand snakes dote on him, the brother they always wanted."
Oberyn and Darkstar had always had a link, both misunderstood from the masses, rumours followed them like a bad smell, yet with Jon their bond strengthened, both saw something in the young Lord to be nurtured, protected, both knew he would surpass them all.
Daemon grunted, Jon had disarmed him yet again. The older man grinned at the youth. "My Lord Dayne puts the bastard of Godsgrace in his place yet again," He said with a teasing smile. Jon remained impassive, reaching his hand out to help his friend from the ground. His feature's hardening at the term bastard but within seconds was replaced with an easing smile. "One must teach baseborn manners, after all, we are in the capital now, not Dorne." Daemon laughed, reaching for his spear instead of his sword this time, mockingly bowing. "Well then, My Lord, please tutor me some more."
Oberyn spoke again at his side. "Stark will come down to us tomorrow, he wants to speak to us away from little birds," he paused, recollecting himself. "The boy is not ready, he needs to become a man we must step in for him. We have been planning this for years my friend, we are poison, we are a weapon, and we must taint ourselves so he remains clean for this will lead to vengeance." Oberyn's eyes flashed dangerously, 15 years he has waited for his vengeance and he feels his time is near.
Jon Dayne - The Kingsroad, south of Kings Landing. 298 AL
Dawn always called for Jon. The early morning was his favourite time of day, he found it truly the only time to reflect and read. Prince Doran Martell was the only other man who knew Jon was truly an early riser, he encouraged Jon to spend time learning more than just the sword, languages, customs, Jon once asked him why he pushed him to learn so much, Doran simply raised his eyebrows, shrugging, "You push yourself Jon, I merely nudge you in the direction."
Dawn also called for him in other ways, the milky sword of the Dayne's had always intrigued him, he once asked his uncle Darkstar why he didn't use the blade himself and merely was given the reply "Arthur was the quintessential sword of the morning, I am the night, I am the darkness of house Dayne and I would sully it's reputation." Jon knew that his uncle had brought Dawn with them to Kings Landing, he knew he would be announced Sword of the Morning before the tournament and finally hold the blade in his hands. Leaving his tent with his thoughts of glory he hears hushed tones from within Oberyn's tent.
"Does the boy know?" A stoic sounding voice flowed through camp, "He is of my blood, I wish for him to know his family, the cousins he has never met, his mothers home he has never heard of." Jon stopped in his tracks, who was this voice, who was this man talking about?
"He doesn't know Ned, Doran, myself and Darkstar are the only ones in the south who know, I presume only you and Howland know in the North."
Jon paused, silently stalking outside the tent, this conversation obviously not meant to be something he was privy too, but he felt something was missing.
"He has been to the free cities with me Ned, he has meet the rest of his family. The Magister knows, but the children are in the dark. Illyrio thinks he and Daenerys should wed, combined wealth of the Magister with his free cities connections, the might of the south and the north would quell any uprising or force amounted against them."
"The realm has paid the price of dragon's for many years Oberyn, are we to start another war? Are we to take away more brother's, father's sons from their family? They would call me a schemer, I'd be as bad as that Lannister dog, I'd be known as the second Kingmaker."
Oberyn scoffs "Meet him first Ned, if I know the boy he will be awake already, either sharpening his mind or one of his swords, all but one of my sand snakes call him the Rising Star," Oberyn laughs, a great contrast to the rest of the conversation. "Tyene, she calls him the Morning Glory for an entirely differently reason."
Jon froze, nothing made sense to him, the sand snakes lovingly called him their rising star, and Tyene often awoke him early in the morning and called him her own morning glory, but nothing else made sense, still collecting his thoughts, the flap of the tent opened, and an imposing looking man with cold grey eyes walked out, wearing blue colours with a white direwolf, Jon realized this man was Eddard Stark, the Hand of the King.
Ned Stark - The Kingsroad, south of Kings Landing. 298 AL
It was like looking at a ghost. Long flowing silver hair and haunting purple eyes, that stared into my soul, this was my nephew, Lyanna's son, the true king, the dragon.