It was with a morbid detachment that Arthur Dayne watched a lifetime of effort, sacrifice and duty turn to ashes on the Dornish Sea as his face was slammed into the deck of a ship he once called his own.
"You could have stayed in Essos, Robert had been persuaded to leave you in exile." Said a voice that he only vaguely recognized. A voice he's heard once in the distant summer of his life. Before the Usurper's War. Before winter had come in the form of hastily written ravens, an abandoned tower, and a single child swaddled among a trio of knights that slipped away to foreign lands with only swords at their sides, and vows around their necks. "How much war will Rhaegar's folly bring to our shores, Arthur? How many more innocent people must shed their blood in the name of a dead man?"
"Until the rightful king is upon the his throne. Until the drunken, whore-mongering Usurpers lays dead, and Rhaegar is avenged." The words came out of Arthur's mouth with practiced ease, but they tasted bitter now. He could still hear the roar of battle, of brave men who'd rallied to their cause. For coin, for honor, or for blood, but he knew the battle had been lost as soon as it had began. They'd been caught off guard. Ambushed within sight of safe haven. No matter how many men Arthur cut down as they boarded his ship, the tide didn't stop, until he was crushed under the weight of numbers.
He couldn't see through the wooden railing of the ship, but he could imagine the warm, sandy coastline of Dorne as a Northern footman kept his face pressed against the deck. He wondered who else had fallen, or been captured. His brother's in arms, who had spent their lives by his side to protect the new born king. The Dothraki, whose swords had been purchased by a princess's hand, and an assassin's ill-timed blade. Or Jaeherys.
Not Jaeherys, Arthur prayed. So long as Rhaegar's son still lived, the cause lived with him. His vows could be fulfilled, his damned avenged.
"Another son of the Mad King upon the Iron Throne is the last thing Westeros needs." Eddard said with a sigh, before he turned to various soldiers. He would have reports to deal with, Arthur thought. A battle to wage, and a war to win before it had even truly began. Time had been kind to the Northern Lord as he stood, commanding the battle that would end only with Arthur's own death. Where once stood a quiet young boy, to shy to beg for a dance, now stood a Lord Paramount that had crushed a dynasty beneath his heel once already, and now stood his foot upon the neck of the Targaryen restoration. On most, the monstrosity of a sword on his back that was the Stark family sword Ice would look ridiculous, but it only reinforced Eddard's air. He was to be their executioner.
"Lo-" Arthur began, in a vain hope that maybe he could convince him. That maybe, Arthur's wild tales of a Wolf and a Dragon falling in love could thaw an ounce of ice off the man. But his pleas were cut short as his face was slammed into the deck of the ship, silencing him.
"Quiet prisoner." The footman said, as Eddard continued to give orders to various soldiers that milled about the deck. Dark hair, and full-bodied beard, the footman was as Northern as they came, and looked upon Arthur with nothing but disgust. "You best count yourself lucky, for if Lord Stark wouldn't hang me for it, I'dda slit your throat by now and tossed you to the sea for what you did to the poor Lady Lyanna."
To think all these men were fighting for a lie. What they could have done if only they knew the truth, if anyone would believe him. Instead Arthur only mumbled, "What, I, did to Lady Stark?" That was a new accusation, one that almost made him laugh. He just might, with such little time left in his life. Eddard would offer him the Black, but he would refuse. His life had always been one of service to the crown, and only, service to the crown.
"Not much difference between the man who rapes a woman, and the man who helps him in my books." The footman said with a sniff. He had the look of a man whose opinion had long been made up, so Arthur didn't bother arguing. Everything hurt, and he could only pray. Pray to see Jaeherys again, to warn him of all the mistakes to avoid, to apologize for dragging him into his father's war, to tell him how much he loved the boy. Not for being Rhaegar's son, but for himself.
But the gods were cruel. For they answered in the form of an approaching ship that hailed Lord Stark.
Within minutes, there was the sound of two thuds, as two more people were thrown to the deck on either side of him. Glancing up from the wood grain, Arthur saw to his left the majority of Oswell Whent forced to his knees. A small pool of blood dripped from the hastily cauterized stump that had once been his sword arm. And Gerrolt to my right no doubt, Arthur thought before he turned his head. The Usurper would love nothing more than the last of the True Kingsguard executed public, or at least their heads to be left on display. Instead he saw a younger visage, with a shaggy mop of brown hair, sharp grey eyes and a snarl on his lips as he struggled against the men who held him to the deck. A brief struggle as the butt of a spear impacted his skull, dazing the young man.
"Hightower, and seven others gave their life to defend this one. There has been no reports of Viserys Targaryen, but he can not be far." Stannis Baratheon offered as an explanation to the boy's presence to whoever cared to listen. Eddard said nothing for a moment as he looked over Jaeherys, before he motioned to the footman restraining the boy. With a deft hand, the footman removed the hair blocking the young man's visage. Even with all the blood, and a bruised swelling under his jaw, Jaeherys was all Stark. Eddard writ small, as the rightful king glared up at his uncle.
Lord Stark simply stared in silence as he crouched to be at eye level with his nephew, his thoughts hidden under eyes of the coldest ice as he glared right back at Jaeherys.
"Who is he?" Lord Stark's gaze never left Jaeherys, but Arthur knew the question was meant for him. A cold pain gripped his heart as the words began to flow from his mouth.
"No one. Some sellsword from the Company of Roses who wanted to come home." It would explain his look, some long distant Stark blood that had stayed strong in the fields of Essos. His carefully crafted lies were met with more silence.
"Alec." That must have been the name of the footman that currently held him at bay, for Arthur felt the grip on his hair tighten as he readied himself for the blows to come. Four sharp impacts onto the ship's deck sent Arthur's head spinning, dimly registering Oswell and Jaeherys's struggles to break free to help him. They would be too late, they would always be too late. He thanked the Seven that he'd taught Jaeherys how to hold his tongue at times, unlike his newly deceased uncle. The boy might even make it out alive so long as he didn't antagonize his captors. That was Arthur's role to play.
"The truth." Lord Stark demanded once all protests from his prisoners were silenced.
"Why does it matter? He's just a boy?" And you already seem to know, Arthur thought with a bitter sigh. He'd spent half his life on this war. He missed Starfall, and it's calm waves. Ashara and her laughter. His brother, and the nephew he never got to hold. Good, Dornish food rather than the bland gruel he'd stomached for years. He'd rather die fighting, but he just wanted it to be over, one way or another. But he'd sworn his vows, pledged his sword, and now must continue to wear the chains of his vows. "Just some kid with a dream, a bad attitude, and a sword at his hip."
Still silence. Then Lord Stark stood up. "Though all three of you are captives, and enemies of the crown, it is still your right to take the Black if you so wish. Ser Whent?"
Oswell spat at the man's feet. "A thousand curses upon the Usurper. You could have joined us Stark, and put the rightful king on the throne."
Lord Stark only turned his gaze to Arthur. Arthur had no more curses to give, just hoping that what allies they had in the kingdom would be able to rescue Jaeherys before he reached the Wall.
"I have my vows. I can not soil my cloak by turning it now, Lord Stark." Arthur said simply.
"More like the Night's Watch would be soiled having to feed you lot." Alec mumbled, quiet enough that only Arthur heard it as Lord Stark turned to the last of the trio.
"Your name boy." Jaeherys said nothing.
The silence hung in the air for a few moments. The two Stark's staring at each other as a growing dread began to fill Arthur's stomach. Finally, Jaeherys broke as his gaze shifted to Arthur's. "Jon, and I'll take the black, m'lord." He said with defeat, looking down in shame.
Arthur breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that Jaeherys could listen to reason. Unlike his father, a long buried part of his mind brought up, only to be pushed back down as a block was called for and Lord Stark drew Ice.
Titles for a false king were spoken, as Arthur watched one of the few remaining people he would name friends was cut down before him. But on his lips were only silent prayers, for Jaeherys's future, for his own, and for forgiveness. He was spent, and he could feel the weight of it all press down on him as Oswell- Oswell's body was moved aside, and he took his place.
More titles, and Arthur quietly shook his head when asked for any last words. With one last look at Jaeherys, Arthur bent his head and closed his eyes. He thought about at the people he'd see, and the apologies he'd have to make, but at the end of his life as the blade came down, he felt all the weight lift off his shoulders.
AN: So this was an idea I had for a bit, about how Ned told Robert how if the Dothraki ever tried to sail to Westeros to put Viserys and Dany on the throne, they'd just toss them back to see, and it kinda spiralled from there. I wrote this from Arthur's prospective cause I find him an interesting character, a supposed paragon among paragons, yet he is complicit in aiding in the events that started a huge civil war. Kinda how Jaime talks about how their vows to protect and obey the king get in the way of doing the right thing, and how at the end of the day someone like him might choose the 'suicide by cop' death, rather than have to keep living with a fight he knows he can't win. Idk. Regardless, I'd love to hear your thoughts on this one-shot, and hope to see you again, whenever I get around to writing more stuff!