The Young Lord of Starfall

The snow had ceased, but the Northern gods traded it for wind. Not just any wind. A biting, bone chilling wind. A wind that sucked the will to go on. But the small Dornish band pressed northward all the same. Moat Cailin came and went with naught but a few grunts and glances from those who held the way. The lone direwolf sigil flew atop the ruins, signaling that House Stark truly did raise another King in the North. From Cailin, it was only a few days ride to White Harbor.

Before Edric and Darkstar departed Greywater Watch, Howland Reed gifted the two with enough foodstuffs and gold to see them safely to White Harbor. One night however, while the castle slept, a shadow crept into Young Ned's chamber. He woke to a hand over his mouth, the flickering flame of a single tallow candle, and the face of Lord Reed shrouded in shadow.

"Shush, now. You must not scream, dear boy. I do not mean to frighten you, but I fear you are in great danger." Ned sat upright, his head swimming in sleep and confusion.

"I do not understand, my lord." Ned reached to light the lamp at the side of his bed, but Lord Reed batted his hand away.

"You must not, my lord," he whispered. "Darkstar will betray you." Edric sat breathless, unable to grasp what Lord Reed was saying. Edric knew the danger of the mission from the outset. They had slain the guards keeping watch over Dawn and he knew the risk of being caught with the sword, but Darkstar was insistent. Insistent that they travel north to see Lord Reed. Insistent they bring him Dawn. The green dreams, Ned thought. He must have foreseen this.

"Did you…" Ned trailed off.

"Did I dream it? Yes, boy. The gods saw fit to plant this seen within me. Darkstar means to steal the sword for his own and travel back to Dorne, naming himself Lord of Starfall. He means to use the truth of the sword to name himself Sword of the Morning. He plans to take Dorne for himself."

It had been nigh a week since Lord Reed had crept into his bedchamber, and the Young Lord of Starfall grew more uneasy by the day. Darkstar was a shrewd, cunning man and Ned felt green and afraid. It was the way Darkstar glanced at Ned with that sly, crooked smile. His eyes seemed to bore through all. He knows I suspect him. He must.

It was a single league from the outskirts of White Harbor, along a rutted snow blown road when Darkstar decided to fulfill Lord Reed's green dreams. Ned had taken lead of the company, lost in his mind, careful to avoid breaking his horses ankle on the ruts. Were it not for a brief respite from the gusting wind, Ned wouldn't have heard it- the wet cough of a man choking on his own blood. Then the scuffle of hooves turning, a scream, a clang of steel on steel, and another bloody, wet cough. He has slain two. Ned had a choice: to turn and fight, or to flee. The sword. Where is the sword? He turned in his saddle and searched for the bedroll containing Lightbringer but found nothing in its place. Darkstar was battling the two remaining members of their party on horseback. Reins in one hand and… Dawn, Ned realized, it is Dawn he wields. Ned turned and yah'ed his garron forward into the fray. By then Darkstar had thrown one from his horse and was parrying with the other. With a single blow, Darkstar struck the last man in the arm and cleaved it clean off. The man fell lifeless from his horse.

Darkstar's head spun around, his silver-gray hair whipping in the wind like a lord's banner. His eyes narrowed on Ned.

"Come, cousin! No need to be afraid. Lay down your arms and no harm will come to you," he yelled over the howling wind. He means to kill me too, now. I will not give him that satisfaction, not today. Instead of charging Darkstar head on, he swung his garron to the left while Darkstar slashed ahead with his blade, missing Ned entirely. He knew the more he stalled the more likely Darkstar would be to turn and flee south. He also knew that his castle forged steel would not withstand against Dawn for long, and whatever path he chose forward he must make a quick, clean death out of it- or else be killed himself. Sword raised, he turned and charged Darkstar once more. Darkstar parried the blow and swung his sword around and slashed at Ned's side. Dawn lodged within his steel breastplate. Pain surged through Ned's body as he felt the edge of the blade cut though skin, but he knew the steel stopped enough of the blow. The wound would not be fatal. Now, strike now. Remembering the swordplay Lord Beric taught him, Ned brought his sword down upon the side of Darkstar's neck, cleaving skin and tendon alike in two. A gush of blood sprayed from the wound. Eyes bulging, Darkstar dropped Dawn and clutched both hands around the wound, but Ned knew any attempt at a tourniquet would be futile- the wound was clean and deep. Darkstark slumped in his saddle and then fell, succumbing to the fatality of his wound.

Wordlessly, Ned threw down his own sword and swung from his garron. With trembling hands he undid the sword belt and Dawn's sheath from around the lifeless body of Darkstar and fastened it around his waist. Sword sheathed, he heaved himself upwards onto his garron once more, sending searing, hot pain through his body. Ned spurred his horse northward, leaving the carnage in his wake. If he could make it to White Harbor he would live.

A single league seemed to stretch on for thousands, but soon the outskirts of the seaport appeared all around him. Each breath he took was more labored than the last; his side burst into flame with each inhale of bitter winter air. I am almost there. Soon I'll seek a maester. I just need.. I need… I…

A crash and baudy laughter from below woke Ned. Candle glow and tallow smoke filled the small, sparsely furnished room. His mattress was lumpy and the coverlet was threadbare but he finally felt warm. He brought a hand to his side but where the cut had been Ned found instead a clean linen bandage. Dawn, he thought suddenly in panic. He sat up quickly, his head pounding. Where is it? He swung his feet off the bed and onto the cold planked floor, but stopped short of standing. The greatsword in its sheath was propped against a chair along with the rest of his possessions. Relief washed over him. Carefully, Ned dressed and followed the noise below.

Ned descended the narrow set of stairs one by one and stopped at the foot. Rows of benches and tables were laid out, some bare, others sporting men and women supping on what looked to be greasy capons and tankards of ale. The floor was strewn with straw and at the other end of the room laid a few good high-backed leather chairs in front of a roaring fire. Two small boys ran in front of him, whacking at each other with wooden swords followed by a stout woman with bouncing breasts carrying empty tankards.

"Excuse me, my lady," Ned reached out a hand to stop the woman.

"Ha!" the wench guffawed. "Thought you was just wounded at the side. Didn't know your eyes was gone as well. You have coin? Evening meal is three coppers. Your two friends are taking their supper at the fire."

"My…" Ned stopped short of finishing that question lest he draw even more unwanted attention to himself. He nodded politely. "My friends. Yes, thank you." The wench eyed him curiously but moved on regardless of her suspicions. Ned walked across the room, the straw crunching beneath his feet. At the fire he rounded upon two travelers both wrapped in woolen cloaks. The first had a handsome chiseled face with short, cropped dark blonde hair. It's flakes of pepper seemed to glitter in the firelight. The second man's features were more rogue, but handsome nonetheless. The firelight bounced off his thinning patch of dark hair.

"Well, look who's up." The rogue said in a cheerful King's Landing accent.

"You look much more well rested than when we came upon you," the other replied, his accent giving away the station of his birth. He's highborn, thought Ned. "We've food and ale, though neither are very good."

"I thank you," Ned said, curiously eyeing both.

"What do you remember, lad?" the rogue asked, leaving forward in his seat.

"Well," Ned racked his brain. Darkstar. Dawn. The road into White Harbor. Falling. Falling into what seemed to be an eternity. "I can't say I remember much of anything after coming into White Harbor. We are in White Harbor, aren't we?"

The rogue laughed. "Oh not to worry, lad. You've made it into White Harbor. That's a nasty gash you've found yourself with." He nodded at Ned's side.

It was the high born who spoke next. "We're at the Inn of the Barking Seal on the Southern outskirts of White Harbor. My companion and I found you outside in a pool of your own blood…" his voice trailed off, and the man looked about the room as if to ascertain any unwanted listeners. "And a rather interesting sword."

"I know not what you mean, sers," Ned feigned ignorance.

The high born chuckled. "Last time I checked, removing Dawn from Starfall was punishable by death. Yet somehow a little lordling managed to sneak it all the way to White Harbor."

"I am no lordling, sers." Edric replied, his mind racing.

"Oh, but you are," a wide smile spread across the high born's handsome face. "It's been a few years now, but you were there at The Hand's Tourney when poor Ned Stark was named. You were there squiring for Lord Beric Dondarrion," the high born paused, his green eyes reading Ned like an open book. "Weren't you, Lord Dayne?" Ned's eyes widened. Could it be? His golden hair glimmers no more, but that face… On second inspection the face had not changed that much. He is older, and he has suffered and it shows. But he is still…

"Yes, my lord," the high born said, as if reading Ned's mind. "I am Jaime of House Lannister. But you'll find no foe in me. Our destination- it would seem- is one in the same."