Part 21: Neddy Dayne

Neddy watched Myrcella as she huddled nervously in the bow of the small rowboat. Her golden curls were hidden beneath a Darry-brown veil and wimple. It hid the hair, but nothing could hide her brilliant green eyes. Her cheeks were red, both from sunburn and wind burn, her lips parched and cracked despite their best efforts to protect her. It had been almost four turns of the moon since they had left Winterfell, and most of it spent traveling. Having lost their horses at Moat Cailin to take the wetroads of the Crannogmen had been both a blessing and a curse. Thankfully Ser Jonothor Darry was with them, and knew the Riverlands well. He also knew how to carry a reasonable load, meaning that they didn't have to forfeit too many of their supplies. (Ser Beric and Neddy had also carried far more than their fair share, Neddy finding it uncomfortable to walk with three blankets wrapped around him and belted in place.) Yet the walking had been far harder on both young Tommen and sweet Myrcella, neither being accustomed to much physical exertion.

Tommen had been left at House Darry. As to whether that was the wisest move or not Neddy could not say, yet he was certain the poor lad could travel no further, his feet had been bleeding for days. It didn't hurt that there was strong Andal blood in the House either. Tommen's hair may be fairer than most (not quite as fair as Neddy's milkglass locks) but there were plenty of fair headed boys and girls running about the yard, Tommen didn't look too out of place once his clothing was changed. Myrcella had also been given new clothes, the head covering, and good strong boots. They had not been given horses, instead having to negotiate transport on the next merchant caravan that passed. From there it had been a series of merchant caravans and inns, back roads and sleeping rough until they'd finally found a caravan heading to Dorne. They'd hidden amongst the caravan, even when it stopped at Blackhaven, least their identities be discovered. Neddy couldn't begin to imagine how hard it had been for Ser Beric to be a stranger in his own keep. Yet Neddy was about to do the same.

The night was warm, the moon bright as it danced above the Torentine. The water sounded soothing as Ser Jonothor and Ser Beric rowed, yet it was an illusion, it took the strength of both men to fight against the current. Myrcella shivered and pulled her cloak closer around her, despite the warmth, her emerald eyes staring unseeingly ahead as the island of Starfall drew slowly closer.

To Neddy it was both beautiful and terrible, this was his home, lovingly crafted over thousands of years. Yet the dragon's had left their mark, the tallest towers were ruined, melted rock. (All of the best Dornish castles had tasted dragon fire, luckily many of them were as deep as they were tall.) The highest of Starfall's remaining towers was said to be the one that his Aunt Ashara had jumped to her death from, after the loss of her child. A child that some whispered was half Stark. Yet that could not be true, for House Dayne bore House Stark no ill will, and House Stark had given Ashara's younger sister such kind nameday gifts when she had turned eighteen. Why Ashara had jumped, Neddy would never know.

As the small rowboat got closer Neddy guided them to a small, unassuming cave. Had the boat been much larger it would not have been able to enter it. The passage was hard to find, and the stairs were narrow and dangerous. It took an hour to reach the secret door, and they had not seen a soul all the while, yet somehow the door was open and his surviving Aunt, Allyria, was standing there waiting, a candle in her hand, when they reached it. Her black hair spilled over her narrow shoulders, untamed. A dark cloud in contrast to her light coloured robe. The candlelight, seemed to dance in her dark eyes and make her moonstone necklace glow. The necklace was carved into the shape of a rose, and hung on a silver chain.

Many said Allyria looked much like Ashara, oh, her eyes were a dark grey, instead of purple, and her face was longer, instead of heart shaped. Yet Allyria was still a great beauty, tall for a woman, well taller than Neddy, but he knew he was slim and short. Neddy moved to speak but Allyria held a finger to her lips, silencing him. She led them through half-forgotten passageways and secret doors, winding staircases and narrow hidden halls, until they were deep within the keep. Allyria knew the half-forgotten ways far better than he did.

A single guard was waiting, loyal and stern, when they finally emerged from the secret ways. The door impossible to see once it was closed. Allyria lead than down two more hallways, up a flight of stairs, around a corner, and suddenly they were in the private sector of the Keep, the main bedrooms to the left and the main living area to the right. Allyria blew out the candle and put it down, then turned to Neddy, bringing him into an embrace. She pulled back, lifting his chin up and studying him.

"You look older." She whispered.

Neddy nodded. "I feel older," He agreed. "How did you know?"

Allyria just smirked at him. "The man you bought the row boat off of recognised you." She replied as if that answered everything. Maybe it did? "Not hard to do when you look so much like Arthur."

"I missed you, Ria." He whispered softy as she led them into the family room.

"I still miss you, Neddy." Allyria replied. "You're not here, not officially."

Ned nodded in understanding, then gestured towards Myrcella. "This is-"

"Sally Sand, I know." Allyria cut him off. "Gossip travels faster than people, and you travelled rather slowly." She turned her attention to the poor girl. "Oh, you are a mess, aren't you, well, we'll have to get you cleaned up if you're going to serve as one of my lady's maids. I look after my lady's maids well." She gestured to a doorway that led to the private family lounge. "The men can wait in there while I get you tended to, Sally, what do you say to that?"

Myrcella kept her eyes on the floor. "Thank you." She whispered softly.

Allyria shook her head in disapproval. "Thank you, 'milady', or 'thank you Lady Dayne' are the acceptable responses. We shall have to keep you hidden until that is natural to you. Now, do you remember your name?"

Myrcella lifted her head, not quite meeting Allyria's intent gaze. "Myrcel- Sally." She corrected herself.

Allyria lifted Myrcella's chin, so the girl was forced to look her in the eye. "Try again, it's important. What is your name?"

"Sally… Sally Sand." Myrcella replied with slightly more confidence.

Allyria nodded and released Myrcella's chin. "Good, good. We will decide what part of Dorne you are from tomorrow, teach you the details to make it your truth. It must be your truth, it is the only way I can protect you. Do you understand?"

Myrcella shook her head and lowered her gaze, her lower lip trembling. "No… not really."

Allyria nodded, her expression softening. "You will," She assured. "Until you do you need to trust that this is for your protection."

"Will… will he kill me?" Myrcella questioned.

Allyria frowned, her dark eyebrows drawing together in confusion. "Who? Will who kill you?"

Myrcella continued to keep her gaze lowered and fidgeted with her hands. "My father." She whispered.

Allyria sighed. "One, he is not your father, your father did not claim you. That is both true and part of your new truth. Your father did not claim you, he was some highborn fool with yellow hair who did not have the sense to claim you. Now say it."

Myrcella looked like she was about to cry, her lips trembled and her hands shook, Neddy tried to intervene. "Ria…"

The look Allyria pinned him with was hard, her voice firm and quiet as she addressed him. "This is important, Edric, her life depends on it." Neddy looked away first, unable to take the intensity of her gaze. In that moment she seemed almost as intense as grim Ned Stark. He nodded mutely, thankful when Allyria's attention returned to Myrcella again. "Say it."

Myrcella feared little better under Allyria's scrutiny. "I… ah…"

"Your father was some highborn fool." Allyria prompted.

Myrcella nodded. "My father was some highborn fool… with… some highborn fool with yellow…" Myrcella sniffed, then raised her eyes, she still did not meet Allyria's gaze, instead looking intensely at her necklace. "My name is Sally Sand." She said with more confidence. "My father was a fool." There was anger in her voice now. "A yellow-haired, coward. A highborn fool who condemned me to a bastard's life!"

Allyria nodded. "Good. Now say it again."

Myrcella squared her narrow shoulders and drew herself up to her full height, she took a deep breath and met Allyria's gaze, fists clenched at her side. "My name is Sally Sand, Sand because my father did not claim me. He was a yellow haired, highborn fool, who thought of nobody but himself."

Allyria gave Myrcella a reassuring smile and clasped her shoulder reassuringly. "That is both true, and your truth. Remind yourself of it every day, you are Sally Sand, and you are strong. And should any fool looking to kill a bastard come this way they will have all of House Dayne to deal with, won't they, Ned?"

Neddy nodded. "Yes, yes they will." He agreed.

"And House Dondarrion." Ser Beric assured.

Allyria's expression softened, her hand remaining on Myrcella's shoulder. "See, Sally, you are safe here. Now, come, before the bath I had drawn for you gets cold."

~~/~~

The three men remained silent as they waited, it was odd for Neddy to be back in the familiar room. So little had changed. The ancestral sword, Dawn, sat above the mantel, just as it had all of his life. The plump couches, worn by generations of use, had not been recovered, would not be recovered until he officially became Lord. The paintings on the wall showed how Starfall had once looked, before the Dragon's Wroth. A tapestry on the far right wall showed the forging of Dawn, and a tapestry on the far left wall showed the story of Sharia Starchild, the first female to wield Dawn, her name only remembered as it was woven into the cloth. Ashara's name had been taken from Sharia, Allyria's name had as well.

To Neddy's knowledge there had only been three female Swords of the Morning in the last two thousand years, all of them before the coming of the Andals. There might have been more, but many records had been lost when parts of the Castle had been burnt during The Dragon's Wroth. Sharia Starchild was the only name still remembered, a King's bastard whom had picked up the sword in the heat of battle to avenge her half-brother's corpse. She had held the blade for 48 days and won the war, but when the King had refused to legitimise her she had placed Dawn back upon the mantel, the very mantel that Neddy stood in front of now. None had been permitted to try and wield it whilst she lived, and she had lived a very long life. She had been a great-grandmother by the time she had died, maybe even a great-great-grandmother, accounts varied.

As the silence settled in Neddy found himself standing in the middle of the room, his eyes drawn to the blade. It was over an hour before Allyria returned to the waiting men. She asked Ned to speak first, cutting Ser Beric and Ser Jonothor off when they tried to help him fill in the blanks. She wanted to know his reasons and motives first, to make sure that he understood what decisions he was making and why, what repercussions those decisions might have. (As if the decisions hadn't already been made, but this was her way. She was always trying to teach him.) Only when she was satisfied with his responses did she turn to Ser Beric, her betrothed, and allow him to speak.

Again Ser Jonothor tried to add to the conversation and again she shut him down. Ser Jonothor was proud and did not like that. Only when Ser Beric had finished did she turn her attention to Ser Jonothor and allow him to say his peace. When he had finished speaking she nodded and turned her back on all of them, facing the seldom used fireplace, and the milk-white blade hanging above it. Dawn had not moved from the mantel since the day that Ned Stark had returned it, and Lord Stark himself had been the one to place it there. Father had once said that the only reason Lord Stark was able to carry the blade without it harming him was because his intent was to return it, but that was only myth, surely?

Neddy watched nervously as Allyria pulled her robe closer around her, black hair spilling over her narrow shoulders. She stood tall and straight, with her back to them, as she thought over all that had been said. She reached out an elegant hand and long fingers reached out longingly towards the hilt of the sword, Dawn, yet did not touch it. "Not for me." She whispered, and drew her hand back, her fingers gently caressed the moonstone rose that sat on a silver chain around her neck, before her hand fell away to her side. From where Neddy sat he could see that her dark grey eyes were full of conflicting emotions, deep dark grey… just like the eyes of Jon Snow. Where had that thought come from? When had she received the necklace? Ned couldn't remember, had it been before or after she had been gifted a Dothraki Stallion?

Allyria was not even permitted to try to wield the blade as she would one day be married off. The sword would stay there until another was deemed worthy to wield it. His father had never tried as his uncle had always been a better swordsman… His father was no longer of this world, nor was his mother, Allyria had raised him since he was eight. She was nineteen, but had refused to marry until Neddy was of an age to take his rightful place. She would rule Starfall for another year or two, then she would marry Ser Beric, and it would be Neddy's turn… hopefully he would be ready.

Slowly Allyria turned towards them. "Permit me to clarify, or correct, my understanding," She spoke softly, her voice quiet and calm. "Cersei and Jamie Lannister were having an incestuous interlude, and Jamie tried to kill Ned Stark's youngest son when he caught them?"

"Yes, my lady." Ser Beric replied.

Allyria raised her hand, discouraging him from continuing. "Yes or no is enough, let's not cloud the issue with pleasantries. Ser Jamie is dead, Queen Cersei is dead, Joffrey is denounced as a prince and dead, yes?"

"Yes." It was Ser Jonothor Darry that answered this time.

"And Tommen, also denounced, is in the care of House Darry. Tell me, Ser Jonothor, where do House Darry's loyalties lie?"

"Where they should." Ser Jonothor replied, he sounded almost angry. "Where do House Dayne's loyalties lie?" He challenged.

Allyria gave him a sad smile. "Have you ever tried to wield Dawn?" She asked.

Ser Jonothor looked confused. "No, my lady, I…"

Allyria raised her eyebrows at his confused response, her voice gaining a hint of challenge. "Would you like to now?" She stepped to the side and gestured at the blade. "Would you like to walk over to that wall, reach out, and take it? To claim it for your own? I could not stop you."

Ser Jonothor shook his head. "My lady, I don't understand."

"Are you the Sword of the Morning?" Allyria asked, Jonothor shook his head. "The Sword of the Evening, then?" Again the poor confused knight shook his head. "Are you the blood of the Kings of the Torrentine? Or any King, for that matter?"

"No, my lady, I do not comprehend your meaning." Ser Jonothor said in earnest. "It was a simple question."

"But one without a simple answer, you send the boy, Tommen, to your House because even though illegitimate, he is potentially Tywin's future heir. You bring the girl, Myrcella,here – for you see little use in her, then you question my intent. I do not think so, not in my house. Myrcella will be safe here, you however, best get yourself on a boat to Essos, and pray to whatever gods you believe in that you reach Jon Snow in time. The last person to be worthy of that sword, kept his vows… you appear to be failing yours."

Ser Jonothor lowered his gaze, an expression much like shame seeming to cross his face. "So you know then?" He whispered. Neddy frowned in confusion, what did this Kingsguard have to be ashamed of? What did Allyria know? He suspected he would not get answers to either of these questions.

Allyria pinned Jonothor with her gaze, yet the brave knight did not raise his head to meet her challenge. Allyria sighed, releasing the tension in the air, when she did speak again she sounded tired. "I know that you are not where you should be, and that it is time for you to leave, Ser Jonothor, I will offer you what little aid I can."

Ser Jonothor looked up at the change in her tone, his expression hopeful. "Any aid would be gratefully-"

Allyria raised her hand, silencing him. "Do not thank me yet. The only aid I can offer is a little coin, and some words that you do not want to hear: Your fastest route would be via the slave city, Meereen, although you may find the role that you would need to take to get there distasteful, all slavers require enforcers."

All hope seemed to fade from Ser Jonothor's face at her words. "Enforcers." He whispered. A heavy sigh escaped him. "You are saying I need to commit more sins to make amends for my previous sins."

Allyria shook her head. "No, I am saying that sometimes duty requires choosing between honour and pragmatism. Do you wish to be honourably too late, or have a pragmatic chance of arriving on time? None could blame you for either choice. But, as they say in the North, when the snows fall and the white winds blow… well," She shrugged, seeming to change direction in her words. "An honourable death is an honourable death. But it does not serve your king, and you have already broken your vows once. Where do you want to be when the Snow falls?"

She then turned her attention to Beric. "Beric, Neddy, you should go as well, best that you were never here. Return to Blackhaven, rally your men, war is coming, serve King Robert well. When the battle is done return to court, find time to speak with Lord Stark in private, in the godswood perhaps? Do not tell him where the two cubs are hidden unless he asks, but reassure him that they are safe."

Beric nodded and took Allyria's hand, kissing the back of it. "My Lady, I count the days until you become my bride." He replied.

Allyria smiled at him. "Do not count the days, my betrothed, teach Neddy what it truly means to be a knight. And… trust in Eddard Stark to do his duty."

"You are so sure of him?" Ser Beric questioned.

Allyria simply smiled and turned towards the mantel again. "I see the proof of his honour every day. That this sword is not a trophy of House Stark is all one needs to know." Her fingers found the pendant at her neck again. "And I know more than that." She whispered, almost to herself.

Neddy stood up and walked over to stand beside her. "One day I'm going to wield it." He whispered.

Allyria turned and looked at him sceptically, the blue rose still between her fingertips. "You sound so sure, Neddy, yet you still do not understand it. Dawn has bitten off many the hand of a proud man, the blade must be approached with respect. The blade chooses the wielder, not the other way around."

Neddy frowned. "Do you truly believe that?"

Allyria nodded, her hand releasing the pendant, she placed an arm around him and pulled him close. "I don't believe it, I know it, you know it too. Train hard, listen, learn, pay attention. Beric is a good man, he has much to teach you. Remember that the most important lessons are shown, not spoken."

"I will watch him carefully." Neddy replied.

"Hmm, there is a difference between watching and seeing, when you understand that perhaps you may be ready to try and wield Dawn." She dropped a kiss on his forehead and let him go. "Be safe, Neddy."

"And you, Ria." He replied, and then they left as quietly as they had come.

The sun was rising as they hit the bank of the Torrentine, yet they could not rest there, they travelled along the road until almost midday. Tired and weary, they found a shaded spot back from the road, and took turns sleeping. Ser Jonothor parted ways with them a couple of days later, at Blackmont. As to if he would heed Allyria's advice, or if he had other intent, he did not say.

~~/~~