Most of the characters in this part are largely of my own design although obviously exist in canon (i.e. Arthur obviously has a father). A later referenced Trystane Dayne would be Darkstar's father, who is yet to be born at this point in the narrative.
Familiar characters will begin to appear in the next "past" chapter.
In 267 AC, on the eve of his sixteenth name day, Arthur was knighted by his father in a small ceremony attended by only himself, his brother, a septon, and the master-at-arms of Starfall, who was consequently also a Dayne although of distant relation.
When he had said the vows and been anointed with the holy oils, the septon and master-at-arms had left and Arthur had risen from his knee to look both Ulrick and his father in the face, beaming.
The Lord of Starfall had had nothing but a smile for Arthur, layering him with praises of his worthiness and how he'd earned his knighthood. Enough for Arthur to bask in and keep his pride buoyed for the next few weeks.
But it was hard to ignore Ulrick's stare. There was no anger, nor hurt, but there was no mistaking the depth of his envy. For him to be what Arthur was.
So when, weeks later, Arthur went to his father and said he was prepared to claim Dawn, Ulrick was openly furious.
"He has no right to it!"
Their father sat on Starfall's throne, where the Kings of the Torrentine had ruled in their day, where from now he executed justice in the Prince's name. All of Starfall was like that: a memory of kingdom, transformed into something new that wouldn't upset their overlords. Even the great hall was more fitting for a king than a lord. It was cavernous, more cathedral than keep, with great pillars of white marble. Arthur often wondered how such a thing had been constructed by, what he imagined, were the primitive first men ten thousand years prior.
Ulrick stood at their father's right, as he often did during times of council, but swung about to face him now. The shout echoed and an uncomfortable silence descended onto the hall.
Their father met Ulrick's gaze levelly. "Remember to whom you speak."
"Father, he is a second son, and you lavish him with honors," Ulrick protested, moderating his tone. "What will others think? That you prefer him to rule after you over your heir?"
The other courtiers dwelled in uncomfortable silence. Arthur looked around. Ser Qoren Dayne, the master-at-arms, was the only one who had his eyes raised, frowning at Ulrick. The others–Maron, their seneschal, Maester Osmund, Septon Denys.
Arthur couldn't bring himself to be angered by Ulrick's jealousy. He was their father's favorite. Anyone could have seen that just by walking into the room. Ashara had their mother, Arthur their father, and Ulrick no one.
The Lord of Starwell was silent for several moments, staring at Ulrick, then: "This court is ended. All, except my sons, will leave."
There were several deep bows, but not one of the courtiers was reluctant to go. The hall was empty in seconds.
"It is not Arthur's calling to be Lord of Starfall," their father began in a careful voice. "It is your's. It is his calling to be a knight and, if fate will have it, Sword of the Morning."
"I–"
"I am speaking now," he raised his voice to drown out Ulrick's and rose from the throne. "When your father speaks you will listen." Vorian Dayne was a big man. His sons were by no means small themselves, but they were still teenagers, and Vorian a knight and warrior in his prime. At his full height he seemed to dwarf Ulrick, who despite this still glared up at his father in challenge. Arthur considered that Ulrick's greatest flaw: he had respect for no one. Coupled with an astonishing lack of fear, it caused Ulrick to constantly challenge any restrictions placed upon him and to defy authority at any opportunity.
"I am listening," Ulrick said through gritted teeth.
"Your brother, if the seven will it, shall become Sword of the Morning. And, when I pass, he will be your master-at-arms and captain of your household guard. He will command Starfall's knights and army in your name. The Sword of the Morning's reputation is known throughout the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms. He will inspire respect and fear for you."
Vorian turned from him, passing to the massive window panes that made up the back of Starfall's great hall. They looked out over the rear of the island, over Dorne's rocky coasts, into the Sunset Sea.
"We were kings here once, boy. Few remember it, but we do. Forget our petty rivals in the Hightowers and the Oakhearts. We are sworn to a Prince. Equal in name and prestige to those who sit the Iron Throne. And that makes us the equal of any of the Great Houses. Our family ruled Starfall long before the names 'Arryn' and 'Lannister' were even spoken. While their ancestors huddled at fires we ruled a realm unmatched. There is a protocol to be followed to ensure that our name and lands continue to be respected. That they understand the name Dayne means something great, that we are better than the rest."
"The more honors you bestow on Arthur, the more men will look to him as your successor," Ulrick said, coming around the throne so that he was not talking to his father's back. "The more I will be pushed aside, ignored–"
"No!" Vorian roared, wheeling on Ulrick, who jumped, briefly cowing beneath his father's rage. Vorian was not easily angered, but Ulrick had a special skill for provoking their father's ire. He strode to Ulrick and seized him by the arm, shaking him, "Have you listened to a word I said? Arthur's name is Dayne. Your name is Dayne. Any honor of his is your honor! Any respect he commands is respect you command. The Lord of Starfall is above such pettiness. Above your jealousy!"
Ulrick said nothing, only looked down to the floor. Vorian treated him with a melting stare for a minute before snapping: "Arthur!"
He jumped, having been a fly on the wall for their entire conversation, "Yes, father?"
Vorian diverted his gaze to Arthur, "I will summon the family to Palestone Sword. There, you will state your intention to claim Dawn." He looked again now to Ulrick who had still yet to raise his eyes. "And any who wish to challenge your 'right' may do so there."
Arthur frowned, looking up at them. Could they not see how similar they were? How Ulrick was a near copy of Vorian? It was that similarity that caused them to clash so often. That Vorian had such ambition for Ulrick; that Ulrick wanted nothing more than their father's approval.
"I do not fear any challenge, father," Arthur said, resting his hand on his sword. "I have just the answer for them."
At that Vorian smiled. That was why Arthur was his favorite. He was the only one who could make their father smile.
—-
Palestone Sword was a tower affixed to the island-spanning complex that was Starfall. It was not an impressive tower, nothing notable about it aside from the eponymous Palestone it was made out of. No one knew if it had been built first, and then the walls of Starfall raised alongside it, or if Starfall had been constructed and then Palestone added to the battlements later.
What was known is that, when there was no Sword of the Morning, it housed Dawn. At the tower's apex there was a tall, empty chamber and, lying on a stone slab at the room's center, was that famous greatsword.
Ulrick and Arthur were below now, waiting on the tower's lower level as the family deliberated above. Every branch of the Daynes had been invited–their uncle, Vorian's brother, and then the Daynes of High Hermitage as well. The descendants of Daynes who had moved to Sunspear or its shadow city and were no longer aristocratic but lived commonly.
Arthur sat on a bench, his hands pressed together. The room had no furnishings aside from the one, unvarnished, very old bench. Instead of sitting beside him, Ulrick had chosen to stand and stare out one of the silts in Palestone's walls. A cool breeze came off the sea, ran through the stuffy room, and distantly a gull cried.
"Are you nervous?" His brother suddenly asked.
Arthur glanced up.
"You can't lie," Ulrick told him. "The Sword of the Morning isn't allowed to lie."
"I'm not him, yet," Arthur said.
Ulrick rolled eyes at him and looked back out at the sea.
"Yes, I'm nervous," Arthur said.
"Why?" Ulrick asked. "You're a great fighter. Better than I am, anyhow."
"What if they decide I am not good enough?" Arthur asked. "What if they think I'm not worthy?"
"You don't truly believe that," Ulrick said, seeing right through the veil of his false humility "You know you're the ideal. You are merely anxious."
"Then why?" Arthur asked. "Why am I anxious?"
"Because you know the responsibility," Ulrick said. "You know what being the Sword of the Morning means. You won't be solely Arthur Dayne, anymore. You'll be more than you were, with all the implications that the title brings."
That was it. As much as they might butt heads it or, rather, Ulrick might butt his head against Arthur's, who rarely butted back, Ulrick knew him better than anyone. Maybe a bit better than himself.
"Are you ready to go up?" Ulrick asked him. "I think they are done, now."
Arthur nodded, standing. "Yes. Let's get this over with." But he didn't mean that. He wasn't dreading it, despite some butterflies. This was the moment he had been looking forward to his entire life.
The two brothers climbed that stairs that rounded the tower, ascending to the second level. The chamber door hung open and Arthur entered first, trepidation rising.
The whole of house Dayne filled this room. Ser Qoren Dayne, the master-at-arms, Ser Alester Dayne, Arthur's uncle and Vorian's brother, his children Ronnel and Aiden. Ser Trystane of High Hermitage. And then the representative from the Sunspear Daynes: Larra Dayne, who owned an orange grove or something like that.
And then Lord Vorian Dayne, his father, head of the family and household. He was dressed finely today, fit with a purple shoulder cape, his silver beard trimmed.
The members of his family ringed the room, none drawing near Dawn. Arthur had seen the sword a few times before as a child, but it never failed to take his breath away. Most swords were just that–swords. Arthur had no fetish for weapons as some other knights might. But Dawn was something else. It was a work of art. Moonlight given physical form. Even in the dim light of Palestone Sword it twinkled, as though yearning to once again return to its place in the sky.
"Arthur Dayne," Vorian began, his voice full of heady ceremony. "You come before us today to claim Dawn and be named Sword of the Morning."
"I do," Arthur said, although nothing was expected from him here. There was no written procedure to becoming Sword of the Morning, only a consensus that there needed to be a ceremony of some kind. That so momentous of an occasion had to be observed in some way.
"Do any deny him this?" Vorian asked. "Do any deny his worth?"
"I do."
Arthur started. He had expected it to be Ulrick. But his brother was silent and looked as surprised as he was–the objection come from Ser Trystane, the knight of High Hermitage.
Vorian looked to be the sole person in the room unsurprised by this, and nodded for Trystane to step forwards.
Trystane was a tall man, lean and wiry, athletic, with a face fit for scowls and only scowls. Although he was as fair and sharply featured as the rest of their family it had rendered more severe than dignified. He had arrived at Palestone in full armor and it was now clear why.
"Arthur is a boy. Unproven. Dawn should go to a tested knight," Trystane said. "I claim 'Sword of the Morning' myself."
Vorian looked back to Arthur, vaguely amused.
"Arthur?"
"I'll prove myself here and now," Arthur said. He wore his plate as well, helmet at his side, and now he slid it on. "Come, Ser Trystane. If you wish to deny me Dawn you will have to do it with more than words."
Trystane smiled thinly at him, "Yes. Prove me wrong, boy."
Arthur drew his sword, slapped his visor down, as Trystane did likewise. The other Daynes backed up to the wall of the room as Arthur and Trystane advanced on each other, mirror images. Trystane was taller than Arthur, as well as a grown man, but Arthur suspected he was the better swordsman. Trystane had a reputation, but not as a duelist. And he had never seen Arthur fight.
Arthur acted hesitant, throwing a few testing jabs in Trystane's direction, as though unsure what to do. Trystane batted each of them away without effort, growing more confident with every moment.
He advanced on Arthur who backed up, still trying to poke Trystane, as though they were fencing with sabers and not broadswords.
Confident he outmatched Arthur, Trystane lurched forwards, swinging at Arthur's head in a double handed, strike. Arthur effortlessly weaved under both it and then out of the way of the downwards chop that followed, placing himself at Trystane's flank as his opponent overextended and exposed himself.
And then he began.
He slammed the flat of his sword into Trystane's side. The knight staggered, trying to turn towards Arthur, who was already moving to Trystane's front. He whacked Trystane about the helmet with his broadsword, sending the other knight reeling and onto his heels. He staggered back into Dawn's plinth and then toppled backwards over it, crashing to the ground in an undignified tumble. There was a collective gasp from those watching.
Arthur strolled around the plinth as Trystane was on his hands and knees, trying to rise, and placed his broadsword on the back of Trystane's neck. The older Dayne froze.
"If you do not yield, I will begin to kick you," Arthur said. "That would be extremely humiliating for a man who claims to be 'Sword of the Morning.'"
Trystane sighed, and wordlessly tossed his sword from his hand. Arthur lowered his broadsword, stepped back, then offered Trystane a hand up. He took it only after a moment's hesitation.
"You baited me," he said when Arthur pulled him to his feet.
"Yes," Arthur said, removing his helmet and shaking his hair free. The brief combat had done nothing to exhaust him. "And you bought it completely."
"I withdraw my challenge," Trystane said, loud enough for the room to hear. "I recognize him as worthy."
"Then step forward, Arthur Dayne," Vorian said. "And claim Dawn."
Arthur set down his broadsword and helmet both and approached the plinth. Dawn lay there still, undisturbed. He dropped to his knees before it and slid his fingers beneath the blade, beneath the handle. That he could dwell here in this moment forever. Gently, ever so gently, he lifted it from the stone.
It was light. No. Not light. Perfectly weighted. As though designed for his hand, his arm, his reach. Adrenaline rushed through him and he gripped the greatsword in both hands, raised it high.
Dawn caught the thin strands of sunlight that entered the chamber through the slits that ringed the ceiling, refracting beams in each direction, so that the blade seemed a source of light itself glowing bright and powerful.
"Rise, now, with the sun," Vorian said, voice swelling with pride. "For you are the Sword of the Morning."
—-
It was evening by the time the last of the Daynes departed.
Arthur sat on the stairs that led up into Starfall's keep, Dawn across his lap. He liked to watch how the moonlight danced across the blade. What was it made out of, he wondered. What property of what metal allowed it to do that? The blade was often described as milkwhite but, up close as he was now, that wasn't exactly accurate. It didn't have the luster of steel, but neither was it dull. He wanted to say it was like polished stone, but to the touch it was very clearly metal, and it shined like metal too.
"Looking for your reflection?"
Arthur glanced back. Ulrick was standing in the hall's great doors, leaning against the archway, wearing a simple tunic and trousers. His silver hair fell down to his shoulders, not tied back like he normally kept it. He looked so much like their father–had the same square face, broad build. Again, Arthur marveled at their contentious relationship despite that. Although, that was probably the reason why. They were just too much alike to love one another.
"Do you hate me, Ulrick?" Arthur asked. His brother started at the question.
"Hate you? By the seven, no. I could never hate you. What would make you say that?"
Arthur gave him a flat look and Ulrick let out a guilty laugh, looking away, "I suppose I could have given you that impression, couldn't I?
"No, I don't hate you, Arthur. I… it is that you're everything I want to be. People want to be your friend. They want to give you things. Everything I have I was either born to or I had to fight for."
"I don't want it to be as such between us," Arthur said. "I want us to be brothers."
"We are brothers," Ulrick said. "Always. But I can't help but be envious of you. To know father will never see in me the same things he does in you? That hurts. And I know it is not your fault, yet this is the way it is. The way it will always be."
"And if I left?" Arthur said. "If Starfell is too small for the both of us, what if I went away? What then?"
Ulrick frowned, "I wouldn't do that to you–chase you away from your home. You deserve better than that."
"It won't be my home anymore, if you keep at me like this," Arthur said. "And we so rarely get what we deserve."
Ulrick said nothing for a long moment, "I have nothing more to say on this right now. I don't want to spoil the day. Tonight is your night, Arthur. You earned this." And he stepped back inside the hall.
Arthur closed his eyes, feeling the cool night air on his skin. He would bask in the moment, if just for tonight. If just for now. This moment would be just for him, under the stars, his dream in his hands. A moment to himself before a life of service. Let that be enough.