The next few 'before' chapters will follow Arthur's first visit to King's Landing.
Four years had passed since Arthur had been named Sword of the Morning. At twenty years old he was strong and tall and his name was known from the most remote hamlet of Dorne to the Wall all the way in the North. Arthur suspected anyone else would have been rendered pompously arrogant by this fact, but it did little more than humble him. That all saw him as some larger-than-life, legendary figure when in reality he was a youth of twenty without many accomplishments of his own.
His life had largely consisted of his apprenticeship to Ser Qoren Dayne, the master-at-arms, who was bent on teaching Arthur the in-and-outs of the position. They had done practice deployments to the farthest reaches of the Dayne's lands, where Arthur had been instructed in how an army was to camp, how watches would be posted, had an encampment was to be defended. He was taught how men were to be led in the desert, the defenses of Dorne's many passes, the capabilities of not only Dorne's other noble houses, but those of the Lords Paramount to the north. How he would best defend Starfall, the Torrentine, and Dorne from outside invasion. By his eighteen birthday he had toured the entirety of not only the lands along the Torrentine, but the Red Mountains.
Arthur visited the Blackmonts, the Flowers, the Manwoodys, the Yronwoods, all the great Dornish houses to whom Arthur shared some blood. On their visit to Yronwood, Qoren had made it clear there was no ally to be found in the Bloodroyal, as the Yronwood called the head of their household. The Yronwood were envious of the Martells, and that they were a princely house second to only the Iron Throne, and would dethrone them and claim kingship themselves if they could. The Daynes were loyal and loved their Princes and Princesses, Qoren had insisted, and the Yronwoods were dangerous rogues who could be trusted no further than they could be thrown.
By 272 AC he had visited every corner of Dorne and knew as well as any might. His education had been in Dornish warfare, Dornish politics, Dornish history.
So, when that year his father had told him he was to go to King's Landing with his sister and participate in a great tourney, he was dumbfounded.
"I could give you a grand speech about representing our house, but it is simply that I do not want Ashara to go on her own. She is of the age where she must make her debut at court."
They were in his father's solar, Vorian seated behind his big oaken desk which, legend should have it, King Samwell Starfire had taken from the Citadel when he sacked Oldtown. Arthur was skeptical, because many of Starfall's curiosities were claimed to come from that sack. It seemed the best way of explaining anything strange in the castle that no one knew the history of–the ancient Daynes had stolen it from some wizards.
His father smiled wryly, "Things are not quite the same abroad as they are in Dorne. You are still young and I have kept you shielded here, but the world has many realities you and your sister must appreciate. King's Landing is not the water gardens. A girl her age cannot go unaccompanied to court. You are to be her escort."
"I see," Arthur said. "I do not wish to leave."
"You will do as I instruct–neither your mother nor I have any desire to leave Starfall, so we are sending you in our stead. I would send Ulrick as well, if I trusted him not to get himself killed. It will only be for a short time. And you will make valuable connections there. The intrigues of the Targaryen court are different from what you know in Sunspear."
Something about how he said it chilled Arthur, "Will we be in any danger?"
"It would be a lie for me to tell you no," Vorian said. "We Daynes have no enemies in King's Landing, but the realm of politics is never safe. Take care you do not become a pawn in another's game. "
"You make it sound as though you speak from experience."
"Believe it or not, boy, but I had life before you came along," his father drawled.
"I did not mean–"
Vorian held up a hand, "I've seen my fill of King's Landing. Of 'the capital.' I'm where I belong. And despite all the trouble he causes me, your brother will make a good lord after me, you a good right hand to him. I have no more ambition than to see that fulfilled, no desire to participate in those futile games others play at. I pray both you and your brother learn that same lesson."
Arthur could not imagine Ulrick learning any lesson. His inflexibility was his defining quality.
It was three days later that he and Ashara had departed. Arthur, his sister, twenty knights, and then some servants to make up Ashara's staff
Vorian had put Arthur in the heaviest plate he'd ever worn. The armor was lacquered bonewhite, striped with bands of silver, and he wore a flowing purple cape that enveloped his shoulders and draped over him like a cloak. He felt wholly ridiculous. Ashara told him he looked like an eggplant.
It took them a day to leave the Torrentine's valleys, where the Dayne lands ended, into that of the Blackmonts, then Fowlers, then Manwoodys. When they passed out of the Prince's Pass and into the Dornish Marches it was the furthest north either of them had ever been.
The first forest they came upon Ashara pulled her horse to a stop, staring at it in wonder. The largest amount of trees he had seen before this were the mangroves that grew along Starfall's coast.
Arthur couldn't say anything other than; "That is a lot of wood."
"So much green!" Ashara exclaimed. "And none of it grows food. This would be a famous orchard in Dorne. But to the Andals… it is just here. I doubt any other rider has given it a passing thought."
"Unless they were Dornish," Arthur added.
"Unless they were Dornish," Ashara agreed.
A day later they came upon a wide field, where tall grass grew unkept and blew in an easy breeze. Where the sky was blue instead of orange and the sun warm instead of scorching. Arthur dismounted to retrieve a wild daisy and presented it to Ashara. His sister had laughed and placed it in her hair.
They came upon a roaring river, isolated and unknown in the wilderness and Arthur had an urge to mark the location, that another fresh water source would be known to him. But such things were plentiful in the north and it was a completely unnecessary impulse.
The land here was rich and healthy in a way that, until now, had been unfathomable to him. Even the air felt different. Most mornings he awoke and water–dew–had collected on his tent and it took all of his strength not to collect it.
"They have so much," Ashara said one day, admiring the beauty of the nature around them. They were on the road now and had exchanged tents for inns. Ashara's ladies and servants rode behind them and the knights behind them, forming a long caravan.
"Yet are so concerned with Dorne and what becomes of it," Arthur said. Much of his father's nationalism had rubbed off on him over the years. Even if Arthur didn't hold the opinions himself it was the first thing that had come to his mind.
"I will not let you crowd my mood, I am excited," his sister said. "It is a city like no other, Arthur. That is what I have read."
"You have been to Sunspear and its shadow city. It is bigger than that?
"It is bigger than that!"
"That cannot be true."
He was proven terribly, terribly wrong.
They had ridden north through the Stormlands, up along the Kingswood, and when the forest was no longer between them and the city, Arthur saw it.
He remembered his wonder upon seeing Sunspear for the first time. Emerging from the desert and looking upon those impossibly high walls, which indeed did cast a city in their shadow, and the domes and towers within the walls confines. He understood why it had earned its name.
King's Landing was the same, only to a much greater magnitude. If one had approached it from Blackwater Bay, they would have only been able to see the sea wall, and then the Red Keep rising above it. The port, the cry of the gulls, the ringing of dockyard bells. Perhaps some of the higher buildings might peak over the walls, but that would be the extent of it.
They would not see what Arthur saw. They would not see the vast expanse of civilization that crawled from the shoreline, onto land, over hills. Many times it had exceeded its confines, and so new walls had to have been built, and then those walls had been exceeded as well.
The buildings crowded together, formed tight alleys and labyrinthian streets that even from this distance Arthur could imagine the bustle. The noise emanating from the mass of humanity contained within.
It was a city in the purest definition of the word. A truly metropolitan settlement that was bursting with activity and unrest. A city that could swallow you whole, that would not care for your name, your birth, your titles, whether you called yourself "Sword of the Morning" or not. It would consume you and you would be forgotten inside of it, just one more nameless addition to the beating, fetid heart of Westeros.
Ashara took a breath, awed, but Arthur sensed the forest had been more amazing to her. This city, despite its regal magnificence, was familiar in a sense. People lived here and their lives were much the same as many in Dorne.
They descended towards the city, joining the masses that were passing in and out of its great gates. Their knights formed up around them, acting as a buffer between them and the crowd. Arthur rode out ahead, taking the lead. It was much this way as they worked through the city. The Red Keep, which rose high above the rest of King's Landing, an ever present reminder of the authority and omnipresence of those within.
Lodging waited for them in a manse owned by the Prince of Dorne that had been so graciously made ready for their usage. Upon their arrival, the regular staff had left, and Arthur had given orders that the knights and servants were to make themselves comfortable. A guard was to be posted, the servants to tend to the household, but Arthur and Ashara expected to be away most of each day, and this manse was only for them to rest and receive visitors at.
It was thus on the morning after their arrival that he and Ashara left the manse and rode to the tourney grounds outside the King's Gate, joined by a single valet and a pair of knights. Ashara was dressed in a riding gown that she insisted was very fashionable here at the capital, and had heavily perfumed herself so that no unwanted smells would stick to her. Arthur was again in his armor, although it had been freshly polished and oiled after their long journey.
The streets were less busy than normal, but they still had to be wary of pedestrians. Arthur and Ashara may as well have been invisible. In a city so often visited by the wealthy, the passing of a knight and lady was not something to note upon.
"Do you know who you will be fighting?" Ashara asked him.
"I will learn when we arrive–in jousting, your name is entered into lists and you are matched up to an opponent. As you win, you climb up the lists until you are the last to remain undefeated."
"Do you think that will be you?" She asked outright.
"I would like it to be me," Arthur said. "And I believe I am capable of it."
"Well, I hope you win. I shall be rooting for you," Ashara said.
"If you are rooting for me you have to give me your favor," Arthur told her.
"Mm, nope. The Sword of the Morning can find a lady other than his own sister. I'll be saving my favor for a more… appropriate choice."
"For a potential suitor, you mean. You are too young for such things. Besides, after you give them your favor, who will you root for? How is the Sword of the Morning supposed to win if even his sister won't support him?"
"I am sure he will find a way."
Arthur and Ashara passed through the King's Gate, out towards the tourney grounds. They weren't the only ones arriving–he could see other lords and ladies, knights and their squires, further up the road, or a distance away, riding towards the grounds from another gate.
The pavilion, raised around the tourney grounds, could fit hundreds if not thousands. Arthur and Ashara rode along the outside of it, rounding until they were on the tourney ground themselves and in the tiltyard.
Jousting, for all its pageantry and romanticism, was not a complicated sport. Two men on horses rode at each other and tried to knock the other off using a long staff of wood. A child could have designed it, yet it completely captured the minds of Westeros' elite. There was some skill and strategy involved, but the basic premise was not complicated. Arthur had no small talent with a lance, but he much preferred contests of the sword.
A row of pickets divided where the rider would charge one another. Ashara rode her horse along them. "I could already imagine the noise."
Arthur craned his neck around to look at the mostly empty pavilion. It would be very loud. Some people had already filed in and he could feel their eyes on him and Ashara. His father's words ringing in his ears, he rode over and took the reins of Ashara's horse, leading her to the steps up into the pavilion stands. Their valet and knights had not followed them and instead waited at the edge of the grounds.
"Sit there," he pointed to a seat at the very front of the pavilion. "I will have the valet tend to the horses and Ser Nymor and Ser Gyles will sit with you." Unlike Arthur, they had worn only mail and tabard and thus could move about the pavilion's stands without issue.
"Where will you be?" Ashara asked, suddenly alarmed. Arthur wondered how she viewed him. As her protector? Or maybe it was the other way around and she wanted to keep Arthur safe. Well, a girl of ten and two needed much more protection than Arthur, anyhow.
"I will be nearby," he assured her. He pointed to a spot on the ground near the pavilion's base. "That is where I will be. I must remain on the grounds for when my name is called."
Ashara headed up into the pavilion, Ser Nymor and Ser Gyles not long behind them. This left Arthur on his own and he dismounted, leading his horse over to the spot he'd indicated to Ashara.
Gradually, as the minutes ticked by, more and more people filled their way into the stands, nobles all. Arthur tried to keep count, but it must've been hundreds. How many noble houses of the Seven Kingdoms were represented here? Great Houses were marked by banners above their sections–the stag of House Baratheon, the rose of House Tyrell, the trout of House Tully, the lion of House Lannister–but the rest did not have that distinction.
His destrier puffed out a breath next to him and he dug into his saddlebags, bringing out an apple. Arthur held it out for the animal to munch on as he pet the horse's mane.
The pavilion gradually filled out. Lords and ladies shuffled into the stands and a few other knights came out onto the tourney grounds alongside Arthur. One of them turned to him and offered his hand. He popped up his visor, revealing a ruddy face and mop of wild brown hair, "Ser Steffon Hollard."
Arthur clasped his hand, "Ser Arthur Dayne."
A wide smile split Steffon's face, "I know who you are–there are few who don't."
"I cannot see how. I have no reputation other than this," he put a hand on Dawn.
"No offense, sir, but that is reputation enough."
Arthur supposed there was truth to that. The simple act of carrying Dawn had brought him more fame than any potential battles won or enemies defeated.
"I will demonstrate I am more than a sword today," Arthur said.
"Indeed, I hope to earn some honor for myself too," Ser Steffon said.
Arthur could sympathize, to a degree, but he had never heard of House Hollard and suspected there was a reason for that.
It was at that moment trumpets sounded. One blast, followed by two short, one long.
"All rise!" A crier somewhere screamed. "All rise for the king!"
Above Arthur, a thousand people rose to their feet simultaneously.
A new banner dropped, between that of the Baratheons and the Lannisters–a banner displaying the sigil of the royal dynasty.
"Rise now for King Aerys Targaryen, Second of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm and Queen Rhaella Targaryen!"
Arthur craned his neck, trying to catch sight of the king, but the royal booth was somewhat obscured by all those now standing on the pavilion rises.
The man that appeared was short, pale, skinny, with a lean, angular face, and white hair that fell to his shoulders. The only way Arthur could distinguish him as king was by his crown and regalia. A similar featured woman, with a face that Arthur could only describe as sad, clung to his arm. The royal couple disappeared into a cluster of men in white plate as they went to assume their thrones.
A taller man with blond hair followed them out and Arthur took this to be Tywin Lannister, the Hand of the King. With many of the Lords Paramount present, as well as the court, this likely accounted for most of the government. The thought made Arthur deeply uneasy–what if there was a fire?
A further blast of the trumpet indicated that those watching could now resume their seats.
Above Arthur, a thousand people sat down simultaneously.
The royal box had its own platform so that, now that all were seated, Arthur could see the king and queen easily.
Their Kingsguard stood at each corner of the royal box, keeping watch over the crowd. The royal couple had their thrones several feet apart, to a distance that neither could reach the other. The Hand assumed a seat over the king's right shoulder, towards the edge of the box. A Kingsguard stood in each of the royal booth's corners, watching over the crowds.
Arthur didn't see any of the Kingsguard carrying a spear–the only man who wasn't a stranger in King's Landing to Arthur was Lewyn Martell, brother to the Princess of Dorne. He and Vorian were friends and he had come to Starfall once to visit.
Arthur found himself frowning. Comparing these two withered persons to the lively princess and her consort who reigned in Sunspear. The dour and humorous tourney grounds, contrasted to the water gardens. These were the same people who had wooed Arthur's ancestors and won their fealty?
The king's arrival had placed gloom over things. As though the sun had fallen behind the clouds.
"You see it, don't you, 'Sword of the Morning?'" Ser Steffon asked.
Arthur turned sharply to look at him. "What? What do you mean?"
The knight only shook his head, "Nevermind."
Another trumpet blast resounded before Arthur could press Steffon with further questions. He glanced upwards anxiously, towards the stands. He hoped Ashara was faring all right.
The crier was at it again. Arthur found the cadence of his voice somewhat irritating–"If the contenders… Ser Kyle Royce and Ser Stafford Lannister could take to their horses…"
"What did you mean?" Arthur hissed to Steffon. The knight shook his head at him and nodded towards the royal booth.
Tywin Lannister had stood, approaching the edge of the box and the crowd was encouraged to be silent and then ordered to be silent by the various goldcloaks who stood posted around the pavilion.
"We gather here today," he began, voice ringing clearly now that the pavilion was silent. It was a good voice for speaking. "In the light of the Seven, to celebrate the tenth year in the reign of King Aerys Targaryen, second of his name. That we have enjoyed a decade of his enlightened rule."
Kyle Royce appeared from the east end of the journey grounds, in armor lacquered bronze, and Stafford Lannister from the west, in armor lacquered gold. Ser Stafford appeared to be having trouble controlling his horse.
"The man can hardly ride," Arthur said, aghast. This was who had been selected to open the tourney? By contrast, Royce was the picture of chivalry. A squire had already rushed him his lance, which he held point up, and his visor was down.
"Yes, he's going to make quite the embarrassment of himself," Steffon agreed, not at all surprised.
Tywin continued: "It is to my great… honor that I welcome my good brother, Ser Stafford Lannister, and Ser Kyle Royce to the field to open this magnificent tournament. I hereby declare the games begun and let the festivities commence."
Tywin returned to his seat without delay and there was great applause from the stands. Ser Royce raised his lance in salute; Stafford raised his fist as though he were some conquering champion. When the applause settled, there was a further blast from the trumpet.
At once, Royce shot forwards, lance braced to his side, destrier's hooves thudding. Arthur tracked his movement up the tiltyard and took a quick glance towards Stafford.
The Lannister had only just gotten his lance and was still struggling to bring his horse entirely under control, turning the reins this way and that. He saw Royce shooting towards him and let out a surprised yell, finally lashing the reins and launching into an uncommitted charge. His horse galloped forwards ten feet and then stalled, standing stone still.
Kyle Royce's lance struck him directly in the chest. Stafford was launched out of his saddle, stirrups, helmet, and even boots, and landed with an almighty crash in the yard. His unused lance bounced along the ground and rolled away from him.
Kyle drew up short to check on his opponent and flipped up his visor, "Are you all right, ser?"
Stafford stirred on the ground, groaning, pages finally rushing from the pavilion walls to assist him. The crowd was shocked into silence.
And then King Aerys let out a long, tittering laugh that expanded into something spiteful and mocking that shook his whole body; he had to grip the armrests to keep himself in his throne. Gradually, some of those in the stands joined him, uncertain at first, but then wholeheartedly, until nearly half the crowd was laughing at the prone and injured Stafford. Tywin Lannister sat back from it all in the shade of the royal booth, silent, his face a mask.
Arthur took it all in with open distaste, "This is abominable."
"Indeed," Steffon nodded. "Welcome to King's Landing."