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He had locked himself within the cabin, lying on the rough straw bed with his dark purple eyes staring at creaking wet oak. They traveled towards Sunspear from whence they proceeded to Planky town and embarked on the ships that would take him to where he would squire. The nostrils on his aquiline nose flared. His high cheekbones and strong jaw set into bitter contemplation.
His pale lips curled into an ugly frown. They were supposed to be already there if not for some troubles in the Boneway. Their entourage had originally intended for them to find sails within the Crownlands or the Stormlands; but, they were prevented from doing so because the pettiness of Lord Anders Yronwood was strong. The Bloodroyal it seems still remembered the time he spent as a page under his service
He couldn't help but smile darkly at the vivid recollections of what he did to their daughter.
Poor girl.
Still it was an immense annoyance that their journey had to last twice than it needed to be because some lord feared the Darkstar. It was their fault for agreeing to let him page for them in the first place. Would this Stannis be the same? He hoped so, he wasn't looking forward to sojourning in Dragonstone until the arrival of summer.
He shifted on the straw, some of it bristling his skin. This was the last time he would hire sellsails. This was not the environs for a lord of High Hermitage to quarter in. This was a peasant's ship.
It irked him that even though he was now legally a lordling he was unable to make use of much of his lordly powers.
All this because the main house of Dayne thought him too much to handle. He snorted as he remembered the once proud Arhur Dayne now crippled. Telling him about his duties as a lord of House Dayne.
Oh how he had wished for the wolf to kill the Sword of the Morning underneath the shadow of that tower.
The stories of the Tower of Joy were endless in their variations. All that is truly know is that three of the Northmen survived, the Sword of the Morning was spared but maimed and Lyanna Stark was barely clinging to life.
The story of Arthur Dayne was a sad and pathetic one. One of the greatest knights of his age now left a shadow of his former self. Some stories say he had begged the Stark to end his life as he tended to the stump that once had been his feared sword arm, some stories say that Stark gave him clemency because of his honor while others say he did it out of cruelty.
Arthur was still a Kingsguard, but one largely exiled in practice. The duty that King Robert entrusted to him, that which necessitated him to remain in Dorne, he did not speak of. All that the poor wretched man would answer was "Watching for the Sun and Spear".
He remembered when he managed to rouse himself from his catatonic slumber. His silver hair lost their luster, his full cheeks hollow and his once shining eyes became dull.
It was pathetic and tragic what happened to such a man.
He promised no would let no such thing befall on him.
True knights were men to be scorned, they were fools who surrendered their desires for empty ideals such as honor. It would have been humorous if such expectations did not befall him.
He was not going to be another Sword of the Morning. That was the only oath he would ever make. He would be no shining star, no his would be a black star. A darkstar.
"We're here." A loud, hoarse voice called out amid the banging of his cabin's door.
Damned sellsails. They were rude to the very core.
He admitted he was expecting Dragonstone to be an unimpressive holding, yet he couldn't help but admire the aesthetics of the castle. He strode in on top of his horse, flanked on the sides by men serving the Daynes of Starfall. The sigils of the silver sword crossed with the silver falling star were waving madly as the spring gale blew pass them.
Dragonstone was a Targaryen castle. Its stone was dark as night, its walls watched over by evil looking sentinels that were in the visage of the foulest creatures. The charcoal clouds that clung over them had allowed very few pockets of sunlight to pierce through, amplifying the dread of Dragonstone even more.
Even the sounds were haunting, the wind passed through the many holes and juts within the black stone, it was less of a winds whistle and more like the damned screams of the wretched and the lost.
He was not afraid. In truth, he was taking notes, he had hoped he would be able to have High Hermitage emulate this nightmarish citadel. He liked this castle. A dark place for a dark heart.
They passed underneath the gates, underneath the maw of a bellowing dragon. They entered grounds of the main keep and saw him standing quietly.
Stannis Baratheon painted a grim figure. He had a scowl on his face, as if he felt this was a waste of his time. Standing by his side was a scruffy looking man and a beautiful blond Andal looking woman, attended by a gaggle of handmaidens.
Well this wasn't going to be as boring as he thought it would be.
Gerold Dayne dismounted, bowed with flourish and spoke in his most dramatic voice.
"My name is Gerold Dayne, lord of High Hermitage. I am honored that the great Lord Stannis Baratheon, brother of our great king finds me worthy as a squire." He knelt and bowed his head as low as he could, hiding his cringing face from him.
"I have no use for petty words. Come we must train." Gerold's head darted up, his silver hair broken by a streak of midnight black falling over his eyes.
"Just within my arrival? No feast? No respite from the long journey? No offer of even bread and salt?" Stannis looked at him with a look of disgust.
"You are here to be a knight, hence I shall treat you as one. We will train at the yard. You will have your feast, bread and salt and rest If I judge you worthy." Gerold bit his tongue. It was too early for scathing japes.
Well then it looks like this Stannis Baratheon has proven every bit the martinet his distant uncle said he was.
He felt the muddy ground striking his back, as he wheezed out a cry. A powerful and potent hatred growing within his heart. Stannis did not even use his sword that time. He instead had grabbed him by the back of his neck, lifted him up and threw him down like a girl's doll.
Red flooded his vision as he wiped away the mud from his face. Stannis Baratheon stared emptily at him. Wearing greaves, vambraces, boots and dark chainmail. They were using practice swords, well he was using a practice sword. Stannis was relying on his fists.
He stood up, panting loudly with a phlegm ridden throat. He roared out and charged at him. The way he used the blade, it would have been swung at his neck, if Stannis had not charged as well and elbow him on the chest.
Gerold Dayne fell on the muddy grounds of the Bitter Stag's gallows. They had been sparring over two hours now.
Gerold's sweat intermingled with the dirt, he looked up from his kneeling position and took a glance at his onlookers on top the benches.
Davos Seaworth was a scruffy looking man who should have never been knighted and remained a smallfolk smuggler. Ilyn Payne looked onwards with a dispassionate eye.
Cersei Lannister had a disgusting sneer on her face that he would love very much to wipe off. The handmaiden who was her pale imitation looked onwards with anxiety. The tall, ugly one looked bored. The one with the nice freckles seemed entranced, but the one wearing the veil.
He hated her the most, for he could not scarcely imagine what sort of face she wore underneath that cloth.
They were all judging him, it only made him angrier. They would rue this day, rue ever underestimating Darkstar.
He stared at his combatant, his dark purple eyes glowing with fury.
"I see eyes that wish to kill staring at me." Stannis spoke out, his nerves as steel even with the boy's attempts in murdering him.
"If only that desire translated into action." Gerold's eyes widened in utter rage and he let out another cry, repeating his last maneuver and Stannis doing the same. Then at the last moment he suddenly changed trajectory, moving to the side and trying to catch his torso with a sword. Only for Stannis to do respond as before and have his gauntlet meet Gerold's face.
He was sent sprawling unto the ground once more.
"That was an improvement, yet again you make the same mistake. You focus too much on thinking of trying to hurt me instead of doing it." He got up, his labored breaths were painful now.
He stood up slowly, staring at the man he had quickly learned to despise with a passion.
He held tightly the hilt of his sword, he raised his sword.
All present expecting him to repeat his futile attack a third time. Stannis was the only exception and it proved the wisest decision as he dodged the practice sword flying towards his face. The Dayne boy was not letting him have clemency as he jumped towards him. His fist aimed directly at the throat.
Stannis answered his wild attack with the appropriate response.
He whipped out his arm , catching the flying boy by the throat who landed with a loud and painful thud on the earth.
"I-I yield." Gerold Dayne barely breath out, grasping his throat for scant precious air.
"You have done well." Was all Stannis said.
Gerold Dayne did not know if he had failed or passed his new mentor's judgment. He was too much in pain to really care.
"You attack wantonly." Stannis said whilst he took a bite out of the roast of beef, encrusted with herbs and garlic.
"Nary a care for your surrounding nor circumstance." Stannis said while he chewed the tough but delicious meat, swallowing it even though it was incredibly painful for him to do.
"Clouded by wild emotion and reckless rage." He took a large gulp out of the tankard of ale. It tasted like piss, but it helped mitigate the pain.
"I see potential." Gerold Dayne almost spat out the ale he was drinking.
He looked at the man who remained the dark and emotionless lord that greeted him on that yard and who gave him the thrashing of a lifetime.
"I do not understand." Stannis and the young Dayne were seated much closer to each other. Davos was seated by his side while Cersei was directly opposite of them. The onion knight shared the boy's surprise whilst Cersei just curiously raised her brow.
"It is good that you have displayed all of your flaws at once, this means I now know how to mold your development into a knight." Gerold internally laughed at that, as if Stannis Baratheon had the means to do so.
"You seem awfully pleased with yourself. That is good. You will need that positivity for the morrow's training." All color drained from Darkstar's face at the mention of morrow's training.
He had stalked her, ever since sup was finished. It was nearing midnight; he had spied her walking. Now they were within the gardens. She was busily stuck in her own world, unmindful of her surroundings. She bent down and smelled the roses that were now in bloom, he wondered if she was capable of smelling it all through that veil.
Now was his chance.
"Beautiful flowers aren't they?" She stood at attention, turned and face him.
"M-My lord Dayne." Her voice was painful to his ears, it was so high-pitched and sweet.
"Forgive me my lady but you have me at a disadvantage. You know my name but not I of yours." She locked her fingers with one another, fidgeting like a rustling fall leaf.
He liked her dress, all black with some grey in between. Her blouse seemed a size too big for her, making her look fat.
"N-Nerissa Banefort." She sputtered out, he gave her is most charming smile.
It only agitated her.
"Hold my lady. Stay calm, I do not mean to harm you." This girl was a queer one, she was terrified of him. Normally he would have enjoyed it but he wasn't sure what she was actually frightened of.
"I-I'm sorry my lord I have t-" He grabbed her wrist as she tried to retreat. She struggled with the fury of a trapped boar.
"M-My lord please I beseech you let me go!" The girl begged with horror in her voice.
Darkstar ignored her protestations, merely rubbing his fingers over her dainty wrists.
"So smooth, they shine under the moonlight. Why do you not show them more often?" She squeaked, breathing quickly with panicked gasps.
Where Westermen woman so prudish as to not appreciate a handsome Dornish squire?
"Lord Dayne please." He placed his hand on her face trying to tear off the veil that hid away his prize. She froze like a statue, all the fight from her disappearing
"No. I beg and plead don't remove it." He felt her tremble at his touch, as if he was about to rape her. It offended him, the Darkstar was too handsome to depend on such crude methods.
"Away!" Maybe it was his utter focus on trying to discover what was hidden behind that veil, but even he should have not have let a maiden head-butt him on the cheek without him noticing it.
Both of them had found themselves planted into the garden soil. He looked towards the girl who had just rudely launched herself at him. From the way her face contorted into pain as she rubbed her temples, it was obvious it hurt her more than it hurt him.
Not even a day and already Stannis' training seemed to have already blossomed within him.
"Away you nasty brute!" The girl with freckles and a reddening temple yelled out as Nerissa quickly retreated behind her.
"My thanks Shierle." The Banefort girl squeaked in relief.
Darkstar spat out a wad of blood.
"I only wanted to see her pretty face." He said with a frightening smile.
"I-I shant let a beast like you harm my friend!" Her bravery was already falling apart it as he flashed her his predatory grin.
Fortunately for them and unfortunately for him reinforcements were quickly incoming.
Following behind them was Cersei Lannister and the other two handmaidens, along with the intimidating presence of Ser Illyn Payne. The Lannister lioness raised her golden lashes, overseeing the scene and trying to make sense of what was transpiring.
"What have you been doing to my handmaidens?" Cersei said with cold voice.
He smiled, trying to regain what dignity he had left.
"I was merely asking the lady Banefort some questions." Cersei transfixed her gaze on the sobbing girl, Shierle hugging her tightly.
"H-He tried to take my veil!" Darkstar scowled, why was that such a ghastly thing? A maiden is supposed to show her lovely face, not hide it like some horrible crone.
"My lord Dayne, taking a maiden's possessions without her permission is quite discourteous. How do you expect yourself to become a knight with such breach of chivalry?" He didn't like her look, that look of haughty contempt. He had already seen enough of that at Starfall.
"A maiden? She dresses more like a Silent Sister than any sort of maiden I know. Can you blame a poor squire to make such a mistake?" Cersei's eyes narrowed like those of a lion's.
"That's quite the cruel tongue you have lord Dayne, if you're not careful you might end up like good Ser Illyn Payne" She gestured towards the man beside her.
"I assure you Lady Lion that I shant make the same mistakes as Ser Illyn. I am much too clever for that." Ser Illyn had managed one step before Cersei raised a hand. The grim knight stayed his hand from the hilt of his blade. His sunken eyes promising painful death to the Darkstar if his mistress was not here.
"You seem to like cruelty my young lord Dayne. I wonder then if lord Stannis is truly the kind of man you should squire for." Gerold Dayne raised his eye in curiosity.
"You suggest another?" Cersei gave her a sweet smile.
"I hear Ser Gregor Clegane is looking for good cruel squires." The Darkstar's smile fell and a dark pit formed in his stomach. Everyone grew a bit more morose at the mention of the Mountain.
"My father's bannerman would love to have you under his service. It would be as simple as sending a raven to Casterly Rock and Starfall." Gerold felt beads of sweat forming on his brow, his dark eyes drilling into the Lannister bitch with fury.
Gregor Clegane was a dangerous man; worse, his name carried a certain taboo in Dorne. Even if he survived his squireship, the fact he squired with the murderer of the beloved Elia Martell meant only the Stranger was left for him in Dorne. What made her threat worse was that the Lannister whore had the means to commit such a deed. He was confident the main house would have gladly let it happen if it ended with him far away from Dorne.
Damned lions.
"What say you Darkstar?" He resisted the urge to speak out spiteful curses. He was getting ahead of himself for incurring the wrath of a Lannister.
"I apologi- "Cersei raised her hand.
"Not to me. To my loyal retainers." He bit his tongue, and turned slowly. First to the Banefort girl.
"I… apologize Lady Nerissa. I have gone beyond the bounds of accepted courtesy. I humbly …. beg for your forgiveness." Every word made him feel sicker. The Darkstar did not apologize, but the Darkstar also didn't like having his head smashed in or having his meals poisoned by a Red Viper.
"And to you…. lady."
"Shierle Swyft." He looked at her heart shaped face, her dainty aquiline nose, her brown freckles and her bright hazel eyes. He would remember her face.
Darkstar was not one who let grudges lie. She had just made a foe for life.