ARTHUR DAYNE

Day 3, 11th Moon, 275 AC

Below the deck of Star Chaser, Arthur reached through the narrow half-door and stroked the white neck of his restless sand steed. A faithful stallion. He'd been a gift from a friend the year Arthur was dubbed, alongside two fellow squires, a knight of Westeros.

This voyage was the sand steed's first; the turning tide's rougher waters unsettled the horse. There was a name Elia had given it as a foal, but knights were advised against naming their mounts. The death of a loyal friend was a painful thing. He had two. A black destrier, once Alijah's jousting mount until Father had abdicated lordship of Starfall.

Arthur stepped closer and stroked its whithers to comfort the creature. It nudged him with its nose, making him chuckle. After one more stroke, he patted the neck.

"There we go," he murmured. "Not far now." In the next stall of the ship was his black destrier; he rubbed its nose. "You're a good girl."

Destriers were the tallest, most robust, splendid breed of horse but scarcely used in war; the high-spirited creatures were well-trained but quite expensive. Thus reserved for tourneys.

Outside Dorne's heat, the destriers, coursers and chargers were favoured. Warhorses. Capable of bearing an armoured knight and wearing their own. Carrying an armoured knight was a sand steed's limit

Although shorter and unable to bear armour, sand steeds could outrun all others. They were endurance and beauty that varied in colour, even fiery red; Oberyn's was black-bodied but had a mane and tail of flame. Dorne's renowned horses were said to run for a day and night, needing only a few drinks. Their smaller and elegant frames were to thank for that, if true.

Ashara's grey sand steed with its snowy mane made no fuss; he left the grey mare alone.

Out of the cargo hold and on deck, he stood at the bow and gazed ahead. In the moonlight, features glinted, and naked fires shone around the Old Palace. Steel, gold and coloured glass decorated with pale marble. Within, a person or two had a flame still lit. But Star Chaser was too distant to identify the minor details.

In the darkness, the ship-shaped rock of Sunspear was similar to ships at a port. What appeared to be the mast and sails were, in fact, the Old Palace atop the hill. Arrival by the morning would be a safe wager.

Feminine steps approached his side. "Son," Mother's voice lowly said, a hand joined his own on the railing. "It seems I'm not the only one who can't sleep."

"My mind's too busy," he said and glanced her way. Ashara had Mother's face and figure, but Father's Dayne fair skin and the purple eyes of his bloodline. Mother's eyes and skin were brown.

She moved along the railing until they stood shoulder to shoulder. "Hmmm…Your father spoke with me the day after your ceremony. At the feast, there might be a way to persuade the family who refused a betrothal to you. Not every fight is won with a sword," she said.

He met her eyes and a small but loving smile. "It's unlikely they won't attend. But the House's head said no, Mother. Don't you think I should respect that?"

"We taught all of you to be respectful, Arthur, and I would agree, had you received a reply to your raven," Mother pointed out and brushed something off his shoulder. "Silence isn't necessarily rejection. Ravens are clever, but that doesn't make them perfect. Something could have happened."

Arthur was silent. Hope flickered in his chest. "I pray that's true," he murmured and turned bodily to Mother. "But if they received the raven, what are you suggesting that will make a difference? I have nothing to offer a house."

Mother cupped his cheek. "Arthur, you do. You're a man any goodmother would be glad to have for their daughter. As my boys, you and Alijah never fought – that I know of – and jealousy was never a part of you. Just as arrogance was never a trait of Alijah. It was discouraged." She embraced him and let go, taking his hand.

"The feast is in seven days, Mother. Seven days," Arthur said. Sails snapped in the wind. "You think I have a chance. But how? What are you saying?"

His mother calmly smiled, looping her arm around his. "Come with me." Arthur cooperated with Mother's pull and walked along the deck. "Convincing your fair lady's family is possible yet. Who is she, Arthur?"

Arthur swallowed and gazed out to sea. "I'd prefer not to say. Embarrassed or ashamed is far from it, but if they still say 'no', I'd rather not be reminded with pity later."

Gentle fingers touched his arm. "I understand. Is there anything you'll share about her? Interests, personality, or what you like most about her?" Mother's smile was kind and grew when he nodded.

"She's…," he began as he attempted to summarise her in his mind. "A list of words never does anyone justice, but my sand steed was raised by her. I had to teach him to stop seeking treats in my pockets, but he's a good stallion," he said while his lips curved into a smile.

Mother chuckled, and Arthur turned. She was smiling, amused.

"What? She finds joy in training foals. Mine was her second one." Upon receiving the white sand steed, he'd ridden it to Sunspear. He smiled. Upon arrival, he had borne witness to her joy with a red sand steed, either two or three years old.

"Your heart has been stolen," Mother said, slowing her pace. "She seems like an interesting lady, Arthur." They neared the doors of the family cabins. "Was your sand steed a purchase? Raising a horse to behave well takes years of effort."

He shook his head. "He was delivered to me at Godsgrace as a gift. Just old enough to ride. In her letter, she was proud of training him but couldn't bring him herself. That was two years ago."

Mother paused and gave her full gaze. "Two years ago? You were first knighted at Godsgrace then." She stopped walking and grasped a handle. "Wait here," his mother said and slipped inside her and Father's quarters.

The lapping of water against the ship was peaceful in the moonlit darkness. The breeze blew consistently; thus, the sails rarely snapped. When a door closed, light steps came to Arthur's side.

Although she was silent, Arthur followed Mother to his own quarters, but the door remained closed. The lavender robe he'd worn when dubbed The Sword of the Morning rested within her arms.

"Wear this during our stay. It was still in your wardrobe at home after you'd packed." She passed it to him. "The feast is for a true knight, but only we know you're The Sword of the Morning now. This should solve that." Mother rested her hand atop his. "I will do everything I can to help you, Arthur."

Arthur gazed at the formal silk robe and met Mother's eyes. "Thank you, but tomorrow," he said. "I don't want to seem arrogant."

Mother had a fond smile and hugged him. "That's my son…try and get some sleep, Arthur."

"And you, Mother."

Entering his quarters, Arthur bedded down for what remained of the late night. Star Chaser would be noisy in a matter of hours.

Voices. Shouted commands interrupted something he couldn't recall as it slipped away. It was a good something, though. Sunlight poured through his window. The ship barely rocked; they'd made port. He rose and dressed, the robe from earlier folded within a satchel.

Opening his quarters' door revealed the crew unloading the ship. On the wharf, his family sat conversing under the shade of a stationary palanquin. Midday heat had yet to appear, so it was still morning.

Getting out of the crewmen's way, Arthur joined his family until it was time to make for the Old Palace. Alijah got off the seat and took his sand steed's reins and those of Ashara's. From Father, Arthur accepted those of his destrier and sand steed. The destrier would go to King's Landing with him and the possible tourney at Lannisport afterwards.

Alijah and Arthur followed the palanquin on foot, for sailing briefly removed balance from all creatures, even horses. The brothers bantered when a flicker of colour drew Arthur's eye; someone ran uphill ahead of the party.

Through the final of three parallel gatehouses of Sunspear, they entered the Old Palace's yard, where their host awaited them. Princess Mariah, with her right flanked by her consort and most of their children, Prince Doran and Princess Elia. The youngest prince was absent, likely still exiled across the Narrow Sea; Prince Oberyn.

Flanking Princess Mariah's left stood a man of a similar age. Her younger brother, Prince Lewyn. A woman slightly behind him, Freya, his paramour.

Dorne was a hot region; thus, greetings were typically done inside. Once pleasantries were exchanged and Guest Right invoked with bread and salt, Arthur and his family were shown to their guest apartments in the Tower of the Sun. Today they would settle in.

Arthur ducked through Alijah's open door. "Alijah," he said, eyes on his brother unpacking.

Alijah looked up. "Arthur. Going to ponder at the stables?"

"Aye. Will you tell the others?"

"Of course. They'll probably guess themselves, though."

Arthur quirked a smile. "Thank you."

Alijah gave one back and nodded.

He quickly left Alijah's bedchamber and made for the yard. On the far side stood the stables. Attached was a small paddock with sand steeds of varying ages. Among them roamed a red one roughly five years old. It could be the same one from two years ago.

Through the stables' side door, his white sand steed entered the paddock, following the lady who'd given the stallion to Arthur.

Her black hair gathered in a simple braid, the light olive skin of her slender neck left bare. "Glacier. He's been looking after you, hasn't he?" she said to it. The sand steed put its nose into her hand, and she grinned. "You recognise me, don't you?" She stroked his neck. "Glad to be off the ship, I wager. Hope you were good."

Arthur entered the stables and sought the stall for his destrier. A huff made him turn. From a stall's half door, his black mare had poked her head out. He petted the neck and watched Princess Elia assess the white sand steed she'd raised. Her back partly to him. A slim silhouette created by the sun and translucent clothes.

The stallion trotted away, joining the others outside. Princess Elia's back to the stables. She stood with her arms at her waist. "I will miss this," she murmured and knelt when a black yearling came to her for attention. "No lord will indulge a wife interested in horseflesh, Storm," she said softly, stroking the mane.

Arthur gave his destrier mare one more pat and approached the princess's side within the paddock. "Can I help, Elia?"

Her head turned, her lips parted, and surprise spread across her features. "Oh, hello, Arthur." She stood and brushed herself off. "Just thinking aloud about the future."

Scratching his neck, Arthur cleared his throat. "My apologies. I'll come back later." He stepped away. "The stables are where I think best." Arthur turned to go and suppressed a sigh. He was no lord. It was too late.

"Arthur, wait," Elia said, soft fingers taking his hand. With a turn, he met her black eyes. "Please. Don't go on my account." She led him into the shade beside the stables.

"If you're sure," He leaned against the fencing. Then, steeling himself, Arthur swallowed; never addressing the matter would leave him wondering. "You spoke of lords and missing this, raising horses," he said and looked at her. "I hope your betrothed won't object to it."

"Betrothed?" Elia shook her head. "Arthur, I'm not…I don't have a betrothed."

Hope rekindled, but he tried not to be noticeable. Finally, Elia turned to him, smiling as she sat on a stone bench. "I'm glad you're here," she said. "It's been too long." Elia mock-pouted. "You hardly visit."

He quirked a smile and sat beside her. "Being on opposite sides of Dorne doesn't make that easy." A jape sprang forth. "However, you do watch jousting tourneys hoping I fall off."

She turned incredulous. "Are you serious?" Elia asked but shook her head. "Mayhaps I watch to ensure I'm properly training my foals to behave," she said, smiling innocently.

He raised an eyebrow. "Or both?"

Her face filled with mirth, and Elia laughed. A gentle melody. "Really, Arthur? What kind of friend do you take me for?" She rose and led him into the stables. With her soft black eyes upon him, Elia smiled. "Japing aside, I'm happy for you. A true knight at seven-and-ten; your family would be proud. I know they are."

Arthur nodded while humility and honesty warred within him. Telling the truth now could be seen as arrogance, but he did not desire to lie to her.

His elbow received a light squeeze, and Elia appeared concerned. "What is it, Arthur?"

"Nothing bad; the opposite, actually." He gave a quick smile and checked the yard. It was getting busy. "And I owe you an explanation about something else. Could we go for a ride nearby? I'd rather not be overheard."

Elia's gaze was curious, but she nodded. "Of course. Oberyn and I found a place years ago; it's appropriate," she said but paused and looked to the Old Palace. "Meet here in twenty minutes? I'm expected for a discussion, but it shouldn't take long."

"No problem. If it takes longer, Elia, don't worry. I'll be here giving this one," he rested his hand on his destrier. "…some much-deserved attention."

She smiled and stroked the black horse. "Hopefully, it will be brief, Arthur." When he gave her a nod, she went on her way. Elia encountered and spoke to a servant, who made for the stables while Elia continued on to the palace.

Arthur remained for a minute but returned to the palace. Within his bedchamber, he opened a satchel. A lavender Sword of the Morning silk robe folded neatly inside. Satisfied, he slung the bag onto his shoulder and opened his balcony door to let the morning breeze in.

Passing through the halls on his way back, he paused where Mother and Ashara were doing needlepoint with Princess Mariah in a spacious chamber. Arthur continued on; such activities were a time of leisure between women. He wasn't needed.

Alijah and Father were a different story. Elsewhere and out of sight, despite the midday meal to start in a few hours.

Back in the stables, he hung the satchel and assisted a stableboy with saddling a sand steed. It earned him a smile and calm conversation.

Opening the stall door of his destrier, Arthur led her to the paddock by the bridle and let her loose. She was unlikely to cause trouble among the others; good behaviour was the only kind he rewarded. Freedom after the confines of Star Chaser would make the girl happy.

A colt of two years approached him, which he petted as Elia had done to avoid snagging its mane. It was Storm, the black one. Early experiences influence a horse's future behaviour; Arthur stroked him gently.

The stableboy tethered the sand steeds to the fencing and joined Arthur's side. "Thank you for helping out," Timoth said and passed some water. "Wait…Didn't you come here with a satchel? That hook. I'll get it for you."

Timoth disappeared. No doubt, a speed developed from handling eager horses. As fast as he'd vanished, the stableboy returned and gave it to Arthur. He seemed tempted to do something, but the boy bowed his head and stood.

"I'd stay, but I've got duties inside, Ser Arthur," Timoth apologised with another shallow bow. "If you need anything, call out, and I'll get it."

Arthur cocked his head and smiled. "Thank you, Timoth. All I need is to think out here alone."

"Aye. No problem. I'll be inside."

Eyes on the horses, Arthur sat the satchel in his lap, resting his hands atop it. Inside was his chance to show the houses of Dorne that he was more than simply Alijah's younger brother. An opportunity to persuade Elia's House that Arthur was good enough. However, firstly, he would divulge everything to Elia.

Half measures weren't an option; all would need to come to light. Arthur had kept silent but shouldn't have. He ought to have known better and acted better. Especially since his sister was Ashara. He should've been more considerate and imagined the matter from a lady's position.

Ashara was a much-pursued lady. Had Father been tempted by an advantageous enough betrothal, she could've been forced into any marriage. Thankfully she hadn't. Luckily for Ashara, Alijah was solely intent on their sister's happiness with a kind and respectful man.

Elia might view him as only a good friend. If that was true, and he'd spoken to her family first, they could've their decision forced upon her. She could have resented him forever.

The mistake of sending the raven from Starfall without telling her about his intention beforehand had no excuse.

If Mother was right, and something had happened to the raven, mayhaps it'd been a blessing in disguise and a chance to do things more thoughtfully in case Elia did, in fact, see him as only a friend.

Head against the stables' wall, he sighed. As Mother had said on Star Chaser, silence after sending a raven wasn't necessarily rejection. There might be a chance for him. Humble honesty with the one he trusted was a start. He trusted Elia to keep his title quiet. She knew him better than to see honesty as arrogance.

In the corner of his eye, vibrant colour fluttered near the palace doors. He adjusted enough for a better view; Elia was donned in loose red silk, fluttering in the wind. Her shoulders were stiff, and she wiped her eye with a wary glance around the yard.

On his feet and through the stables, he encountered her at the entrance. "Elia," he said, taking her hand into his own. "Who's upset you?"

Pray not that I've caused this.

Glassy eyes met him, and she shook her head. "It's alright. Don't worry about me. What's done is done," she said and brushed something off his shoulder. "Please. One thing. You don't have to. But…"

"Whatever you need." That garnered a sweet smile from Elia.

She rested her hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eyes. "Don't be afraid of saying anything you need to at the beach, whatever it is." Her hand remained on his shoulder. "I won't interrupt." Hooves clopped behind him, but she stayed as she was. Reins were placed in his hand. "I promise, Arthur."

He tried to stop the swallow; she didn't know what she promised to hear. "Thank you. But if you want to speak-"

Elia gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze and smiled. "Arthur, you're a good man. If I need to interrupt – which I doubt – I will, but I'll repeat myself. I won't interrupt. I promise." She led the way into the yard and mounted. As did he, and they rode through Sunspear's three walls.

The beach wrapped around three-quarters of Sunspear. The easternmost side was far too steep to walk, shaped like a ship's bow. It was rock. Elia seemed confident while she led him towards it.

Arthur steeled himself. Telling Elia about being The Sword of the Morning would be last. It was easier and better news than what he needed to admit to her. Planning what must be said was more important. Phrased right, she might understand why he'd done it the way he had and not think less of him.

He dismounted at the water's edge and followed her into a crevice in the rock. It narrowed and was pitch black inside the tunnel. "Where does this go?"

"A little more…slow down here…and turn left," she said, guiding him by the hand. With each additional turn, the light slowly returned. "Oberyn rode off one day when we were little, and he found the tunnel. Oberyn being Oberyn, he kept going through what seemed endless. But it does have an end, an open one."

Beyond another turn, the tunnel ended with the echo of receding waves and shone with sunlight. The size of a spacious bedchamber but missing a fourth wall, an unimpeded view of the sea. Elia sat on the sand and dipped her bare feet in the water, her skirts at her knees.

Elia sighed. "I scarcely come here, but it makes for a nice place to think," she said, turning her dark eyes to him. He walked over, and she rested a hand beside her on the sand. "Will you join me? The water's quite cool."

Lowering himself beside her, Arthur did as she had, and he exhaled at the coolness. "It is." He took a breath. "Elia, I need to apologise. I'm not proud of how I went about something rather important." He needed to admit what he'd done. Stalling would do nothing to help.

Soft fingers touched the back of his palm and remained there. Elia was silent. Eyes watched him, and her face the epitome of patience. Elia's thumb stroked his hand in the sand, and he lifted his eyes to hers. It was pleasant but unusual for Elia. His heart pounded.

Arthur closed his eyes and gathered himself. He couldn't mess this up if they had a chance of remaining friends. Keeping his mistake a secret could come back to haunt him. He took a breath. "At the time, there were low odds of anything besides rejection. However, I received no answering raven, so there's a chance it's been refused."

Stealing a glance at Elia, there was no confusion on her face. An odd calm.

The sooner he got to the point, the better. "Elia, I wrote a raven to your mother moons ago. I never told you because I expected nothing to become of the proposition. It was a betrothal raven. As I said, I received no answer, and thankfully no one got hurt doing it that way." He shook his head and turned to her. "But that's no excuse, Elia. I should have asked how you, my friend, felt about it first. It was wrong of me to not have. I pray you can forgive me."

She lacked surprise, and neither did she speak when he paused to give her a chance to. Instead, his hand got a light squeeze, and Elia's thumb resumed running against his hand. A rhythmic and gentle stroke. If upset or startled, she would've stopped that, yet Elia continued it like nothing was wrong.

He dropped his gaze and turned towards the wash of the waves. "It's still unlikely your mother will accept the idea of a betrothal between us. That's why I never let on how I felt or courted you. I think she's rejected it, though." She deserved the words to her face, and he turned. "I should have said how I felt. I just didn't want you to get hurt if I admitted it and your mother later refused. I'm sorry. I should have asked you first."

Elia lifted his hand and held it with both of her own. "Arthur." Her black eyes met his purple. "I forgive you." She hesitated and lifted her hand to his cheek. "And Mother never received the raven. It was intercepted, read out to me recently and disposed of by someone else. I can't believe d-he interfered," she said and swallowed hard. "…do you still feel this way?"

Arthur thumbed away her fresh tear. "I do."

Hope crept into her features, a nervous smile among them. Elia's soft fingers hovered on his cheek. "I want to try and convince Mother to give you a chance, Arthur...No matter what happens in the end." Her fingers returned to sitting atop his hand. "You're a man of honour, and I've known you for years."

He released a breath. The explanation was well-received, and news of his raven failing to reach Princess Mariah kindled hope in his chest. "You're certain? I'm just a second son. Your mother might refuse a betrothal."

A smile bloomed on the princess. "I'm certain." A strand of black hair blew free, but Arthur tucked it behind her ear. Then, removing his fingers, they brushed her soft skin. Elia smiled and leaned against them as he let go. "I'm certain, Arthur. I want to try." She turned to him by the waist where she sat, and one shoulder became bare.

The dress was threatening to fall lower, held where it was by her upper arm and chest. Elia flushed, and the colour went further than her neck. Trying to lift it into place, she fumbled, but her gaze darted to the other shoulder often.

Respect was deserved by any woman, so he adjusted the silk into place and averted his eyes to her face. Most other men in this situation would've shown less restraint. Pictures flashed within his mind, and he fought to bury them.

Elia's attention was on the sea. "Thank you," she quietly said and cleared her throat with a hand to her mouth. "So, what did you bring with you? Inside that satchel? At the stables, you said you had good to tell? Is that part of it?"

Relieved, he took the strap off his shoulder but stood away from the water. "It is," he said and took the silk robe out. Arthur unfolded it and held it out to Elia with the front skyward.

She brushed the sand off her fingers and accepted it. Gaze on the front, Elia looked it over. "Someone's put a lot of effort into this." She glanced at him, confused, and turned it over. Her eyes shot to his. "You've been made The Sword of the Morning?" she asked. "It's known you're a true knight, but not also The Sword of the Morning. Congratulations, Arthur. This is fantastic. Please, let me see? Indulge me, Arthur."

He changed into it at her urging. "Thank you," he said, pausing a moment. "I want to keep this quiet until tomorrow, but I wanted to tell you the truth."

A smile shone his way, and Elia straightened the chest of the robe. "No wonder your family is proud of you. You must be proud. There hasn't been a Sword of the Morning since your grandfather. I wish I'd been there for the ceremony. It must've been beautiful."

He nodded. "I'll try my best to describe it on the way back. I had no warning it was happening until mayhaps an hour before." He glanced out to the sea. The sun was high and out of sight. "We best return," he said, taking the robe off and packing it away. "It'll be time for the midday meal when we reach the Old Palace."

Elia passed him his usual robe, which he threw over his tunic and belted close. Then, with a glance from her, they left the sanctuary via the tedious tunnel. Elia made a peculiar whistle, and their sand steeds appeared within a minute.

The journey back was free of trouble, and no one stopped him on his way to refresh and change out of the clothes smelling of horses. The midday meal passed peacefully in the Great Hall of the Old Palace. Near the end, he requested a private audience with Princess Mariah. There were no reactions from the Martell family indicating who'd disposed of his raven.

Who had made her cry?

It was afterwards that things changed, and his heart sped with nerves. Writing the original raven had taken many attempts before he'd been satisfied to send it. Now was different, though. On the other side of the doors, the ruling princess was expecting him.

What he wanted to say was simple. However, Princess Mariah was unlikely to be a patient listener like Elia. She would demand justification. And he had it with him. His Sword of the Morning robe in hand and Dawn strapped to his back. His best leverage for convincing her to consider him worthy of Elia.

Taking a breath, he went inside the solar to face the challenge. It quickly became apparent this wouldn't be easy, but he followed his mother's advice. Polite and diplomatic. Dawn and his silk ceremonial robe weren't revealed until the very end.

Princess Mariah looked at him long and hard from the seat of her solar. "In the past, many suitors for my daughter have used titles to conceal their true colours and intentions. When I see them – and I will know when I do – you will have your answer, Ser Arthur Dayne."

It wasn't much of an answer for now, but at least he was getting a chance. Not an outright rejection.