ARTHUR DAYNE
Day 8, 12th Moon, 275 AC
Within the shade of the training yard for the Kingsguard, Arthur watched them. Lewyn sparred against one with vigour; Ser Gwayne. Either man could win.
Lewyn and Arthur came daily since court a fortnight ago. Trapped, they trained against the Kingsguard in preparation for the tourney to celebrate a new Targaryen. The king had bid it. Rumours claimed Queen Rhaella's pregnancy held promise this time.
The white knights rarely smiled and normally held neutral expressions, but not this morning. Today they bore solemn looks, drained of liveliness. Seriousness was expected of the sworn brothers, but not this. Whatever prompted it, they'd kept the cause quiet within the Red Keep. A difficult feat. His eyes darted from knight to knight, seeking hints of what made them grim.
Prince Rhaegar stood on the other side of the yard; the man's eyes and body language failed to match. Normally, 'melancholic' would describe the prince. Today, however, grimness dominated the prince's face, yet not his eyes. One tell of falsehood or concealment, according to Elia's teachings.
A silhouette blocked Arthur's view, and its owner sat beside him, black hair in sweaty strands on olive skin. Prince Lewyn. The man took a waterskin and turned to him. "You'd think I was used to Hightower's hawkish eyes by now. Always watching me," said Lewyn, who drained the waterskin and locked eyes with Arthur. "Today's different, and I don't fucking like it. Ser Oswell had a dire look when we sparred earlier."
He couldn't blame Ser Oswell Whent for how he felt, especially upon learning what had happened. "I encountered Ser Oswell yesterday when he wasn't on duty," he started quietly, which Lewyn blinked at but leaned in. "Three days ago and arrived yesterday, his brother, Lord Walter Whent, sent a raven from Riverrun with terrible news. Lord Walter's last living daughter, a niece of Oswell's, Minisa, died in childbed," he whispered. "Ser Oswell said nothing else to me, but word is that the other daughter died a few moons ago. A swift fever took Lady Jirelle Whent, an unwed young lady and supposed beauty."
To mourn loved ones from within the Red Keep without family or friends made him swallow. …That's undoubtedly painful. And lonely.
"Poor bastard," Lewyn breathed. "He has quite a reason then. Now, watch the rest and tell me what you see, Arthur."
Dropping his gaze to the sparring sword in his lap, he ran his fingers along the hilt. "Prince Rhaegar's expression is forced, unlike the Kingsguard. He's pretending."
A huff came from beside him. "They're all a serious lot any day, but you're right about Targaryen," Lewyn said with a touch of pride. "Elia's teaching you well."
He smothered a smile. "Her advice is invaluable. The scheming in the Red Keep. I'd have missed much of it without Elia's instruction."
"Hmm. Learning to survive this pit takes time," Lewyn said, getting up. A hand grasped Arthur's shoulder. "Look out for yourself, Arthur. It shows."
He glanced up from the sparring sword. "What does?"
Lewyn frowned and sighed. "Your movements are calm, but that stiff back. Don't let concern make you tense. Relax." Lewyn released Arthur's shoulder and stepped back. "Slightly better. Eye the yard, and you'll see something, but relax that back," he said and approached one of the Kingsguard. Ser Gerold nodded and raised his sparring sword as Lewyn neared.
The waterskin in Arthur's hand dwindled while he noted their surroundings. Ser Gwayne drank on the other side. Prince Rhaegar's sword flashed with sunlight against a Kingsguard knight, Ser Oswell, oddly one of four instead of five knights. An audience lingered near three windows. Lewyn sparred against Ser Gerold instead of his typical Kingsguard opponent. Jon Connington's attention stayed firmly on Prince Rhaegar; those eyes followed every move the prince made. Connington behaved like a dog seeking praise.
The fourth and final sworn brother present was Ser Barristan Selmy. A true knight like Ser Gerold and Arthur. Since boyhood, he'd pursued emulating the inspiring knight. A just man, and honourable. Ser Barristan observed Lewyn's movements against Ser Gerold. When either man turned the fight in their favour, the true knight smiled slightly. An odd interest. Yesterday, Ser Barristan had sparred against Lewyn in a hard-won victory against the Dornish prince's strategies. Whilst training, Prince Rhaegar typically had the man's attention.
Arthur, finishing his water, glanced from knight to knight and Prince Rhaegar. The knights often watched the prince training for knighthood or Lewyn spar while they rested. Prince Rhaegar ignored all but his sparring opponent. However, every Kingsguard brother in the yard watched, if not the crown prince, one of the two Dornishmen; himself and Lewyn.
He suppressed a shiver and rose. Approaching Ser Barristan, he kept his back to Prince Rhaegar, who improved every day. Whatever the knights of the Kingsguard taught Rhaegar Targaryen, he trained countless hours to master. Indisputable determination.
Scheming lurked everywhere in the Red Keep, and everyone. Whatever goal the prince currently pursued, he lacked any clue on what it was and that made energy roil within him.
A flash blinded him and his sword arm shot up. Metal sang against metal. Painful vibrations rang through his arms, and once the light faded Ser Barristan gave a genuine apologetic smile. Arthur swallowed. The older knight now likely concluded he had held back in his spars for the past fortnight.
Ser Barristan backed a step. "Apologies, Ser Arthur, I believed you were ready," his war hero said, withdrawing his sword. "Impressive reflexes though."
Arthur glanced over his shoulder towards Prince Rhaegar, who faced away from the sparring true knights. Exhaling, Arthur lowered his sword and stepped closer to the older knight. "Thank you, Ser Barristan," he murmured while pride stirred in his chest. "That means more than you know." He swallowed and took a slow breath, his gaze steady on him. "But I ask one thing."
The face of his boyhood hero was solemn but curious; no typical concealment of expression that courtiers used. This man never did. Ser Barristan's eyes darted around the yard but returned to him. "It's urgent and for my ears alone, isn't it?" Ser Barristan asked, and he nodded. "Follow me to Maegor's Holdfast."
The pair of true knights left with nary a word; Dawn strapped to Arthur's back as always. Occasionally, he stole a glance towards the renowned knight, who'd said nothing since entering the Red Keep. Aside from greetings in passing, scarcely a word passed between them.
Traversing the halls, Arthur fought the itch of asking the most renowned and living knight questions. Elia's voice echoed in his head – 'Being open about your thoughts will make you vulnerable in the Red Keep. Hiding them shall protect you, Arthur.' And so he remained silent.
The white ornamentation ahead and what it represented tightened his core. While an honourable duty, he no longer wanted it. Arthur exhaled and relaxed his face. Drawing attention wouldn't help. If someone learned of his discomfort, it could have an impact later. A person might suspect and spread rumours for an agenda. By the gods, he hated politics.
Ser Barristan led him into the White Sword Tower's Round Room, the tower's common area. A cool breeze blew through its windows. Every aspect of it was white, sparse and simple; wood, walls, and furniture. A weirwood table with masterful artistry and craftsmanship sat in the centre, the only exception from simplicity yet unfailingly white.
Ser Barristan closed the Round Room's door, entry to White Sword Tower. "No one would hear us at this time," he assured. "What need I know, Ser Arthur? Is the royal family in danger?"
"No, but I worry for Prince Rhaegar."
"Why? I ask you to speak plainly. I am a knight, not a man of politics."
Arthur eased. "This," he said, removing Dawn's scabbard from his person. "Dawn. When the prince and I first met, he wanted a live steel spar against Dawn. Only swift words reaching me prevented last time," he said and the white knight remained attentive. "Prince Rhaegar pursues it still," he added.
The blond knight stilled and grew grim. "The Kingsguard and master-at-arms would never advocate a live steel spar. Live steel is for true combat, not training," Ser Barristan said.
He tensed on the inside. His ancestral sword was pursued by the prince avidly despite everything. He cleared his throat. "Nonetheless, one mistake and Prince Rhaegar could get injured, and I executed for it. Ser Barristan, please, convince him to stop seeking a live steel spar with me. If he listens to any knight, he'll listen to you."
Ser Barristan blinked, and a lip twitch fell into a frown. "The confidence is appreciated, but I'm afraid you're wrong."
Arthur opened his mouth, but the war veteran shook his head. In defeat, he averted his gaze. Prince Rhaegar's persistence would eventually succeed with no intervention to help him.
"It is not me," Ser Barristan said, voice filling the silence. He whipped his head to meet the older knight's gaze. "But I know someone who he might heed."
A rush of air left him and the weight melted from his shoulders. "Will they succeed? Will they act if you deliver my words?" A hand on his shoulder led him to a seat at the weirwood table, shaped like a curved three-sided shield. Upon Arthur setting Dawn on the table, the other true knight sat beside him.
Ser Barristan met his eyes. "They would act, but I won't promise success, for I won't lie. As a fellow true knight, swear what you said was the truth."
He nodded stiffly. "I swear it. Every word, Ser Barristan."
"Very well. I shall deliver the message," the white knight said with a decisive expression. "Until I have done so, I need you to remain here for the prince's safety. It is unusual and unlikely of him to come here."
"I shall. Should I inform my wife and Prince Lewyn to expect my absence?"
The noble man had a hint of a smile but his eyes held deep-seated sorrow. He shook his head. "That won't be necessary, Ser Arthur. Sooner is wisest for this matter; I ask only for patience here in White Sword Tower until I return."
This was the best chance he had of staving off Prince Rhaegar's pursuit to spar against Dawn, so smiled in thanks.
Ser Barristan rose from his seat. "You're welcome to read The Book of the Brothers, the White Book, Ser Arthur, to pass the time should you wish. Be careful if you do; the deeds of every Kingsguard knight are in that book," he said and gestured at the book on the table's centre.
He nodded to the Kingsguard knight and chose his words with caution. "Should I, Ser Barristan, it won't be damaged." That ought to suffice as respectful but absent of overt interest.
The knight nodded and left through the singular means into and out of White Sword Tower.
When the steps' echo ceased, he rose and removed his gloves. In a corner stood a handbasin with a lingering scent of lemon when he neared. Alone but limited to the common area, he refreshed himself and threw a glance at the door. It stood ajar. Arthur closed it to conceal his presence. Lifting Dawn from the table, he secured it back on and tucked his gloves beneath its strap.
On the weirwood table sat the White Book. The deeds of Kingsguard knights, past and present. The acts of the knight he'd admired as a child and respected as a man. Opening it with a gentle hand to the right page, Arthur leaned over the table. No one would witness Arthur reading this book now.
Ser Barristan Selmy
Ser Barristan of House Selmy. Firstborn son of Ser Lyonel Selmy of Harvest Hall. Served as squire to Ser Manfred Swann. Named "the Bold" in his 10th year, when he donned borrowed armour to appear as a mystery knight in the tourney of Blackhaven, where he was defeated and unmasked by Duncan, Prince of Dragonflies.
Knighted in his 16th year by King Aegon V Targaryen, after performing great feats of prowess as a mystery knight in the winter tourney at King's Landing, defeating Prince Duncan the Small and Ser Duncan the Tall, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.
Slew Maelys the Monstrous, the last of the Blackfyre Pretenders, in single combat during the War of the Ninepenny Kings. Defeated Lormelle Long Lance and Cedrik Storm, the Bastard of Bronzegate. Named to the Kingsguard in his 23rd year, by Lord Commander Ser Gerold Hightower. Defended the passage against all challengers in the tourney of the Silver Bridge. Victor in the mêlée at Maidenpool.
It was much to live up to. He and Ser Barristan were both true knights, but Ser Barristan deserved the title far more. And so long as Arthur kept to his morals, he hoped to prove himself just as worthy of 'true knight' as Ser Barristan Selmy.
When Arthur was two, his hero slew Maelys Blackfyre the Monstrous in the war at twenty-three. Fifteen years later, Arthur still aspired to be as great as him.
Keyword 'aspired'. As a boy, and before the opportunity to marry Elia, Arthur imagined himself as a sworn brother of the Kingsguard while Alijah ruled Starfall, and Ashara married a good man. It had been the best situation that he once believed for himself; because no one wants a second son who inherits nothing.
But things changed. A real chance for him to marry a kind and spirited woman who didn't care that he was a second son. He held new desires. Return to Dorne, and ask Princess Mariah Martell for her blessing. Marry Elia, and remain a true knight of Westeros worthy of his titles. He didn't need a white cloak; a deed was a deed.
Wandering around, he took a good look at what he once imagined as his eventual home. Still possible, if he didn't leave King's Landing. Arthur ran a hand through his hair.
White wool hangings on the whitewashed stone walls. Above the hearth sat a white shield with two crossing longswords. The weirwood table, a three-sided shield in shape, stood with three white stallions for legs. Three chairs on each curved side and one at the straight top with a blanched cowhide cushion; seat of the Lord Commander.
A sparse room. And if he predicted the rest of the tower based on the Round Room, the bedchambers of the Kingsguard contained bare essentials.
With little to do, he perused the White Book entries of the current Kingsguard. Each with highlights, but Ser Barristan's stood out. Turning to read the entries of the youngest existing members, he turned one page too many. His jaw dropped in horror.
.
Prince Lewyn Martell
.
No writing, just the Martell sigil on the top left corner and the Kingsguard's white on the top right. However, Elia's uncle's name was dry and in thick writing. Certainly no accident. It needed a reason to be there. Tradition limited the Kingsguard to only seven knights since Aegon the Conquerer formed it; nearly three centuries of tradition.
Going back eight pages, he read the bottom line of each member. Harlan Grandison still lived, according to the book. He knew from this morning another four lived; Hightower, Whent, Gaunt and Selmy. Those he hadn't seen this morning were Charlton and Ball. He opened their pages and read the bottom lines.
.
Ser Amos Charlton
…
…
….captured the elusive outlaw with no injury to innocent citizens.
.
Ser Bryce Ball
…
…
…While successfully protecting an ailing Ser Amos Charlton during their return to King's Landing, Ser Bryce Ball was injured in the process, and after being deemed fit for duty at the Red Keep, an unidentified illness took him in his bed shortly after in his 72nd year.
.
He hardly dared to breathe. Flipping the page after Lewyn's, it was blank. No sigils and no name. No 'Ser Arthur Dayne' staring him in the face.
While that allowed him to sigh and calm somewhat, he went to the window overlooking the Kingsguard's training yard. Only Lord Commander Ser Gerold Hightower remained down there and sparred against Lewyn.
Arthur, Elia and Lewyn once chose a bird whistle for warnings of trouble, but the noise coming from the White Sword Tower would arouse suspicion. And Lewyn couldn't flee unless he wanted trouble with King Aerys II; a king already unpredictable on a regular day.
Without the king's decree that Arthur trained here in preparation for the tourney, he would've damned the prince's obsession, sought out Elia, and fled. Pointless pondering, for he was to either obey the king or face the dangerous man's wrath. Defy him, and King Aerys II could directly punish him or indirectly by harming Elia. He refused that risk.
If Ser Oswell hadn't persuaded Alijah into making the lie about Arthur and Elia being married, Elia could have fled without him. Few would bat an eye. The Red Keep's court cared little about Dorne, except wanting to know why Dornishmen were in King's Landing. The one time they bothered.
But what is so bad that a knight of the Kingsguard urged me to leave or lie to the king about being married? The current members of the Kingsguard, despite their ages all exceeding thirty, were of the best and most respectable swordsmen he'd met. Of what he'd seen, none of their orders were disgraceful.
Unless he didn't know something. Logic suggested Ser Oswell desired to spare him from some matter. A sworn brother of the Kingsguard kept their oaths of service until the Stranger took them, protecting their king, on the battlefield, or abed. A Kingsguard knight lived a life of devotion and sacrifice, a feat admired, and there were songs about the best, such as Ser Barristan the Bold.
They protected Westeros's royal family, as demonstrated by Ser Barristan's concern when he spoke of the prince's reckless, dangerous desire. Good men who saw to every threat.
Whatever Ser Oswell's reason, Arthur must act with caution when training from here on. In the yard, any skills he displayed were on par with the prince's, never superior. Any measure to make him less appealing to the Kingsguard and Prince Rhaegar was essential. The attention towards him was best kept to a minimum.
However, the recent revelation of Prince Rhaegar's specific interest in him and Dawn had rendered any effort near pointless. If not for Ser Amos of the Kingsguard in his weakened state, he wouldn't need to conceal his capabilities as a swordsman.
Yet, he worried. How or why were unknown, but Ser Amos Charlton fell ill recently, and if it bested him, there'd be another Kingsguard vacancy. Arthur swallowed at the prospect. Long ago, he would've welcomed it, but not now.
Matters were amiss within the Kingsguard and a real chance of happiness in Dorne. He belonged in his homeland.
Searching the Round Room for a quill and parchment, he raked his mind for an ambiguous phrase only Elia could interpret. He had to wait in White Sword Tower until Ser Barristan returned to avoid the prince. However, the knight never specified what time he could leave.
That ruled out waiting to personally tell Elia and Lewyn. A note was his best choice; they needed to know how to spend their remaining time together if nothing else.
Alone, he turned to the only source of entertainment present; the White Book. He kept an ear for servants' voices to deliver his note but yielded no success.
His note was well-dried and sealed when a handmaid entered the tower bearing two midday meals. One for him, courtesy of Ser Barristan, she said. He must've notified the kitchens. The other went upstairs, no doubt meant for Ser Amos Charlton.
The handmaid came down and made for the door but stopped when Arthur spoke, passing the note to which she nodded. He exhaled once she left. He'd done all possible considering he needed to stay here and away from Prince Rhaegar.
Much time was wasted, though.
.
ELIA MARTELL
In the bustling streets of King's Landing with a Dayne knight at her flank, she turned onto the Street of Seeds. Her uncle said Arthur left the Kingsguard training yard hours ago with Ser Barristan. Visiting Arthur's usual haunts proved useless. Her belly knotted at the unknown.
She needed to locate Ser Barristan.
Asking questions around the Red Keep would spark rumours, that'd grow into more than mere words. Courtiers had agendas. Asking one person was safer than several, if for but a time. What reached one person's ears reached another's sooner rather than later.
Since the first day in King's Landing, she and Arthur always dined together, a show of unity, so their 'marriage' became an accepted truth. Today, however, he'd been absent in the Dining Hall for the midday meal. They must be seen together to deter schemers from plotting against them.
Without the pretence, the court won't worry if Arthur was selected for the Kingsguard in the event of a death. The Stranger took everyone eventually, and most white cloaks weren't young. Death could quite possibly claim another. Should King Aerys II command a married man to join the Kingsguard, houses would become restless, the beginning of a king's nightmare.
She must find Arthur and soon, more for their sake than King Aerys'.
Taking a breath, she suppressed the stirring in her chest and eased herself into a composed princess. Anxiety, anger, haste and distress, among other things, could be used against them should a courtier see it.
The Street of Seeds was a navigational nightmare after the midday meal. Store owners refreshed and once again promoted their goods with boisterous voices, their customers haggling for lower prices. People finished with their purchases and left with full arms while others arrived, their eyes wandering from one display to the next.
The further she ventured, Elia anticipated more volume. However, the voices grew quieter the more she walked on, except for those of minstrels. Their words reached her ears, but she sought a particular voice. Find it, and with hope, she would find Arthur.
Clinks of coin upon coin with one voice singing made hope bloom within her. Although a crowd around them, within it stood a man with notable height and armoured in white with a cloak to match. Ser Barristan. In front of him sang a head of blond-silver hair; Prince Rhaegar. It had to be, for King Aerys II ruled with an iron fist and cared little for smallfolk.
Remaining where she stood, she blinked at the controlled pitch of Prince Rhaegar's voice. As rumoured, he sang well. However, she listened to song after song and neared the knight when she could. She noted a pattern in Prince Rhaegar's song choices; they were all current Kingsguard members. An expression of admiration or gratitude mayhaps, for he trained with them each morning.
Four people still stood in her way when an unusual song made her freeze. If Prince Rhaegar was only singing about the Kingsguard, she prayed he'd simply run out of songs. However, she either missed the one about Ser Bryce or the prince excluded it from his repertoire.
She stayed for the new song's duration, her panicked mind catching the references. The most repeated were of stars, dawn and white sword. Upon its completion, Prince Rhaegar sat down; a rest and water most likely, unless he desired singing himself mute.
Ser Camren's hand grasped hers. "My Princess?" he whispered, a light grip towards the Red Keep.
The crowd thinned, and she took to the shade nearest to Ser Barristan. "In a moment, Ser Camren, I've found the man, thus pointless to leave. Wait here."
"As you wish."
Some smallfolk children near the Targaryen were smiling, and thus Prince Rhaegar's back to Elia. She wanted as private a conversation as possible, and this would have to suffice. Nearing the knight, Ser Barristan's eyes landed upon her fast. "Ser Barristan," she whispered. "Why did he sing such a song?"
"I am not privy to discuss that, Princess Elia, but I can imagine why you're here. I do apologise," he said and observed the prince for a moment but returned his attention to her. "The tower."
Elia swallowed. "No…" she breathed. "Don't do this."
Ser Barristan opened his mouth, but shifting black and red clothes prompted her to flee to avoid Prince Rhaegar's sight. Apologies from the knight meant nothing if a song about Arthur existed as though he was on the Kingsguard. Her husband-to-be. In the eyes of the court, Arthur already was.
She kept to the shadows, Ser Camren at her flank. It took little imagination to conclude what tower Ser Barristan meant.
Nearing the gates of the Red Keep, she took a breath and did her best to rid herself of tension and portray the calm, kind princess from Dorne. Barely beneficial as a Dornishwoman, but nonetheless, she did it.
Pace slow and at ease, she conversed on trivial matters with Ser Camren in the halls. No one could know her feelings and fears. If someone did, it would be exploited; unless it already was. She detoured to the Throne Room and peered inside. No gathering crowd for an impromptu court session. Mayhaps the oaths weren't yet taken.
Hall after hall, and numerous stairs, she resisted biting her lip. The few courtiers roaming the Red Keep mustn't see her uneasy emotions. She fought the persistent urge to fidget or weave her fingers. On her elbow, Ser Camren's hand constantly squeezed, slowing her down.
Arthur had accepted her for herself, not her title. A respectful, compassionate man. In the absence of a shift for bed, necessary for their pretence, his restraint never wavered, although desire burned in his eyes. The proximity showed her his true nature. An honourable man and she'd give herself to him in a heartbeat. But he wanted her mother's blessing for marriage first.
Now the Kingsguard would take him. A song already and in White Sword Tower. Fate was a cruel mistress. First, her family stood between them, and now the Kingsguard. The latter, she couldn't fight. Arthur was a man of honour and would keep vows once he swore them. Their future in Dorne was now all but dust.
White ornamentation on the outside brought a hitch to her breath; White Sword Tower. Arthur's future home. Fingers to her lips, she took a breath and forced relaxation. It wouldn't do to be a mess if Arthur hadn't taken the oaths yet. If he had, seeing her in a state would hurt him.
Soft feet echoed behind her, and she turned. A handmaid with a basket of white clothing. Instead of going onward into White Sword Tower, the woman set her basket down and approached. "Would you be Princess Elia?" she asked, with a subservient posture.
"I am. And you would be?"
"Becca, My Princess." She drew a parchment from her skirts and held it out to Elia. "Pray forgive me for not finding you sooner. I couldn't find you. This note was given to me at midday."
Accepting the note, she paused and kept it sealed. "Who wrote this?"
"Ser Arthur, My Princess," she said and approached the door. "I do know he isn't here, though." Elia stepped aside while Ser Camren gave the handmaid the basket back. "Thank you, Ser."
Note in hand, she gave the woman a smile. "Take care, Becca." Arthur wasn't in the Throne Room either.
Becca curtsied and went inside, the door closing behind her.
Alone, Elia sighed and prayed Arthur's absence in White Sword Tower meant mercy from the gods, not a deception. Walking away and opening the note, she made for her shared bedchamber, mind planning out the quickest route to check all of Arthur's haunts once more.
She tucked the note into her skirt. Courtiers would see her reaction and gossip about it if she read the note in the halls. The bedchamber was the safest place in this rat nest called King's Landing.
Haunt after haunt, and Arthur unfound, dread trickled into her heart. Her fear created words in her mind, Is he to be of the Kingsguard and why I can't find him? Hand on the note within her skirts, she hid in their bedchamber and unravelled it.
The ball descends, and the sun shall rise.
She released a breath. Arthur's note said nothing of him being made a sworn brother. On the second reading, she faltered. The speared sun was the sigil of her family. Descend meant fall, words synonymous with death. Rise implied increasing rank, power or wealth.
'Ball' likely meant Ser Bryce Ball, and 'sun' had to be Uncle Lewyn. Both were experienced swordsmen, one replacing the other. She'd witnessed Prince Rhaegar sing about all of the Kingsguard knights but for Ser Bryce Ball. While that made sense, it gave no explanation for Prince Rhaegar's unfamiliar song about Arthur.
Unless she'd been absent for a song about her uncle, either Arthur or Prince Rhaegar had their facts wrong. She prayed they both were. However, Arthur wouldn't send her information so damning without being sure. If unsure, he'd have admitted it within the note somehow.
She paced as though caged. One way or another, she would lose a loved one to the Kingsguard. She had no cousins by her uncle for a reason, but he loved Freya, who'd been by his side for as long as she could remember. An unofficial aunt to Elia.
Her heart tore inside; her uncle or Arthur would be bound to the Kingsguard until death. Guilt piled onto her shoulders for her initial relief. The family should come first. House Tully had the right of it, yet her heart pulled in opposing directions; Arthur and Uncle Lewyn.
A creak snapped her into awareness, and she pocketed the note. With a turn, her eyes landed on Arthur in lavender robes at their bedchamber door. He came and drew her into his arms; a click of the door closing and Ser Camren's steps disappearing.
Head against Arthur's chest, she closed her eyes and swallowed. "Who am I to lose, Arthur? Prince Rhaegar was singing on the streets about the Kingsguard, and he sang about you."
Arthur stiffened. "What?"
She sighed and opened her eyes to meet his. "I received your note about balls and suns just now. You mean my uncle, don't you?" Those purple eyes were solemn but sure.
A hand stroked her hair. "I am sorry, Elia. Yes. Your uncle is who I meant."
"Does he know?"
Arthur tucked her loose hair behind an ear. "I told him at the first opportunity. He's been looking for you."
She fiddled with the chest of his lavender robe. "Who told you about Uncle Lewyn being chosen?"
"The White Book has his name and sigil in it. Written thick and the ink dry." Arthur lifted her chin with a gentle finger. His eyes held a silent apology. "I'm sorry, Elia."
With her finger on his lips, she shook her head. "You didn't choose my uncle. Take not the blame for another's actions." She caressed his cheek and embraced him. "I don't know what to think or feel. Until the handmaid gave me your note, I thought you were joining the Kingsguard. I couldn't find you, the prince's song about you, and Ser Barristan said you were in White Sword Tower. Relieved that you're not, of course, but now my uncle's joining. He's my family, yet my mind is at war with itself."
Firm but gentle arms pulled her into Arthur's frame. "This isn't your fault. Nothing can be done but spend what uninterrupted time you have left with him. Once he takes the oath, his time belongs to the Kingsguard."
She nodded against his chest and pulled back. "Do you know where he is?"
Arthur nodded.
"Niece."
"Uncle!"
Arthur kissed her cheek and left. The situation sunk deeper into her mind, and she welcomed her uncle's embrace while a tear slid down her face. He didn't want this. It was obvious.
.
ARTHUR DAYNE
When word reached him of a court session in an hour, he went to his bedchamber. However, Ser Camren stood guard outside the next bedchamber down. He had no desire to intrude upon what little spare time remained for Elia and Lewyn, but tardiness would anger King Aerys.
A squire with two servants bearing a crate knocked and entered Lewyn's bedchamber, which made the decision for Arthur. No doubt they'd delivered the signature armour of the Kingsguard. Tradition dictated a new protector of the king appeared in court already dressed in the armour of the Kingsguard, needing only to receive the cloak.
Entering the chamber himself, he closed its door and went straight to Elia, wrapping her in his arms. She was effectively witnessing her uncle lose his last shreds of freedom. Each piece fitted onto Lewyn was akin to a stone slab being pushed to seal a coffin. Although Elia remained composed in front of three strangers, he knew otherwise.
With everything fixed on Lewyn, he received the helm. The squire and servants silently departed and closed the door behind them. Like his nephew, Oberyn, the Kingsguard wouldn't be a good place for Lewyn.
Elia's eyes shone like glass, but she didn't cry while hugging her uncle. "What do I say to Freya, Uncle? She's been like an aunt to me, always by your side."
With a thumb, Lewyn stroked Elia's tear track and took a hand into his own. "Nothing, sweet niece. She knows and will stay in the capital with me."
He smothered his thoughts on the matter. As a boy, he'd read what the Kingsguard vows entailed and chastity was one. For Freya to stay was pointless unless Lewyn had no intention of keeping that particular vow. Failing to fulfil a task asked of you differed from deliberately breaking it. Vows and promises were sacred to House Dayne, more so than other Houses, thus what Lewyn implied grated on him.
Eyes averted, he went to the window and gazed at the bay. Soft mumbles of Elia and Lewyn in the background. The last of their time together before Lewyn swore the vows and made a brother of the Kingsguard. In essence, belong to the king's will and whims.
Lewyn no doubt never intended to be on the Kingsguard, but the implication of breaking a sworn vow echoed in his mind. He would never betray Elia's family. But, nonetheless, Lewyn's intentions bothered him, however, he would have to deal with it.
A knock pulled him back to reality, and the bedchamber door revealed Ser Oswell. "Princess Elia, Ser Arthur," he said, nodding to each. Whent's attention settled on Lewyn. "Prince Lewyn, please come with me."
Both men left in silence, while he held Elia in her uncle's former bedchamber. She sighed and shook her head. "We all knew there was a risk of this happening." Her hands took his and she clasped his tightly. "I needn't say it, but keep a low profile, Arthur; more than ever now. My uncle never did, and now…."
"I promise," he said, stroking her hair. "Come. We mustn't be late."
Wordless, Elia nodded and wove her arm around his in the halls. Murmurs grew louder with each turn towards the Throne Room. Inside it, courtiers filled the main floor and the gallery above. But glimmering white drew his eye. Prince Rhaegar stood at the base of the Iron Throne with Ser Barristan at attention in front of him. Strange.
Any court session had a precession where King Aerys arrived with his Kingsguard, his heir, Grand Maester, and his Hand. Together, not separate. However, the Lord Hand was said to be riding to the Westerlands.
Arthur and Elia joined those filling the gallery and keeping away from the bannister. The further they were from Targaryen eyes the better. Talk grew while he and Elia kept quiet. They knew the purpose of this court session.
King Aerys II arrived in the same manner as always, except for Prince Rhaegar, who the king frowned at.
From the Iron Throne and looming over all, King Aerys II raised a hand, and the Throne Room fell silent. Elia's grip on his arm tightened by a margin.
Unlike arranged sessions, no petitioners or lords stepped forth to make announcements or requests. The king wasted no time. "Prince Lewyn Martell," he said, voice bouncing off the walls.
The movement came from the main entrance into the Throne Room rather than the crowds. In white enamelled armour, but missing the cloak of a Kingsguard knight, approached Lewyn, mail clinking with each step. In front of the Kingsguard's defensive formation, he remained standing. "Your Grace."
Behind the Kingsguard stirred blond-silver movement; Prince Rhaegar. Arthur kept utterly still in the hope of the prince's eyes missing him. Regardless, the heir spotted him and smothered a flash of displeased confusion. Determination lasted for but a second and a calm mask took over Prince Rhaegar's face when he turned to face Lewyn.
A squeeze of his arm from Elia told him the prince's behaviour alarmed her. He rested a hand atop hers and dared the softest hum he could make. He'd seen it too.
Upon the seat of the Iron Throne, King Aerys had his eyes on those far below. "Do you swear to protect and serve your king?"
"I swear, Your Grace," Lewyn said, his voice echoing in the hall alone.
"Do you swear to keep your king's secrets?"
"I swear, Your Grace."
"Do you swear to hold no lands, take no wife, and father no children?"
"I swear, Your Grace."
King Aerys gave a nod of satisfaction, and Ser Gerold Hightower approached Lewyn with a white cloak draped over one arm. There was no stopping it and Arthur watched while Ser Gerold clipped the cloak onto Lewyn's armour. Lewyn now of the Kingsguard.
"Until death, you are a knight of the Kingsguard."
Arthur stole a glance at each of the knights, their expressions neutral. Behind the knights, Prince Rhaegar fought a slight frown.