Hall of the Sword.
"In war the royalists were defeated. Defeat taught us more than victory ever could. Only stronger warriors and stronger alliances can defeat Robert now." Lord Alan Dayne spoke carefully. Tall and frail, he still carried the quiet dignity of his house.
No one could argue with him at the moment.
Robert had planted many mines, but none had detonated yet.
"I'm getting old and rambling. I hope you don't mind," Lord Alan said, resting a hand on the Sword Throne with a self-mocking smile. "When I learned of my brother's death, I told myself it was the Sword of the Morning's destiny, but I was still heartbroken."
"How could anyone not be?" Arthur replied, truly grateful for the older man's candor.
Lord Alan never mentioned Ashara, and Arthur still didn't know what had truly become of Dorne's greatest beauty.
Missing. Presumed dead.
Lord Alan reminded him of the silent Prince Doran—someone who had not forgotten defeat but had chosen endurance instead.
House Dayne's numbers were even worse than the Martells'. Doran at least had the Red Viper and a pack of Sand Snakes. The Daynes had one aging lord, one small boy, and one sister.
"House Dayne's name still carries weight, yet Prince Doran understands my grief. He is a wise ruler," Lord Alan added.
"After all, you are both descendants of Queen Nymeria," Arthur said. The blood of Starfall and Sunspear had mingled deeply ever since.
Nymeria had chosen Ser Davos Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, as her third husband—her lover and counselor. Their son had no claim to Dorne but had become Lord of Starfall.
That shared blood was also why Sunspear never truly feared Starfall.
"That old fox Doran," Arthur thought silently.
Only a handful knew Doran's true plans.
The Yronwoods in the east and Fowlers in the center supported his rule, yet Doran could never fully trust the Yronwoods.
As for the Daynes in the west, their line was too thin and they had no appetite for war.
They had always been Martell loyalists and wanted no deeper entanglement, so Doran had left Lord Alan out of the inner circle.
"My only wishes now are to watch Edric grow up and inherit Starfall, becoming the next Sword of the Morning, and to see my sister Allyria married," Lord Alan said. Hope and sorrow mingled in his eyes.
"Both wishes will fail," Arthur thought silently.
Lord Alan's health was poor. He probably had only seven or eight years left—nowhere near enough time.
"But I may not live to see either," Lord Alan said heavily.
"You fear someone?" Arthur asked.
"My cousin, the boy Gerold Dayne of High Hermitage. He is a harsh man. I do not want him anywhere near Starfall, and I will never name him regent." Lord Alan did not hide it.
Family infighting over inheritance was normal. Targaryens, Starks, Arryns, Durrandons—all had torn themselves apart. Even the Lannisters had their rumored kinslaying scandals.
Arthur understood at once. Darkstar.
The vicious cadet-branch swordsman even the Red Viper had warned people to beware.
Darkstar had slept with Princess Arianne and nearly killed Princess Myrcella—he was a princess-slayer in his own right.
"But he is only a cadet branch. The succession is far from him," Arthur pointed out.
The relationship was similar to Whent and Lothston. If the main Lothston line hadn't been wiped out, the Whents would never have risen.
"It looks far, but it isn't," Lord Alan said. "Children die in strange ways during successions. The Golden Lion smothered his own brother and niece with a pillow."
Arthur had no reply. The Lannister kinslaying rumor was known across the Seven Kingdoms.
"What can I do for you, my lord? Whatever is within my power, I will do," Arthur said.
"Darkstar… Prince Doran and Prince Oberyn both know he is a viper. The Sword Tower guardians are loyal only to Edric and will train the next Sword of the Morning. But you, Arthur, are an unexpected variable. You have already begun to shine. One day you will be one of the great knights and lords of the realm. If the time comes, help me watch over Edric and Allyria." Lord Alan's voice was sharp as steel.
"I swear it on my honor as a knight," Arthur promised solemnly.
Lord Alan's succession plan was solid—three layers of insurance.
First: House Martell.
Second: the Sword Tower guardians—tough old knights loyal only to the main line.
Third: a good marriage for Allyria that could also protect Edric.
Arthur was too far away, and Harrenhal still carried its curse. But in terms of character and manners, Lord Alan clearly approved of him.
"I trust your word. Spend more time with Allyria—you're both young," Lord Alan said, suddenly lighter, laughing. "Your men are tired. Rest well tonight and enjoy the feast. Tomorrow I will show you White Sword Tower and Dawn."
...
The next day. White Sword Tower.
White Sword Tower rose atop the steep sea cliffs of Starfall like a beast watching the ocean.
The white stone was a special rock, exceptionally strong.
Lord Alan led the way, escorting Arthur, Ser Lucas, and Allyria up the tower.
Arthur's guards waited outside.
Allyria was only twelve. Once she relaxed she chattered like any girl, no longer the cool beauty from their first meeting.
She had the same black hair and violet eyes as her sister—another future great beauty.
Walking beside Arthur, they made a striking pair.
"Your eyes really are deep blue, almost purple," Allyria said. "I've never seen that before."
"I had a terrible fever as a child," Arthur replied.
"You must have burned hot," Allyria said, wrinkling her nose.
Six guards stood watch outside White Sword Tower. When they saw the lord himself they bowed deeply.
The tower had rotating shifts of guardians—Starfall's hidden ace.
White Sword Tower had nine levels. In the ancient days before the Seven, the Daynes had apparently favored the number nine.
Inside, the white stone walls were carved everywhere with falling-star and sword motifs, along with legends of the Sword of the Morning.
Lord Alan led them up the spiral stair.
The first eight levels were mostly empty, holding relics of past Swords of the Morning—armor, daggers, and other heirlooms.
The ninth level held Dawn.
The great pale sword was embedded in a massive white rock, standing silent and eternal.
Dawn's broad blade shone like milk-white glass, utterly unlike the rippling, smoky darkness of Valyrian steel.
In strength and sharpness it matched any Valyrian blade.
Legend said it had been forged from the heart of a fallen star.
Beside the white rock stood a large book on a stand.
"The Kingsguard has its White Book. House Dayne has its own Book of the Swords of the Morning," the old knight guarding the ninth level said.
His hair was white, and he wore a purple Dayne surcoat over his armor.
A devout old knight—Arthur thought he looked a little like Barristan Selmy.
"Cousin," Lord Alan greeted him with deep respect.
"This is my cousin, Arthur—Ser Samwell. Guardian of the ninth level and a fierce swordsman who will one day train the next Sword of the Morning," Lord Alan introduced.
"Enough, Alan. Spare me the titles. I thought you wouldn't come until your son was grown," Ser Samwell said, rolling his eyes at his cousin. "Who's the boy?"
"Black Bat—Arthur Whent, heir to Harrenhal," Allyria supplied.
"Very well, little Allyria." Ser Samwell studied Arthur. "Fine stock. Pity he isn't a Dayne. Dawn will have to keep sleeping a while longer."