#themorningsword

Wonder is all she feels ever since they arrived in Westeros; ever since she spotted the shores of Dorne from the ship that had carried them over the Narrow Sea. Home, she thought. We’re finally home. The young princess had been taken over by a wave of emotion and excitement― she wished to see everything; learn everything― the land; the people; everything the brave knight might have missed in his stories. The same sense of wonder seems to have taken over him, as well. ❝ An old man who has climbed these steps several hundred times, I assume. ❞ Rhaenys points out with a grin of her own.

His excitement is contagious; his eagerness to show her his home is equalled by hers to absorb as much information as she can in this small period of time. Despite the long and steep incline, Rhaenys didn’t quite imagine they would be so high once at the top. She rushes outside to the balcony, her eyes wide and Ser Arthur following after her― always at her side. The Torrentine; the Summer Sea; all of Starfall at her feet. The view is breathtaking and she catches herself giggling giddily upon taking the scenery in. It’s beautiful, she thinks, her eyes moving from one place he points to the next. So beautiful. Could he have returned here when it was all over? Barristan the Bold was pardoned; the Sword of the Morning might have been, too. Starfall instead of exile.

          Elia and I... The mention of her mother’s name pulls her out of her deep thoughts; her head turning in his direction and she just listens― like she always does when the knight mentions her parents, especially her mother. The corners of her mouth pull upwards in a soft smile seeing the expression on the his face. Nostalgia, regret, love― and just like that it is gone and he is his composed self once again. ❝ No, no. It’s so beautiful. Thank you. ❞ For everything. ❝ Could we stay a little longer? ❞ She asks fearing he might suggest they go back; she wants to take some time; to commit the view into memory. From now on, she’ll be swept away by all that she has been forced to live without while in hiding. In Sunspear, her uncles are waiting; a family she’s only known through letters and this might be the last truly private moment she’ll get alone with the knight before she’s delivered to them. Perhaps, he will return home, as well, and be with his own family―

The finest knight I ever saw was Ser Arthur Dayne, who fought with a blade called Dawn, forged from the heart of a fallen star. They called him the Sword of the Morning, and he would have killed me but for Howland Reed.

At first Brienne had a hard time believing her luck, but now that her father’s honored guest had abandoned Evenfall after breakfast it became a bit more plausible. She couldn’t let Ser Arthur Dayne slip away so easily. She’d not had the chance to talk to him apart from a few mumbled courtesies. For the chance to have a conversation with the Sword of the Morning, she’d force herself to overcome her natural shyness. 

So it happened that Brienne shirked her morning lessons and snuck out of Evenfall Hall in trousers, slipping into the training yard and elbowing her way into the line of excitedly whispering boys. Ser Arthur Dayne didn’t have a squire, did he? No doubt they all hoped to be chosen. It wasn’t fair, Brienne thought bitterly. She was better than any of them. That was what made her step forward when Ser Goodwin called for the first sparring pair of the day. If Septa Roelle knew what she was doing she’d call Brienne a stupid girl, but she thought she saw a gleam of good humor in her master-at-arms’ eye. 

H O M E .

Gods, that was such a foreign concept to her. Had she ever had one? Save for the house with the red door of her childhood, she’d never considered that she might ever know what it feels like to be safe and secure somewhere she cares for. Somewhere with emotional attachment and sentimentality.

Yet as boot heels sink into the shores before the keep, it’s all she can do not to fall to her knees out of sheer emotion. Instead she lowers down to one knee, fingertips lacing through the sand. For so long, it’s been sand and desserts and exotic lands – before her, she sees greenery and dragons carved into stone. The place of her birth.

Emotion ill concealed on Targaryen features, her body rises then to make her way up the curving steps, even as her three children soar above her. She does not expect occupation – and by all accounts, it should not be – yet amethyst hues fall on the male waiting at the beginnings of the steps, a brow raising even as swords are drawn all around her.

     She just hold onto her late father’s best friend. She knew exactly what today is. Dorne has been quite all day, not so busy and not many laughter today. Its a very sad day. Particularly to her and her maternal family, House Martell, and to Arthur Dayne.