ironfeather (ironfeather) wrote in usurper, @ 2011-08-22 23:46:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! house dayne, arthur dayne, ashere dayne |
arthur & ashere
who: arthur and ashere dayne, plus a rhaegar cameo!
where: the red keep, king's landing
when: soon after the dornish come to king's landing
what: what brothers don't have issues?
Emotion ran high as the great lords and ladies of Dorne that made up the bulk of Princess Elia's honour guard rode into King's Landing, and not just within Rhaegar Targaryen's chest. There were few from the land of sand-seas and red mountains that boasted the fairer colouring that was so prevalent in the Crownlands; the fewer still who had ridden in the princess' train were easily picked out by Arthur, who stood just behind Rhaegar's shoulder -- a position that permitted him to watch the proceedings unhindered, and to let the absence of the Martells themselves go briefly unnoticed (even as Rhaegar tensed before him) as he took in the much-missed faces of his siblings. Ashere, Ashara, and Allyria, tall and proud and the cause of the sudden ache that Arthur was quick to ignore, his attention returning to Rhaegar as it was explained to him why Elia and Oberyn were delayed.
The eventual arrival of the prince and princess of Dorne did little to lessen the constraints of his duties; indeed, it was only on the morning after the great feast held to welcome the Martells and their bannermen that Arthur had time for himself, relieved after almost three straight days of attendance. He took a mere five hours to sleep off exhaustion, but the doors that led to the quarters of the Daynes were given to the knock of his knuckles before most had finished breaking their morning fast.
He stood back, hands linked loosely before him, and waited.
Ashere Dayne's presence in King's Landing was honourary: Ashara, as a lady in waiting to the Princess, required safe installation within the castle and he trusted no other to see it done. Still, within his breast he perceived the seeds of doubt and misgiving that ran along the breadth of his silence.
His siblings knew: the young Lord of Starfall did not care to see the Sword of Morning cloaked in white; did not, indeed, care to see the Sword of Morning at all. Each halting step that led him through the Red Keep seemed to ring with it, even as he viewed his brother's watch from across the great hall.
So close to the Targaryen prince.
It was the morning after, however, when he was at his writing desk, answering the nightly messages from the castellan, that Ashere rose and lumbered to the door, shock registering plainly across his face as he beheld who stood on the other side. And then, gruffly:
"The girls are still abed. Come back later."
Schooled in the art of apparent stoicism (King's Landing's finest export), Ashere's successive display of surprise and blunt animosity did little to disturb the mild expression on Arthur's face. His brother's eyes were as vivid as he remembered, almost dragon-like in their brilliance (in his dreams, Ashere's gaze always gleamed the brightest, and it was always with anger), and he met them squarely, making no effort to hide his open study of the eldest of the Dayne siblings.
And then, he gave a small, slow shrug, and replied in a tone that was as mild as his expression: "My siblings number three. I'll greet them later."
With a shrug, Ashere moved back from the door, his stilted gait bringing him slowly to the chair which he only so recently vacated. Falling heavily, the stare levelled upon his brother was unblinking. Arthur seemed taller; more gaunt and sharp that ever before in his whites.
"Then sit."
Serving in a role that demanded an existence of ivory, chalk and silver, it was only when he was off-duty that Arthur permitted himself the luxury of a splash of colour: a ring with a single amethyst, glinting in the morning light as he moved to take the offered (ordered?) seat. Even the blade of the great sword slung across his back was paler than milkglass; that, and the ring, where the only sigils of his family that he allowed himself to carry.
"I didn't expect you to make the journey here," he said after a beat of strained silence. "Who is left in Starfall?"
The sword across his brother's back was given a full ten seconds of consideration before he moved the writing desk aside and lifted his shoulders.
"The princess deserved such an escort. As did our sister.I would not leave her to come alone amongst strangers." A pause. "The right people serve Starfall, Arthur. Don't trouble yourself."
Ashara kept him well informed of the goings-on at Starfall, but Ashere's latter words were, in their own way, hurtful; Arthur's eyes slid to one of the windows, tall and paned with the clearest of glass so that the morning's sun could filter in uninterrupted. His desire to see Starfall again was a pang he kept buried deep in his chest -- he wondered, unkindly, if he could give his brother some measure of contentment by showing him such longing.
Instead -- "Ashara will be well looked after in court. She will be with Elia, and Elia will be with Rhaegar." And he will be with me.
The ring that sat upon Ashere's middle finger was Arthur's twin: he remembered their boyhood, the day their father slid the rings upon the boys' fingers and exhorted them to always remember their homeland. Oath-breaker -- his flattened brow seemed to say.
"You seem close to the dragon prince."
"We were friends before I took the white," was Arthur's modest reply, offered as he leaned back into the chair, the press of the greatsword against his back both familiar and a silent charge to remain mindful and alert. He had not missed Ashere's study of Dawn, but he was not moved towards offering the sword that was such a source of tension between them for his brother's inspection. "His will be a happy court."
"After several years, perhaps. But until then ...? Word reaches us, brother. We know what occurs at King's Landing -- even in Starfall." His blunt-tipped fingers curled beneath his palm, balling into a fist that sat heavily on the table. "I would rather she be on the Wall than here."
"She has me, Ashere." As though a mirror image of his brother, Arthur tightened his own hands into fists, speaking through the sudden tightness in his throat. "I'm here. No harm will come to her."
His chin tilted. "And what if the King or the Prince raises a hand to our sister?"
Flatly -- "Rhaegar does not strike women."
"Rhaegar is not the King, Arthur."
Arthur could feel a line of tension tightening along his jaw and down his neck. "Ashere," he began, then sighed. "Brother. The king does not raise his hand to women of his court on a whim." His madness is far more specific. "He punishes those who are grossly disobedient, which our sister is not. Is not capable of being. What is it that you want me to say, Ashere?"
"Words. You give me words --" came out in a growl. "I want you to say that, if necessary, you would stand between our sister and her doom. I want you to remember the loyalty to your House, with one of us living under your roof, relying on your protection." He leaned forward, letting his knuckles rest along the edge of the table -- "I want you to do what I would do."
"But I am not you." Arthur's voice held steady, but his clenched fist now ached, and it was with too much ease that he rose from his seat. "And you haven't the faintest idea of what I would do, brother. I will protect her -- why doesn't that satisfy you?"
"You would keep your vows." You let violence dictate your duel with me. Ashere's love for his brother had been too great, he had decided with the years between them to contemplate his failures, he had not applied himself with the ferocity that Arthur displayed. "Because I do not trust you."
"No." Under the enormity of this truth, Arthur bowed his head, his frustration going sour in his mouth and mingling with sadness. The bond between them had been irreparably damaged all those years ago, and it was as much his fault as it was Ashere's. "I know you do not," he said softly. "But I will keep her safe. There it is."
Ashere's gaze twisted out of the window, the pale blue of the sky above the sea reflected in the painted walls of the room. He breathed -- "Keep her safe and it may yet heal the rift between us."
Arthur nodded; it took a heavy breath and a surge of effort for him to relax his hands, to speak with the same sort of quiet ease that was his hallmark. "I understand." A beat as he lingered on indecision: to remain in Ashere's hostile presence as he waited for his sisters to rise, or to leave and return when it was certain they would be up. At the very least, the latter option would permit him to ease the sob now caught in his throat.
"I'll leave you to your business, then."
With his hands placed on the armrests of his chair Ashere rose, his lumbering gait (overtly aware of every hitch in his step beneath his brother's stare) brought him back to the door by which he entered.
"I will tell them you were here."
It was not in Arthur's nature to flinch away from things for which he was responsible. And his brother's injury had been dealt with his own hand; as penance, he would never permit himself to look away, to deny its existence. Now, he met his brother's gaze and offered a single nod as he halted in the doorway. "Tell them I'll find them later. I'll leave you now."
"I will." There was a moment in which, as Arthur passed, that he paused over the look of longing (or sorrow, Ashere could not decide which) which so encapsulated the fullness of this long and lean version of himself. He stood back, nodded and fixed his eyes at an unseen point above Arthur's shoulder.
"Guard her well."
Another bow of his head, Arthur's eyes seeking his brother's and finding them averted. "I will," he said, a soft echo of Ashere's words. He pulled his gaze quickly away and turned, leaving his family's quarters with his typically long stride -- only this time, he walked with a measure of tense haste, guilt and sadness twin curs hounding his every step. He had thought that time and distance would settle the rift between them, but the wound he'd given Ashere went beyond flesh and bone; time and distance, he now realised, had only caused it to fester.
As the sweet scent of flowers intruded his thoughts, he came to an abrupt stop, blinking in the sunlight. His feet had led him into one of the more private courtyards, and it was with some relief for the lack of prying eyes that he lowered his hands into the fountain, only to bring them up again to splash his face.
The arrival of the contingent from Dorne had been celebrated by much feasting and fanfare despite Rhaegar's all too quiet and thoughtful nature; he smiled, though, exhausting the core of his court manners to make a good impression on Elia's people. He could only manage what they said about him -- about his father -- and wanted to take the moment to reassure her people that dragons could couch their claws.
But the effort was exhausting and his time with Elia had been too short. On the other side of the fountain, within the long line of a colonnade which ran through the center of the garden, Rhaegar sprawled with a book in his lap. His attention did not deviate from the page as Arthur entered and sought relief. The book had came by raven, a gift from Maester Aemon from the north, and the prophecies within had successfully rendered him spellbound.
Having slid down to crouch before the fountain, his arms folded across its edge and his head pressed against the sun-warmed stone, it took the rustle of a page as it was turned for Arthur to realise he was not alone in the courtyard. With a deep inward pull of air, and a prayer that this wasn't anyone who would notice the melancholy he was failing to keep pressed behind one of his typically serene expressions, he rose, hesitating when he realised whose privacy he'd intruded on.
Rhaegar. Perhaps -- no, he has his own worries. Arthur stepped back, turning to leave by the way he came.
-- and the crunch on gravel (with the turn of a page), alerted Rhaegar to the presence of another. His eyes were drawn upward (and further still) as he recognized the lean back of his friend before settling the book aside to stand on his feet.
"Arthur. Don't go."
Arthur immediately came to a halt, but he didn't turn around, merely tucking his chin to his chest and tilting his head as his gaze flicked across to the far end of the garden. "Where is Lewyn? I thought he was charged to guard you today."
"If I am attacked and overtaken in the middle of my father's own palace, then I deserve to die. Lewyn has family here. As do you." Striding forward several paces, Rhaegar stopped just short of his friend and sat upon the sun-warmed edge of the fountain. "Join me."
This was a less than satisfactory explanation (the fault, he suspected, lay with Rhaegar, for Lewyn would have insisted on remaining in close proximity), but it was Rhaegar's invitation that had him shaking his head. "I intruded, prince," he said, falling back on a formality he rarely used when they were alone, "I'll leave you to your reading and go elsewhere."
"Prince? If I am to be prince then I command you to sit." With a crossing of his legs, he continued to stare at the knight -- "I've been on contact with Maester Aemon on the Wall. He sent me this book. It will keep. Sit."
A protest was quickly clamped behind his teeth and he moved to obey, keeping his hands knotted before him. Stalling -- "What sort of book does the Night's Watch possess that the maesters in King's Landing and the Citadel do not?"
"Books that Targaryens keep." Rhaegar's keen sight was narrowed along the high ridges of Arthur's face; the easy confidence was lost, replaced by the tightness of sorrow spanning along his jaw. He sat back and sighed. "Alright, Arthur. I'm not blind. Someone has wounded the Sword of the Morning."
"It needn't concern you, Rhaegar." Arthur, as ever, spoke quietly, but there was a guardedness to his words. Naively, he hoped Rhaegar, ever astute, would not notice -- or that he would and would cease to press him on the matter. "There are no new wounds here."
No new wounds -- Indeed, he who had once (before befriending Arthur) learned much of his fame and skill through the tales told about the Sword of Morning knew how it was wrested away from the (now) Lord of House Dayne. He had seen the older brother - shorter, broader of shoulder and almost bullish in his countenance - glare at Arthur in his white cloak. "Of course it concerns me. It concerns my friend."
Pushed to unexpectedly close to breaking point by the appearance of his brother, Arthur now felt his resolve crumbling away as Rhaegar continued to press him. "I did not expect my brother to come here with the princess' party. I haven't seen any of my siblings in years, and his face was not the one I desired to lay eyes on. Yet Ashere Dayne is at court and he is as unwilling as ever to forgive me."
With his lips pressed into a thin line, Rhaegar eased his arm around Arthur's broad shoulder and squeezed its opposite. There was nothing to be said about the bonds of brotherhood; no wise words he knew that would not sound trite and unfeeling as he spoke. He simply shook his head. "It isn't right, Arthur. I'm sorry."
"I--" The weight of Rhaegar's arm was the collapse of his resolve, and hot tears streaked down his cheeks as he lowered his head. "I wounded him and chose another brother. He will never forgive me."
"The fault lies not with you, Arthur --" Rhaegar's free arm curled, his palm moving to lie cool against his friend's cheek. "A man who cannot forgive --" He shook his head. "I won't say it but how dare he. It's jealousy that drives him to wound you."
"He would say I broke faith with him." Arthur's voice was hushed, his eyes closing at the press of his friend's hand. When so much revolving around the prince was at stake, he was ashamed of his own weakness…. and yet it was a relief to unburden himself to one as trusted as Rhaegar. "That I had no claim to Dawn after accepting the white. Starfall's birthright in King's Landing? Theft, he called it. And I hurt him, Rhaegar. He will never walk as he once did -- I took his legs…"
"You earned Dawn and chose the white; his jealousy does him no good, Arthur." The salty streak of Arthur's tears pooled along the edge of Rhaegar's palm as he wiped them away with a swipe of his thumb. "Your brother can walk. He can sit a horse. I'm sure that he can swing a sword, more or less. Is he going to spend the rest of his life making you miserable?"
"No. Just the rest of his stay here." A pause as Arthur, with a watery sound that might have been a laugh, shook his head. "That was unkind. I am unkind. He is worried about Ashara and I let him affect me." Gently, he pushed Rhaegar's hand away. "Thank you."
Hands falling to his lap, he bowed his head and slid back along the marble to dip the tips of his fingers within the reflective pool. "If you are unkind then we are all of us sinfully wicked every day, Arthur." He paused. "Ashara is Elia's lady. I have seen her and your brother has no cause to worry."
"Then perhaps, your highness," began Arthur, ignoring the dampness on his cheeks (the sun and heat would soon rid him of his tears), "you might remind him of that. I have tried, but you know the Dornish. He is the best example of how we can be."
He snorted -- "I know three folk from Dorne; I count more amongst my acquaintances, surely. But are you telling me that you're all stubborn grudge-holders with streaks of jealousy and contempt?" He shrugged. "That is not my understanding."