Arthur Dayne Arrived On The Jousting Field With The Dawn. Above Him, The Sun's First Flush Sent Pale
Arthur Dayne arrived on the jousting field with the dawn. Above him, the sun's first flush sent pale fingers of light stretching across the eastern sky, turning Harrenhal’s charred towers into shadowy grey wraiths that drifted among the mists. Only birdsong accompanied his steps.
He had always been an early riser, much preferring the sun’s call to some squire’s. Sleep was no generous mistress to the Kingsguard, nor a frequent visitor. Duties, though, they bore in spades. Charged with protecting the king and his kin by day, the White Swords were expected to serve just as diligently by night.
The task had never troubled Arthur. Duty and discipline called to his blood. It did, however, trouble the king. Too Dornish, Aerys oft complained of him, though he just as oft forgot his mislike when faced with Arthur’s fair skin, so unlike the dark sandy Dornishmen of his imagination. Mad kings cannot be expected to be learned men, he supposed. But of late it seemed the king remembered well enough, and his disdain for Arthur’s Rhoynish blood had earned him a night’s reprieve from guarding his door. With the queen and Prince Viserys forbidden from attending, there was no need to stand watch over them either. Prince Lewyn, as usual, guarded Rhaegar and Elia.
A rare respite—lighter duties, and the luxury of greeting the new day unwearied.
Now Arthur mounted his white courser with a quick pat to the mare’s flank. She was a good horse and swift, but he missed the long-necked sand steeds of Dorne. Dawn, too, he missed. The ancient milk-pale greatsword felt more right in his hand than any tourney lance, but such was the duty of a white cloak: protect the king, keep his secrets, obey his commands. Today's command was to entertain.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
Snippet from A Crown of False Spring, Chapter 2.
Tourney at Harrenhal art by René Aigner.
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Some banter between Valencia and Symone, perhaps, if you are still doing prompts x
“What are YOU doing here?”
Valencia narrowed her eyes at the familiar annoying voice, and rose from where she was crouched at the hidden entrance to the cave. “I have a reliable source that tells me this cave has remnants of the hoard of the rock drake Callan. Now I could ask YOU the same question!”
Symone glowered slightly, adjusting the rope on her hip. “I have my own reliable source that says a pack of night creatures have taken up residence in this cave, biding their time before they attack the nearest village. Stand aside, treasure hunter, they must be slain!”
“Not so fast, monster hunter!” Valencia drew herself up to her full height and rested her hand on the pommel of her blade. “If there is treasure in there, it’s highly fragile and I will NOT have you DESTROY it with your clumsy stomping around!”
“Clumsy?! I’ll have you know that the ways of the Shadowhunter have been passed down through generations of the DuBellmount line! Besides, are you REALLY willing to risk the lives of innocents for some mere trinkets?!”
“Trinkets?! I don’t have time to tell you how wrong you are, but at least I preserve! You destroy!”
“And how many items that you’ve ‘preserved’ have ended up being cursed?!”
“That’s neither here nor there! Besides, I’ve found far more hidden tombs than you!”
“Finding tombs is not my priority, Valtrith aside! And I can do more press-ups than you!”
“Can not!”
“Can too!”
The battle lines declared, both women dropped to the floor, determined to prove her press-up superiority, and thus neither of them noticed the Hero exiting the cave’s front entrance, having clearly come from a fight as they sheathed their weapons, Draco happily curled round their shoulders sporting a shiny new crown.
Spotting Valencia and Symone in their heated competition, the Hero promptly turned around and walked off very quickly in the opposite direction.
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