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Robb Returns by The Dark Scribbler
 Books » A song of Ice and Fire Rated: K+, English, Fantasy & Adventure, Eddard S./Ned, Robb S., Theon G., Domeric B., Words: 627k+, Favs: 6k+, Follows: 6k+, Published: Jul 16, 2015 Updated: Sep 287,744Chapter 48
Please don't ask me where all this came from today.
Jaime
Petyr Baelish looked… well, as if he was concentrating on something. His eyes were open and fixed on something. Jaime couldn't tell what. Not that it mattered. The birds would soon take those eyes. He smirked a little. Baelish had always thought of himself as such a clever fellow. The fact that he had been outsmarted by the likes of Jon Arryn must have smarted a lot.
He rode down the hill towards the docks. His Fatness was coming back after his unexpected trip to Storm's End. He'd asked Cersei why her husband had taken himself off there and he been answered with a baffled shrug. "He woke up shouting something. He was probably drunk." And that had been it.
But there had been more to it, he could tell. He could feel something in the air, something that he did not understand and therefore did not like. The Small Council was busy with so many odd things, ranging from the bizarre (the disappearance of the Mountain Clans and the word that the Company of the Rose was returning from their long exile) to the amusing (the fall of Baelish).
It was good that Baelish was dead. Father would probably have had something unpleasant in mind for him had he lived. Trying to cheat a Lannister was unwise. Trying to cheat Father was a death sentence.
As he reached the docks he took a deep breath. Ah. Dead fish. And sweaty people. Oh, and sewage. The tide must not have turned yet. He sighed, dismounted and then looked about. He was here to check on the wharf where His Fatness was due to dock, whenever he turned up. Catching sight of the Royal Wharf – or whatever sufficed at the moment - he tied up his horse, gave it a mouthful of oats from a saddlebag and then wandered along the wooden planks. Yes, it was standing. Seemed serviceable. Didn't appear to have been sabotaged. And wasn't surrounded by a mob of neer-do-wells. Just sailors. Speaking of which – he narrowed his eyes a little and then smiled as he saw a familiar face talking to another man.
"Ah," he called. "The most noble Knight of Onions! Diligent as ever I see!"
Davos Seaworth looked at him for a moment, before finishing his conversation and then turning to face him. "Ser Jaime." He spoke flatly and Jaime had to admit that the man might be base-born but he did not seem to be overawed by nobility. He almost liked Seaworth. The man was disgustingly competent. Plus his father and Cersei both despised the man, showing that they didn't know everything. "What brings you down here?"
"I am a Knight of the Kingsguard, Ser, and I never cease to worry about the safety of the king. I'm here to check on the dock where he will dock later. At some point. Whenever that is."
Seaworth looked at the dock and then stamped on it. "Seems stable."
"As I shall report." Jaime smirked a little and then paused as a bell on the nearby headland clanged three times in the distance. When he looked at Seaworth again he could see that he was staring out to sea with a frown whilst gesturing to one side. "Devan – spyglass, as quick as you can!"
"Aye father," the young man called as he scurried off, before returning with the device. "Here you are."
"Something wrong?" Jaime asked. He could see a ship approaching in the distance. Was that the King already?
"Yon ship – the lookout signalled that it bears signal flags." He focussed the spyglass. "And indeed it does, To dock immediately and that a Maester is needed."
Unease prickled at his scalp for a moment. "The crew is ill?"
"Nay, the port orders are very clear on that. A yellow flag is to be flown for pestilence. That ship bears none such flag." He peered again. "Hmph. 'Tis a Dornishman."
That intrigued him. "How can you tell?"
Seaworth handed over the spyglass. "The foremast is stepped more rakishly and the sails are a little differently rigged. 'Tis as clear as day."
Jaime peered through the spyglass and then handed it back with a grin. "I bow to your greater experience on such matters." He thought about leaving but then decided to stay. This seemed intriguing.
"Lucky, too," Seaworth muttered. "Wind is set just right for the ship to approach." He paused and stared again. "And he's in a right tearing hurry as well. Devan?"
"Father?"
"Get Maester Dyren. And then send word to the Harbour Master that I shall deal with this matter. My thumbs are pricking."
Whoever was handling the ship seemed, in Jaimes's admittedly limited experience, to know what they were doing, because the ship approached in a hurry and then slowed in an equal hurry, as the crew reefed various sails at just the right time and then relied on the impetus as well as a few smaller jib sails to carry them into the dock, where various lines were thrown.
"Well-handled, so very well-handled indeed – for a Dornishman," Seaworth muttered, before he strode along the dock. Jaime followed him curiously.
There was a tall, dark-haired man on the quarterdeck who was staring out over King's Landing. The moment he saw them he started a little and then picked up a speaking trumpet. "Ho there! Is that the cloak of a Kingsguard I see?" He sounded Dornish.
Seaworth glanced at Jaime a moment before filling his lungs and bellowing: "Yes, he is. Why?"
"Thank the Gods," the man bellowed back, before turning to his men on the main deck. "Get that fucking gangplank rigged at once!" Then he turned back to them. "We need a Maester at once! There is a dying man on board!"
Seaworth pulled a slight face and then barked at his own men to assist the crew of the ship as a gangplank was hurriedly rigged to the now stationary ship, followed by a guide rail. "We have sent for one." The captain, if a captain he was, was now on the main deck and there was no need to shout.
The dark haired man – a Dornishman in every appearance as Jaime saw him more closely – hurried down the wooden surface and then nodded at them both. "Myras, captain of the Seahorse."
"I am Ser Davos Seaworth," the Onion Knight said gruffly. "And this is Ser Jaime Lannister of the Kingsguard."
"Sers," the captain said quickly, "I need witnesses as well as a Maester, hence my relief at seeing you Ser Jaime. I have a dying man aboard who needs to see his son here at King's Landing and who requires witnesses for the handing over of his ancestral sword."
Jaime found his eyebrows arching upwards. This all sounded very bizarre. "Who is the man?"
The captain paused, licked his lips and then said: "Lord Alster Dayne."
There was a short, incredulous, pause. "Lord Alster Dayne of Starfall?" Jaime said the words in some disbelief.
"Aye Ser."
This was baffling. "I thought that he had confined himself to his castle, that he was in fact dying."
"He is desperate to see his son. So he booked passage with us – but did not mention at that he was even ill." The Dornishman looked as if he was about to weep. "His son is fostered here – his only child. Edric Dayne?"
Seaworth scowled a little. "Why didn't you dock at Dragonstone, or anywhere closer that had a Maester?"
"I asked Lord Dayne, but he insisted that we press on to King's Landing. Truly Sers, he was driven to come here."
Seaworth and Jaime shared a troubled look. And then the Onion Knight nodded tersely and started to snap out orders that made Jaime wonder if Father had briefly possessed the man. A nearby inn had a bedroom requisitioned; men were to find a litter for Lord Dayne; word was to be passed at once to Lord Stannis Baratheon, who wasn't too far away.
Seaworth then looked at the Red Keep and then back at Jaime. "Ser Jaime, where might Edric Dayne be found?"
He thought a moment. "He is squire to Lord Beric Dondarrion I believe. He can be found at the Red Keep." He looked at the small crowd behind him that always seemed to grow from nothing at the drop of a gauntlet. And then he saw the familiar colours of a Lannister guardsman. "You! Do you recognise me?"
"You are Ser Jaime Lannister." The guard looked a little bewildered but seemed to have a few wits about him.
"My horse is over yonder. Ride up to the Red Keep at once and find Edric Dayne, squire to Lord Dondarrion, the Lightning Lord. He is to come here immediately – his father, Lord Alster Dayne, is here and is very ill. Any questions?"
"None, Ser Jaime," the guardsman said, looking a little pale. "I will go at once." And off he went.
By the time that the litter arrived and Lord Dayne finally emerged from his cabin upon it the crowd was larger. And the moment that he saw Dayne's face he knew that the captain had been right. The Lord of Starfall was pale, almost white. His cheeks were pinched and his eyes sunken. He seemed to be asleep, his chest barely rising and falling.
As the litter came down the gangplank Dayne stirred a little and opened his eyes. "Who is there?" His voice was thin and reedy.
"You are in King's Landing, Lord Dayne," Seaworth said quickly. "We are moving you to the shore. Worry not – your son has been sent for."
"My… my thanks. Who are… you, ser?"
"Ser Davos Seaworth, Lord Dayne. I sail under Lord Stannis Baratheon, the Master of Ships. And this is Ser Jaime Lannister, of the Kingsguard."
"I an honoured... to meet you both." Then he paused and his face worked. "Dawn. Where is Dawn?"
Seaworth looked puzzled at this, but Jaime understood. And was also stunned. "The sword Dawn, Lord Dayne? You brought it with you?"
"I did. Where… is it? I must have it! It must be… passed to Edric!"
Jaime looked at Myras, who pointed at the ship. "It must be in his cabin Sers. He would not let anyone touch it on the voyage."
Seaworth looked at Jaime, who nodded. "I will get it. I know what it looks like." And he turned and trotted up the gangplank, turned to watch the little party move through the gathering crowd and into the inn, before entering the nearby cabin.
The cabin smelt musty, with a hint of herbs. He looked about – and then he saw the sword propped in the corner against a bulkhead. It was the same as he remembered it, when it had been carried by Ser Arthur Dayne. He had been a skilled swordsman, Ser Arthur. He had died in Dorne, at the Tower of Joy. That mysterious place that Ned Stark never talked about, other than to set his jaw and look even grimmer than usual.
He also remembered that Ser Arthur had been very particular – almost peculiar – about the sword. Only he could touch it. Not that it ever needed sharpening. He's once asked Ser Arthur if it was Valyrian Steel – but he had just smiled slightly and shaken his head. "So very different," he had said. "Dawn is… special."
Jaime shrugged and then reached out to pick up the sword by its red leather scabbard. As he did his fingers touched the hilt – and the sword seemed to shudder and turn in his grip, as if it was a live snake. He dropped it with a stifled oath and then stared at the thing. What had that been? How could a sword shudder like that?
He took a deep and ragged breath and then looked about the cabin. He could see a cloak in the colours of House Dayne to one side and he grabbed it and then carefully wrapped the sword in it, being careful not to touch it with his bare hands. And then he picked it up and carried off the ship and into the inn.
As he entered he looked about and then noticed Devan Seaworth on the stairs, who caught his eye and then allowed him passage upwards. "I brought the Maester, Ser Jaime. He is with Lord Dayne now."
He nodded and then saw the elder Seaworth standing by the door to a room. "You have it then?"
"I have it. May I enter?"
"Maester Dyren is in with him and-"
The door opened suddenly to reveal a short Maester with a grumpy expression. "Is that bloody sword here? Lord Dayne is restless without it."
"I have it," Jaime said, holding it up. "Shall I bring it in?"
"Please do so," The Maester barked and then vanished within. Jaime crooked an eyebrow and then passed inside.
Lord Dayne was laid out on a bed his clothes rumpled and a look of stoic misery on his face as the Maester poked and prodded at him. He looked tiredly at Jaime, who unwrapped the sword and then laid it next to him.
"Dawn!" Lord Dayne cried weakly. "My thanks… Ser Jaime. Dawn has been… restless of late."
The Maester looked up at this, his eyebrows waggling like caterpillars, before looking back down at his patient. As for Jaime, well he mumbled something polite and then fled the room, closing the door behind him. He hated seeing a man laid so low. And the sword disturbed him.
The two men waited outside the room for a short time, with Jaime trying to think of other things. And then the door opened and the Maester came out, his face set and grim. "A word Sers." They both approached him and he jerked a thumb at the room. "He will not see the sun set. I am heartily sorry. But I am also astonished that he lasted as long as he has. A lesser man would be dead. He is a man driven."
Seaworth pulled a face. "He is here to pass the sword on to his son. He thinks of it as his solemn duty. Apparently his son will be the new Sword of the Morning, whatever that means?"
Jaime stared at the open door, astonished. "'Tis a title borne by members of the Dayne family, those deemed worthy to wield Dawn. And those are few enough at times. The last Sword of the Morning was Ser Arthur Dayne. There has not been one since he died, at the end of the Rebellion." A memory came to him, of the last time he had seen Ser Arthur Dayne. He had been riding in the retinue of Rhaegar Targaryen and had looked troubled, like a man with a great deal on his mind. And also on his conscience. He often thought about that moment. The Dornishman had seemed like a man repressing tears.
"Duty can be a terrible master at times," Seaworth rumbled thoughtfully. "Lord Dayne needs to see his son very badly."
Dyren grunted with agreement. "The mind, Sers, can be a strange and terrible thing. I think that you are right – his duty is keeping him alive. Once he passes his sword on I do not think that he will live long."
Boots sounded on the stairs and Jaime looked over to see Stannis Baratheon arrive, with Lord Arryn behind him. He narrowed his eyes for a moment. Those two seemed to be as thick as thieves these days.
"Ser Davos," Stannis the Brooding Baratheon acknowledged. "Ser Jaime. We received your message."
"Is Lord Dayne really here?" The Hand of the King looked at them and then his eyebrows flew up at their nods. "Is he well?"
"He is dying my Lord," The Maester said sadly but firmly. "He has a malady of the blood that is fatal. It cannot be treated. And as I told the good Sers here, I am amazed that Lord Dayne has lived as long as he has. He is driven my Lords, by his need to pass his sword on to his son."
The Hand of the King's eyes widened. "He brought Dawn here? To his son?" He ran a hand over his chin. "Then his son must be the new Sword of the Morning."
"Perhaps so," Jaime conceded before cocking an eyebrow at them. "He has requested witnesses."
Arryn set his jaw and nodded. "Then we must honour his request." He walked into the room, followed by the others and with Jaime bringing up the rear. Once inside he suspiciously eyed the sword that Lord Dayne was clutching. There was something about it that he almost feared.
"Who… is there?" Dayne had his eyes closed as if in pain. Slowly he opened them. "Ah. Lord…. Arryn. Lord Baratheon. I am sorry that…. I cannot stand to… greet you."
Arryn smiled slightly and then gently clasped hands with the dying man. "'Tis no matter. Ser Davos and Ser Jaime said that you requested witnesses. We would be honoured to be amongst them."
"My thanks," Dayne said. His breathing seemed a little more laboured now. "Edric. Is he… here?"
"Not yet," Stannis Baratheon said in a surprisingly gentle voice. "Word has been sent to him."
Jaime tilted his head for a moment. He could hear the sound of a galloping horse outside, followed by shouts. After a moment more boots clattered on the stairs and Edric Dayne appeared at the doorway. He was a young man with pale blonde hair and eyes that were so blue that they were almost purple. Jaime did not know him well, but had heard that the boy was shy but clever. Brave too. He proved that now. He took in the sight of the men in the room and then bowed quickly.
"My Lord Hand. Lord Baratheon. Sers." Then he darted forwards to stand by the bed. "Father."
"Edric!" Dayne said with an attempt at a smile. "Thank the Gods you… are here. I am sorry… that I look so ill. You… must be… brave my boy. You will… soon be the Dayne in Starfall."
The younger Dayne turned white with shock. "Father – no!"
He shook his head. "I am sorry… it cannot… be helped. But I… had to see you. To explain. And to… pass this to you."
Only then did Edric Dayne seem to notice Dawn and to Jaime's bemusement he seemed to go even paler, if such a thing was possible. "Is that… Dawn, father?"
"It is." The elder Dayne seemed to rally for a moment. "My Lords – Sers. I ask you to… witness this moment. Who here will witness it?"
Arryn stepped forwards. "I, John Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale, Warden of the East and Hand of the King do witness this."
The grumpiest Baratheon cleared his throat. "As do I, Lord Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Dragonstone and Master of ships."
Everyone looked at Jaime next and he stepped forwards. "I, Ser Jaime Lannister, Knight of the Kingsguard, do witness this."
"And I, Ser Davos Seaworth, do also witness this." Seaworth completed the quartet and Alster Dayne smiled a little.
"I, Lord Alster Dayne, do pass… on the sword Dawn to… you, Edric Dayne. This is the… sword from the stars, a star… that fell to earth. It was… found by your ancestors and forged… into a blade with one purpose – to fight back the night. To fight… the Others. This is… the sword of the First Men." He reached out and grasped his son's hand before placing it on the hilt.
Edric Dayne stood there, not moving an inch, his eyes very wide and then he slowly looked down at the sword. When he looked up again his eyes were bright with unshed tears. "I accept this sword," he said in a low voice. "And the duty that comes with it."
"Good," said his father weakly. "You are… worthy of it. I know this. The previous… wielder, my own… brother, was not. Which is why… at the end… it failed him. You have… a great deal to do. But I… know that you… can do it. Ned – I am… so very proud of you. Always… remember that. But… there is… more. You… must go to a Godswood. This evening. At sunset. There is a pact. Must… be renewed." His face worked and tears spilt down his face.
"It… isn't fair. There is… so much I need to…. tell you. But I have… no time left." He fumbled weakly in his coat pocket and pulled out a small leather-bound book and a key. "The key… is to my… solar. There are… things there… you will need. One day… at least. But the book… I have… written the most… important things down… for you. About Dawn. About… what needs to… be done. I cannot… see far. But the Call must… be answered. You must go… to Winterfell. At once. The Others… come."
Everyone stared at the man. Was he raving? But he seemed to be very serious as he gripped his son's arms with thin fingers. "Promise… me. You must… go to Winterfell."
"I promise, Father. I promise. But why?"
"The Godswood. The book. And… the sword. They will… tell you." He paused. "Does night… fall already? The shadows fall. I can… barely see you…"
The younger Dayne took his father's hand gently as his own tears trickled down his face. "Night falls, father."
"Then… there is the last thing. You must know this." And then he pulled his son's head down and he whispered into his ear. Jaime couldn't hear what he said in that long, long minute, but he saw the impact it had on young Ned. He stared in utter shock at whatever it was and then almost jerked back from his father, only for the older man to take him in an iron grip and then complete whatever he was telling him. Only then did he relax that grip and release his son.
"I… am sorry… that I did… not tell… you… sooner." He smiled weakly, his strength visibly ebbing from him. "I… failed you… in that. But… as I… said… I am so… very… proud of... you." He peered around thorough dull eyes. "Is… Lord Dondarrion… here?"
"I am here," said a sorrowful voice from the doorway and Jaime started a little as he realised that he had missed the arrival of the Stormlord. "Young Ned here galloped ahead of us."
"Thank you… for your… letters… about Ned's progress. And that… you feel he… has such… potential. Thank you… for training… him."
"It has been a pleasure. And an honour to finally meet you," Beric Dondarrion said gently. "Ned has come far and learnt much."
"Will you… please… teach him… what else he… needs?"
"I shall. I do swear it."
Alster Dayne smiled once more and then peered back at his son. "Ned? I can't… see you."
"I am here, Father." Ned Dayne held his father's hand. "I am here. And I am so proud to be your son." He looked at his father and then raised his voice again. "Lord Arryn?"
"What do you need Edric Dayne?"
"My father has stood his watch as the Dayne of Starfall. Is he relieved?"
Arryn stepped forwards, formally. "He stands relieved. His duty is done."
"Thank… you…" And with those words Alster Dayne sighed and then his chest stopped moving. After a long moment his son reached out and with a trembling hand closed the lifeless eyes.
Davos Seaworth cleared his throat and then jerked his head towards the door. "My Lords," he said in a low voice, "We must give the lad a moment."
The others nodded and they filed out as quietly as possible, leaving the boy alone in the room with his dead father.
Myras, who had been hovering in the background nodded at them all. "My Lords, good Sers, my thanks. Lord Dayne was a good man. Sunspear will mourn him. I shall take the news myself to Prince Doran."
Arryn nodded in recognition and then scratched his head in thought. "Signs and portents," he muttered after a long moment. "I like this not. What with everything else… I shall write to Ned about this."
This surprised Jaime. "My Lord? Surely Lord Dayne was not… well… when he claimed that the Others had returned." Raving mad with fever-dreams was the phrase that he wanted to use, but was not tactless enough to say.
The Hand of the King looked at him with tired eyes that seemed to burn for a moment. "Ser Jaime, things are happening elsewhere in Westeros that make me… worried."
The old man was losing his mind as well. Ah well. And then Ned Dayne came out of the room, holding Dawn. Tears stained his cheeks but there was a look of such resolve on his face that Jaime straightened as he beheld it.
"Lord Dayne," Arryn said gravely. "How can we help?"
"My…" His face worked for a moment and then he sighed and looked resolute again. "My father's body must be returned to Starfall, to rest in the caves with his ancestors."
"I am Myras, captain of the ship that brought your Lord father here," the captain said quietly. "It will be my very great honour to take his bones home."
"Thank you Captain Myras. Please do so, with my thanks." He seemed to brace himself. "And I must go to Winterfell, as my father asked me to. Lord Dondarrion?"
"Yes, Lord Dayne?"
"I have learnt much. But as my father said there is more I need to know. Will you teach me a little longer?"
"As long as you need."
"Thank you," he said softly. Then he placed his hand on the hilt of Dawn again. "We are needed."
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