Lord Eddard Stark rode towards the faint blur of a castle on the short, distant horizon, squinting against the dust that danced around and in front of him. Every now and then, a cloud of red dust would shower him like a coat of snow.

Snow.

It was still spring – for how long? – yet it felt like the middle of summer here in Dorne. Layers of sweat soaked the back of his neck and trickled down his long face from his forehead as he remained trapped in his armour. Ned wished he was back in the North – at home in Winterfell. His father and brother's deaths have been avenged, Lyanna…he swallowed and shook away the memory of his wild sister; wild no more. Robert's Rebellion…the War of the Usurper…Eddard sighed, shaking his head again. Whatever the maesters plan to call the war, for him, he was glad it ended. It will never be over for Robert, he thought. There will always be pretenders, wandering Targaryens, his dreams of Lyanna as his wife…

With a heavy heart, Ned continued riding towards Starfall. He could not bear glancing back at the remains of the Tower of Joy. Six of his best men rode down from King's Landing to that damned tower; only the little crannogman Howland Reed trailed behind him on his small horse. Willam Dustin…Martyn Cassel…Ethan Glover…Theo Wull…Mark Ryswell. All good men cut down that day. For him. For Lyanna. For Robert.

"My lord," called Howland. "How much further?"

"We will be there by evening, perhaps," guessed Ned, wishing to leave and never set foot in Dorne again. No doubt Dorne was a place filled to the rim with a rich and vibrant culture, but for him…the death of Lyanna was enough to shy him away. Once he delivers the greatsword Dawn to Lady Ashara Dayne, sister of the Sword of the Morning, he will plant himself in Winterfell and stay there till the end of his days. He was of the North and anywhere but that was not for him. Ned doubted Lady Ashara Dayne would welcome him warmly. Why should she? He killed her valiant brother. The most he could hope for was bread and salt before she sends him and Howland on their way.

Ned urged his tired horse closer to the distant castle. Both he, Howland and their steeds were exhausted; the sooner they arrive at Starfall the better. Ned dared to hope Lady Ashara would permit them rooms for the night, or at least give Howland Reed time to recover. He would gladly ride back to the North; the small crannogman needed rest. Ned felt a wave of gratitude to Howland Reed. If it wasn't for Howland, it would be Ned's body buried with those of the six other northmen in the scorching Dornish desert. Ser Arthur Dayne the Sword of the Morning, was too a true knight to leave the northmen's remains out as food for the crows…even if they fought on opposing sides.

"Here." Ned paused and threw Howland his last apple. "Eat," he advised. "You need your strength." As do we all. We all need enough strength to swallow the Lannister atrocities of King's Landing; the crimson cloaked bodies of Elia Martell and her children…the child Rhaenys and the babe Aegon...Ned's heart hardened. Only a monster like Gregor Clegane will be brutal enough to murder a weeping, pleading mother, a terrified girl and an infant. He hoped Robert would now have the sense to sentence Clegane and Rhaneys Targaryen's killer to death. Jon must convince Robert to behead them, Ned prayed, the sound of Howland munching the apple a mere whisper of the hot desert wind. Yes, Robert will – no, he must – listen to Jon. Jon Arryn is the only man Robert will heed to.

King Robert Baratheon was like a brother to him. In a way, he reminded Ned of his own, rather hot-blooded brother Brandon. Both Robert and Brandon were of looming height and unafraid of taking the maidenhead of girls. Robert had a bastard – a daughter – somewhere in the Vale and most likely a dozen more scattered between the Vale and King's Landing. Brandon had left no bastards, but he had taken the maidenhead of Lord Rodrik Ryswell's daughter…who happened to be wife of Willam Dustin. Ned suspected she would not welcome him warmly when he returns to Winterfell.

A hero's welcome is not for me, Ned thought. For Robert yes, if Brandon had lived, yes. Not for me. Howland rode up beside him, clinging strenuously to the reins. "You will rest when we arrive at Starfall," Ned told him, "you are in no state to ride back after a few hours." If Brandon was in his place, he would've made a jape. I will not want to bury another friend, he might've jested.

"Will Lady Ashara welcome us, my lord?" said the crannogman worriedly.

Ned shrugged. "She will not fear you; she bears no ounce of hatred towards you." Like any highborn lady, he was certain she would give common courtesy and give them refreshments. "For me…" he paused. "I will consider it fortunate if I am served stale bread and water." His horse neighed with fatigue. Ned patted him and said mindlessly. "We are almost there."

"If Lady Ashara sends you away, I will follow you my lord," promised Howland loyally. "I'd rather die on the road with my liege lord than in a Dornish keep far from the North."

Ned nodded with thanks. "You are a good man, Lord Reed." He looked at him levelly. "We must talk…when we are home again in the North."

"Lord Stark." Lady Ashara Dayne stood with her arms crossed in the solar as her violet eyes coldly rested upon the exhausted and grimy Ned and Howland. "I did not expect to see you here. If you're here to tell me Lord Robert Baratheon is now king, you had a wasted journey. I received a raven earlier this morning from a maester in King's Landing."

Ned shifted uncomfortably. The last time he saw Lady Ashara was during the festivities of the fateful Tourney at Harrenhal. She had danced with him – most likely asked by Brandon – and he remembered her to be of tall stature with long, cascading dark hair and the most haunting violet eyes. As he looked at her now, she was just as – if not more – beautiful. Silently, Ned reached for Dawn from the scabbard on his back and carefully placed it on the oaken table between him and Howland and Ashara Dayne.

He waited as Ashara stared at it, speechless. Dawn gleamed as she touched its hilt. The greatsword was said to be made from metal forged from the heart of a fallen star. A tear rolled down Ashara Dayne's fair cheek, landing on the blade as pale as milkglass. "Do you know what is so special about Dawn, my lords?" she said quietly, her slim fingers gripping the hilt tightly.

"Dawn is not passed down from lord to lord," Ned responded softly. "Am I correct, my lady?"

"Only a worthy knight of House Dayne can wield it." Ashara examined the glistening blade carefully as if it was her babe. "A true knight, the Sword of the Morning. Where is my brother?"

"Ser Arthur Dayne…he is dead, my lady. He died bravely, valiantly, honourably all in the name of his king." Another tear trickled down Ashara's cheek. "He was the truest knight in the Seven Kingdoms and also the deadliest. If it wasn't for Lord Howland Reed over here…he would have returned to you triumphant. My lady…I regret I did not have the power to bring you your brother's body." A third tear followed the second. "I did not have enough horses or strength to bring him from the Tower of Joy."

More tears seeped from Ashara Dayne's haunting purple eyes as Ned barged ahead and said, "Ser Arthur is with his prince now."

Ashara collapsed onto her chair, her hands visibly shaking as she muttered as if in a trance, "The White Bull…dead. Prince Lewyn Martell of Dorne…dead. Ser Oswell Whent…dead. Ser Jonothor Darry…also dead. And now my brother, the Sword in the Morning…d-d-dead." She laughed wildly. "Is Ser Barristan the Bold dead too? All the great knights of the Seven Kingdoms dead!"

"Ser Barristan Selmy lives," Ned informed her uncertainly. "The king plans to give him the position of Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Ser Jaime-"

"Kingslayer! He murdered King Aerys!"

"Very well. The Kingslayer still lives. He is not the most honourable of knights, but he is a skilled warrior." His last words carried a bitter taste. Calling Ser Jaime Lannister a skilled warrior was not something he would say on a normal day. "I sincerely hope the Kingsguard will be filled with true knights once again."

"My brother…there was no knight as valiant as him."

Ned nodded in agreement. "Aye, my lady."

Lady Ashara wiped away her tears. "Who killed him?"

Ned bowed his head. "I did, my lady. I am not proud of it." He felt her accusing eyes bore into him. Before he could speak, he felt a sharp, stinging slap on his right cheek. "My lord!" the crannogman shouted in alarm.

Ned's mouth twisted into a sad smile. In Lady Ashara's eyes, he deserved it. It was not particularly honourable, but at least she did not consider murdering him out of vengeance with Dawn.

"If you were any other man, I would run you through with a sword!" Ashara Dayne snapped, her eyes burning with fury. "Not with Dawn of course, but there are other, equally sharp blades that are capable of killing men! Be gone with you my lords! I do not want to see you in Starfall ever again! You brought me back my House's ancestral sword; for that, I thank you. If my men catch you near Starfall again, you will wish you never set foot in Dorne! You, Lord Reed, I bear no ill will against you. As for you, Lord Stark-" she narrowed her eyes dangerously and said softly "-if you were not Lord Brandon's brother, you would not fare as well." She stood up. "Please leave."

"My lady," said Howland hastily, almost tripping over his own tired feet. "I beg you a minute of your time. It is quite a long way home and we are running short on supplies. Perhaps a sack of apples? A few loaves of bread? Skins of water? If it wouldn't trouble you, mayhaps some directions?"

Ashara frowned. "Directions? Do you not have a map, Lord Reed?"

"Dorne is as foreign to us as the North is to you, my lady. I've oft heard of the Daynes' excellent hospitality. I understand your losses, my lady, and I mourn the death of the great Sword of the Morning as much as you. A bed for the night and bread and salt for supper are all we require, my lady."

Lady Ashara blinked. "Our excellent hospitality?"

The little crannogman offered her the most charming smile he could muster with his failing strength. "Aye my lady."

With a sigh, Ashara gestured for him and Ned to follow her. "I will have a maid bring you food," she said, striding down the stairs. "Will bread, a cold soup and a flagon of Dornish wine do? I will have your rooms prepared, my lords. The cook will restock your supplies and I will find someone willing to take you across to the Reach. I'm certain you will be able to make your way home after that, don't you think, my lords?"

"We are most grateful, my lady," said Ned, relieved. He gave Howland another grateful nod. Without the clever crannogman, he would be on the road supply less, famished and drained. The blazing sun would kill him first if not angry and vengeful Dornishmen.

Lady Ashara's steps echoed in the castle's maze of corridors as she led Ned and Howland to Starfall's Great Hall. Hung on the stone wall behind the Lord of Starfall's seat were three banners; the red-sun-and-golden-spear on an orange field of House Martell surrounded by two banners emblazoned with the white-sword-and-falling-star crossed on a purple field of the Daynes of Starfall.

To Ned's astonishment, Lady Ashara Dayne crossed the Great Hall and opened another, a side door, leading to a smaller room. In the middle of it was a large, round table constructed from oak. Around it were a number of chairs all equal in height. Displayed on the walls were portraits of men in armour, their hands all grasping Dawn. Swords of the Morning.

"Yes," said Lady Ashara, watching him beadily. "Ancestors, uncles, cousins…it would not be long before a portrait of my brother joins them. That is Ser Davos Dayne" – she pointed at the portrait closest to the door "-and that is Ser Ulrick Dayne. I trust you've heard of them." Every Sword of the Morning was famous throughout the Seven Kingdoms. "Ser Arthur would be the most famed of them all," Ned remarked. "All the children will hear his song."

Ashara smiled dryly. "The song of the Sword in the Morning. There will be little boys running in courtyards waving their wooden swords, pretending they are the valiant Ser Arthur Dayne with the greatsword Dawn."

Ned smiled a little. "Why are we here my lady?"

"Do you prefer to sup with Lord Reed alone in the Great Hall? I thought you and Lord Reed would like privacy whilst you are here."

"That is kind of you, my lady."

"Apparently we Daynes offer 'excellent hospitality'. Your supper shall arrive shortly." She bade them to sit and gracefully stalked out.

"She is a lovely woman, my lord," commented Howland, sighing with relief as he sunk onto a purple cushioned chair. "Ahhhh…"

"Enjoy it while you can," said Ned, pulling out the waxed letter brought to him by a dying messenger, now buried somewhere Dorne. He examined it and saw the seal of a crowned stag. Robert. It must be extremely important or he would not have sent a messenger to chase after him in Dorne. Ned broke the seal and his eyebrows rose. It was by Jon Arryn's hand.

After years as a ward in the Eyrie with Robert Baratheon, Ned had recognised their foster father Jon Arryn's handwriting up to the point he knew it more well than his own father Rickard Stark's writing.

"Is that the letter from the dead messenger?" asked Howland, his eyes falling upon a plate of fried fish. "Do you think the Dornish leave their meat out in the sun to cook?" he wondered.

"It is written by Lord Arryn." Ned's frown deepened as he read the contents of the letter. He nodded as a maid placed a fresh loaf of bread and a plate of cold meat in front of him. She then poured them a cup of Dornish wine each before bobbing a little nod and leaving the room. Ned stabbed the meat with his clean dagger and brought it to his mouth. He carefully read the letter again, chewing thoughtfully. The slice of meat was not as spicy as he expected. "The king is set to wed Lady Catelyn Tully," Ned informed his crannogman friend. "Lord Arryn had written they will marry once we return…to King's Landing." His stomach turned as he recalled the Red Keep's Great Hall.

"I thought you plan to return to Winterfell my lord?"

"My plans have apparently changed." He deliberated if Lady Catelyn would openly disapprove of Robert's whoring ways. Lyanna certainly did.

"I heard rumours," Lyanna had said after she was introduced to Robert before the tourney at Harrenhal. "Is it true Robert Baratheon fathered a bastard in the Vale? A little bastard girl?" What could Ned do but affirm the truth? "I will not stand for his whoring and drinking," Lyanna had then declared, flicking her dark hair defiantly. "I will not wed an unfaithful man."

"Lord Tully must be delighted." Howland ripped the loaf in half and devoured his portion like a hungry wolf to his prey. "It is not every day a Tully maiden would be queen."

"Lady Catelyn was to wed my brother if he lived." Or I if Lyanna had not died in the Tower of Joy. The wily Lord Hoster Tully had been quite insistent: if Lady Lyanna Stark was rescued and unsullied, his eldest daughter Catelyn will marry Ned. If the Lady Lyanna Stark was raped or dead, Catelyn was to be King Robert Baratheon's queen.

"The king must value you highly to postpone his own wedding, my lord. Not many kings will do that."

"Not many kings are like Robert." A grin appeared on Ned's face. "Are you still hungry? Have my bread. I…I lost my appetite." He pushed his share of the bread towards Howland. "You should have turned back before we reached the Tower of Joy. If you did, you would be on your way home."

Lord Howland smiled. "You are my liege lord. Besides, I owed your sister a debt. She protected me against those squires and I will protect and aid you the best I can. I will not go home until your business is concluded and this war finally done. You and I both know that this war will not be over until peace is restored throughout the Seven Kingdoms. There is Dorne to appease, Targaryen loyalists to hunt down…the king will need you at his side, my lord."

Ned sighed and nodded. "The king needs Lord Arryn too."

"What of his brothers?"

"Renly is still a child. Robert will need Stannis." Robert and Stannis had never gotten along particularly well before. Mayhaps they will be more brotherly now that Robert is king.

Wordless, Ned handed Howland the letter. Howland glanced at it and said flatly, "I cannot read your letter, my lord."

"Howland…I consider you one of my most trusted lords, and I…I require an opinion on this matter."

Apprehensively, Howland glanced at the letter. After staring at it for a good minute or two, he drained his goblet of wine. "What can I say?" he sighed, giving the letter back to Ned. "In Lord Arryn's writing it may be…but it is still the king's orders. There is nothing you can do my lord, but obey."

For the first time in months, Ned slept on a cosy bed without the worry of an unexpected attack. Nevertheless, he did not sleep like a babe. Every night he was persistently plagued by nightmares of the Tower of Joy…of Lyanna. Last night was no exception.

Splashing his face with clear water from the silver basin, Ned headed shook himself awake and headed to the Great Hall for a spot of breakfast. He smiled as he caught no sign of the little crannogman. It was admirable of him to accompany him to Starfall when he had the chance to turn back and return home. I will never forget his determination or loyalty. He entered Starfall's Great Hall and nodded as he noticed Ashara and a petite child nibbling flatbread at the long tables. Two servants slipped in and out silently like mice. "My lady," Ned said politely. "I hope you slept well." Yesterday Ashara had worn flowing silks of lilac cinched at her waist with a belt of amethysts and pearls; today she was covered from head to toe in black like a grieving widow. The belt of purple and white was promptly replaced with one of onyxes and around her slender neck was a star pendant wrought from pearls. "The last gift from my brother," said Ashara, noticing his grey eyes upon it. "It was our mother's. Arthur was to bestow it upon his future bride, but as he chose to be a knight of the Kingsguard…he granted it to me as a gift for my last name day. I hope you slept better than I, my lord. I spent half the night reading all the letters Arthur had written me."

"I too, did not sleep well," admitted Ned, taking a seat opposite her after his host nodded for him to sit. He gazed at the dark haired child curiously. "Is she your niece, my lady?" he could not help but ask. There were two Dayne brothers. The Sword in the Morning and…

"No, she is my sister, my lord," she replied, "Allyria Dayne. She is yet to be told of her brother's…death." Her voice wavered. "Allyria only knows her brother as a valiant knight, saving maidens and slaying dragons. Perhaps it will be good for her to remember him that way." She chuckled rather shakily and gently prodded her sister towards the door. Little Allyria Dayne beamed at him before skipping out, singing to an unfamiliar tune.

"My lady…" Ned passed his letter to Ashara. "It seems my journey here is not solely to return Dawn." He cringed as she shot him a furious glare as she read through the letter. "For the sake of peace between Houses Dayne of Starfall, Stark of Winterfell and Baratheon of King's Landing," Ned went on quickly, "the king has commanded me to…to take you as wife."

My first ASOIAF fanfic! I hope you enjoyed reading the chapter - please review! :D Any ideas or suggestions are most welcome.