"This was the room of the previous Arthur of Starfall. After he passed, it was left empty."
Allyria led him to a chamber in the main keep, close to the Lord's own bedchamber.
"This was my uncle's room? Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning?" Arthur looked around at the furnishings. "Uncle Ned said I was named after him, carrying my mother's fervent hopes."
"No one else could dwell here," Allyria said, a look of nostalgia in her eyes. "This room belongs to the kin of House Dayne."
Standing in the room, Arthur felt an indescribable strangeness. He was named after the man who lived here; he was now staying in the very room that man had occupied; and he aspired to wield the same sword and bear the same title.
Seven hells, am I becoming a stand-in?
But then again, being the "stand-in" for Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, wasn't exactly a bad fate. The man was a legend.
"Cousin Arthur, can you tell me what happened on your journey from Winterfell to Starfall?"
"Why did it take you over a year—nearly two years—to get here?"
Without strangers present, Edric was no longer the shy, anxious boy from the hall. He was lively, transforming into a bundle of curiosity, tugging at Arthur's hand and asking question after question.
Allyria playfully pinched Edric's round cheek. "Ned, Arthur has just come off a ship; he must be exhausted. Let him rest properly. You can ask him tomorrow."
"Yes, Aunt Allyria." Edric pouted but took Allyria's hand and left.
After they departed, Arthur lay down on the clean bed and fell asleep. The voyage of nearly two and a half months, combined with bouts of seasickness, had indeed worn him out.
He slept until sunset, when a servant knocked to summon him to the feast.
After quickly tidying his appearance and clothes, Arthur followed the servant to the Great Hall.
"Arthur! Over here, sit here," Allyria called out, pointing to an empty seat on the dais, directly to the left of Edric.
Arthur looked at the empty seat on the high table and opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was deeply moved.
After taking his seat, he noticed that Edric beside him had lost the liveliness he showed in the bedroom. He had reverted to his reserved, timid self in front of others, keeping his head down and eating the sweets in his bowl.
The feast featured main courses of purple olives, white bread, and cheese dusted with chili powder.
There were also three roasted goats stuffed with honey, raisins, onions, mushrooms, and fire peppers; two enormous lamprey pies; and lemon-egg soup.
Compared to the cloying sweetness of Pentos, the food of the Dornish matched their character: spicy and bold.
Arthur had heard of a unique Dornish dish—roasted snake meat dusted with a powder of mustard seeds and dragon peppers, sometimes even with a drop of venom added. However, he didn't see that on the table tonight.
The wine was the famous Dornish strongwine. Arthur had tasted it in Winterfell and Braavos, but the vintage here was far superior—sweeter, richer with the scent of fruits, leaving a lingering fragrance on the tongue.
Halfway through the feast, many knights began inviting ladies to dance. Allyria received the most invitations, but she politely refused them all.
When Arthur asked why she wouldn't dance, she simply smiled and glanced at Edric beside her, saying nothing.
"Arthur Snow!"
Just as Arthur was about to say he could watch over Edric, a booming voice interrupted him.
"Ser Clegg?" Arthur looked confusedly at the old Master-at-Arms sitting nearby. His beard was white, but his spirit was vigorous.
Arthur had seen the old knight in the audience chamber earlier; he was Ser Barton's father.
"Do not fail the love and trust they have placed in you," the Master-at-Arms said, his face flushed with drink. He held an iron-banded tankard, and his breath smelled heavily of summer wine. "Or I will beat you until you piss yourself."
Arthur clinked his cup against the old knight's tankard, raising an eyebrow. "Rest assured, Ser. Neither of those things will happen. I will never betray the love and trust given to me, and I will never be beaten until I piss myself."
"Oh? You're arrogant, lad." The old man sat up straighter, scrutinizing Arthur's hands and shoulders for a moment. "I cannot test the first promise immediately. But the second... well, I shall have plenty of chances to test that later."
With that, Ser Clegg drained his tankard of strongwine. Pale drops spilled from his white beard as he finished, followed by a hearty laugh.
"Watch yourself, boy."
"Ser, I am ready whenever you are." Arthur drained his cup in return.
Just then, the doors to the Great Hall swung open. The cook and several servants struggled together to carry in a massive platter. Upon it sat a gigantic lemon cake, nearly ten feet across.
The cake was shaped like a peach, covered in frosting, crushed nuts, and segments of blood orange.
"Cousin, that is... that is my gift... to you," Edric leaned in, whispering shyly. "Do... do you like it?"
"I love it." Arthur couldn't resist pinching Edric's round cheek. "What gift would you like?"
"I..."
Edric's voice was cut off by a singer's sudden, high-pitched note, silencing the hall.
Allyria rose from her seat and raised her goblet. "My Lords, My Ladies, please raise your cups for this moment."
"To celebrate the arrival of my nephew, Arthur Snow!"
The guests looked at each other hesitantly; only a few raised their cups in response.
Allyria continued, undeterred, "To celebrate the safe return of the blood of House Dayne! Long live Starfall! Long live the Seven!"
"Long live Starfall! Long live the Seven!" Ser Clegg shouted, leading the charge. The old Maester shakily stood up as well. Following their lead, the rest of the hall raised their cups and cheered.
"Long live Starfall!"
"Long live the Seven!"
"May this fortune be ever-lasting!" Allyria drained her cup.
"May this fortune be ever-lasting!" Cups of white wax wood, timber, pottery, and iron-banded horn clinked together.
After finishing his wine, Arthur glanced at young Lord Edric, who was only allowed a small sip of wine and had to content himself with cold soup. Then he looked at Allyria, whose gaze upon him was gentle, bordering on maternal love.
Arthur couldn't help but sigh at the power of blood and kinship. There was nothing like it.
Though he had trained hard and his tolerance for drink had grown, in that moment, he felt a little drunk. Not on wine, but on the unconditional acceptance that enveloped him. It was a feeling one could easily drown in.
By the time the feast ended, night had fully fallen. Arthur returned to "Arthur's room." Jimmy and Zach had already moved his personal chests inside and made the bed.
Lying on the familiar velvet mattress, he slept exceptionally well that night.
If you asked why...
It was because... he was home.