Stepping out of the Maester's chambers, Arthur let out a long breath.
In his two days at Starfall, it was plain to see that the castle was effectively ruled by Maester Oswell and the Master-at-Arms, Ser Clegg Orys.
From the handling of petitions in the audience chamber to the toasts at the welcome feast, everything pointed to this fact.
His aunt, Allyria Dayne, was a classic highborn lady, not a ruler. His cousin, Lord Edric, was a shy six-year-old boy.
Their ability to manage Starfall and its bannermen ranged from negligible to non-existent.
And Maester Oswell?
He had served three generations of Lords. He had delivered most of the people in the castle, including Arthur himself.
Arthur could see that in Starfall, Maester Oswell's word likely carried more weight with the smallfolk and household than even Lady Allyria's.
That was why Arthur had shared his experiences and presented gifts—to show Maester Oswell his capability and strength.
And when Oswell began to probe and test him, Arthur decided to lay his cards on the table.
He had no interest in usurping his cousin Edric's seat as Lord of Starfall. He made his intentions clear: he wished to become the Sword of the Morning, a knight of honor and virtue.
Maester Oswell understood the sincerity of Arthur's offer. In response, he laid out five conditions—both counsel and requirements—for Arthur to claim the title of Sword of the Morning.
First: Arthur must become a Knight. Furthermore, the knight who dubs him must be the most prestigious and respected knight in all of Dorne.
Second: Since Arthur does not bear the name Dayne, he must make a contribution so significant that all of Starfall recognizes his worth.
Third: He must demonstrate martial prowess and swordsmanship that commands the respect of everyone in the castle.
Fourth: He must swear a solemn vow to uphold the virtues of the Sword of the Morning: courage, temperance, diligence, and justice, ensuring the title is never tarnished.
Fifth: After fulfilling the first four conditions, he must enter the Palestone Sword Tower and gain the acknowledgement of Dawn itself—by drawing the blade from its resting place.
Arthur accepted these five conditions without hesitation or bargaining.
They were positive steps, necessary hurdles on the path to becoming the Sword of the Morning.
Back in his room, Arthur wrote down the conditions and began to ponder how to achieve them. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.
"Lad, why are you hiding in here? Those two boys you brought from the Sisters aren't half bad." The old Master-at-Arms, Ser Clegg, pushed the door open. "Come to the yard. Let me see what you can do with a sword."
"With pleasure."
Arthur didn't waste words. He quickly changed and followed Ser Clegg out.
On the way to the training yard, Arthur asked, "Ser Clegg, who is the most famous and respected knight in Dorne today?"
"Oberyn!" Ser Clegg answered without a second thought. "In the past, there might have been others, but today, it is undoubtedly Prince Oberyn Martell."
"The Red Viper?" Arthur was surprised.
His strongest impression of Prince Oberyn Martell was his gruesome death—having his skull crushed by the Mountain. Lancers truly have terrible luck, he thought grimly.
"Aye, the Red Viper. His enemies and friends alike call him that, just as his bastard daughters are called the Sand Snakes," the old knight laughed. "Prince Oberyn is passionate, indomitable, quick-witted, and charismatic. He suits the Dornish temperament perfectly. There isn't a warrior in Dorne who doesn't admire him."
Prince Oberyn... Arthur scratched his head in frustration. Getting him to knight me? That sounds like a tall order.
At least Prince Oberyn likely wouldn't care that Arthur didn't follow the Faith of the Seven. That was a small mercy.
---
In the training yard, Arthur held a wooden practice sword. The Master-at-Arms paired him against a tall, burly squire.
The squire sneered as Arthur approached. "Snow, they say you hide under Lady Allyria's skirts. Didn't expect you to have the guts to come to the yard."
Arthur ignored him. His expression remained blank as he turned sideways, adopting the stance of a Water Dancer.
The squire laughed at Arthur's pose. "Snow, are you going to dance for us?"
The other pages and squires gathered around laughed as well. Only Jimmy pulled Zach back, moving away from the crowd.
Having traveled from Braavos, they knew exactly what that stance meant. It signaled a dominance that made struggle futile. Like red-hot iron on an anvil, the opponent would be hammered into whatever shape the smith desired.
"Shall we begin?" Arthur said coolly. "I can hardly wait to hammer you into shape."
Seeing Arthur carried no shield, the squire tossed his own shield aside, chin held high in arrogance. "Come on then. For Lady Allyria's sake, I'll go easy on you."
Arthur didn't speak. He took two quick steps forward and lightly tapped the squire's sword hand with his wooden blade.
"Ow!"
The squire cried out in pain, and his wooden sword clattered to the ground.
Arthur didn't press the attack. He stopped and scolded, "Focus! Pick up your sword!"
Face flushing red, the squire grabbed his sword and roared, "Again!"
Arthur repeated the motion: two steps, a feint. When the squire moved to block, Arthur pivoted gracefully, tapping twice in rapid succession—once on the hand, once on the squire's right leg.
"Argh!"
The squire yelped again, this time crashing to the ground with his sword.
Arthur stopped again. "Too slow! Your reactions are dull. Get up and continue!"
The squire scrambled up, his expression now serious and grave. This time, he launched the attack.
Arthur didn't move his feet. He parried the strike, and his wooden blade snaked out like a viper to tap the squire's right shoulder.
"Ah!"
The sword fell to the dirt once more.
Arthur barked, "Too eager! You're full of openings. Pick it up!"
Feeling the heat and the adrenaline, Arthur wasn't satisfied. He stripped off his sweat-soaked tunic, grabbing a second wooden sword.
Two swords in hand. [Assault Mode] engaged!
"Break!"
[Unarmored Defense] triggered!
"Did you not eat this morning? Your swings are soft as wet wool. Forget fighting men; you'd struggle to chop vegetables!"
"You were laughing loud enough a moment ago. Where's that energy now?"
"Crying? Crying won't stop the lesson!"
"You there! You laughed the loudest after him. And you—don't think your pretty face will save you from a thrashing!"
"Don't lie there playing dead! If you stay down, I'll really give you something to cry about!"
"Who else laughed? Step forward!"
"Where are you all running?!"
"If you're men, stop running!"
"Wait, Ser Clegg—why are you running too?!"
---
Long after that day, whenever the squires recalled Arthur, they would give a thumbs-up and speak with... unique praise.
"He was strict but... rugged. I could feel a kind of fatherly affection in every welt he gave me."
"He would point out my flaws bluntly and correct them affectionately, again and again, until my other brother from another mother had to take my place."
"What can I say? Every time I see him take off his shirt and pick up two swords, I swear I can see the Stranger waving at me."