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The courtyard still smelled faintly of dust and sweat, the echoes of clashing steel hanging in the air. Arthur Snow stood composed, sword sheathed, every muscle relaxed as though the duel had been nothing more than a formality. The crowd shifted, whispering in awe and disbelief, their murmurs weaving a tapestry of admiration and fear.
Children of the royal family leaned forward, eyes wide. Viserys gasped and tugged at his mother's sleeve. Young Rhaegar's brow furrowed thoughtfully, while Rhaenys clapped quietly, her fingers trembling with excitement. Elia Martell's soft laugh carried genuine admiration. "He is… remarkable," she murmured. "Incredible for one so young."
Queen Rhaella watched more quietly, her lips curved in a near-imperceptible smile. Discipline and poise radiated from the boy, the kind born of careful training and innate focus. In the court, murmurs rippled—some impressed, others incredulous. A mere Northern boy had disarmed a Kingsguard without a scratch, and the truth was impossible to ignore.
King Aerys, however, could not hide his fury. His eyes blazed with manic energy, fingers twitching in irritation. "Jaime! How could you let this happen? Did your arrogance blind you to the boy's skill?" He paced the dais, voice rising with each step, demanding answers. "Speak! What say you, my sworn swords? How did the boy fare against our champion?"
Some Kingsguard spoke with measured respect. "He has skill beyond his years, Your Grace," one said cautiously. Another added, "If trained further, he could be dangerous indeed." A few nodded, while others kept silent, wary of the King's temper.
Arthur Dayne's dark eyes never left the boy, tracking every motion. When their gazes met, Arthur Snow felt it again—the same pull from the Reaper in the throne room—unexplainable, yet insistent. His thoughts drifted to the fragment he had discovered beneath the Frozen Tooth. Could Dawn, so impossibly pure and balanced, be forged from the same ancient material—one piece sent north, the other carried south?
A shiver ran down him as the sunlight caught the sword's edge. He felt an unfamiliar weight settle over his chest, as if invisible threads tugged at him from afar. Every instinct screamed caution, yet awe softened it into something heavier, more pressing. The whispers of destiny he had felt before, during silent nights in the North, seemed to coil around the present moment. Could this sword, this boy, this meeting of paths, be part of something larger, something older than kingdoms and kings?
The King turned to Dayne directly. "And you, Dayne? If you two fought, how would it go?"
Dayne considered carefully, his gaze steady, voice calm but deliberate. "In this moment, Your Grace, he might hold his own. But give him time, let him grow, and he would surely surpass me."
A murmur swept through the court. Even the King, caught in the whirl of his own madness and curiosity, seemed momentarily still, his gaze narrowing, calculating.
Then Aerys' attention snapped fully to Arthur Snow. His voice boomed over the courtyard. "Your skill is rare, boy! You have the blood of the North, yet discipline worthy of a Kingsguard. I offer you a place at my side. Swear to protect the Iron Throne, and your name will be remembered among the greatest the Seven Kingdoms have ever known."
Arthur felt the weight of the words press down on him, heavier than any sword. The court's whispers fell silent. Every eye was on him—the King's expectant glare, Dayne's calculating assessment, the nobles' silent fascination. He could feel the tension radiating off the walls of the Red Keep, the collective expectation pressing in, almost tangible.
He took a slow breath, tension curling through his chest. One answer. One oath. Everything could change with a single word. He could sense the future stretching ahead, myriad paths branching from this moment. Alliances could shift, battles could be avoided or provoked, and the fragile balance of power could tilt with the decision he made in the next heartbeat.
And yet, his mind drifted again to the shard, to the ancient bones beneath the Frozen Tooth, to the whisper of destiny that had tugged at him before. The connection to Dawn lingered like an echo, impossible to ignore. Could this be fate—or merely coincidence? The sunlight glinting off the blade seemed to pulse, reminding him of forces he did not yet understand.
Arthur opened his mouth. And then he paused.
Time stretched. The sun tilted in the sky, dust motes drifting lazily across the courtyard, yet in that moment, it was as if the world itself waited for his decision. His heartbeat seemed louder than the murmurs of the court, and every pair of eyes—royal, noble, vigilant—was fixed upon him, expecting, demanding, willing him to act.
All awaited his words. One answer, one oath, could shift the balance of power in the realm. Arthur Snow said nothing… yet.