Ashara Dayne — Starfall, 281 AC
It was too heavy. Too much.
The world had taken everything: her daughter, her brother, and the man she had loved—loved enough to give her honor to. He had sworn her marriage, a life together, yet he had wed another, and worse, struck Arthur down with his own hand.
Ashara's fingers tightened on the cold stone. The ledge was narrow, the drop below endless. A single step would be enough.
"I'm sorry, Allyrion… Allyria," she whispered through tears to the only blood left to her—her elder brother, her baby sister barely past her toddler years. Her voice shook as though speaking to ghosts. "Lyarra waits for me… even Arthur."
Her bare toes curled on the stone. One more step.
And then—
"Hehehe."
A giggle.
Ashara froze. Her head jerked toward the sound, violet eyes wide. That sound—bright, small, impossibly out of place.
Down in the Torrentine, caught among the rocks, a small raft bobbed in the current.
Her breath caught.
Another sound carried up, lighter than the crash of water.
"Hehe."
A baby's laugh.
Her heart lurched violently in her chest. "A… baby?"
She turned and fled down the tower steps, skirts snapping at her ankles. The corridors of Starfall blurred past her until she burst into the courtyard.
Two of the guards straightened at once, offering hurried bows. "My lady—"
"Come with me," Ashara cut them off, her voice sharp with urgency. She pointed down the cliff path. "To the river. Now!"
They obeyed without question.
When they reached the Torrentine's edge, she thrust out a trembling hand. "There—there, can you reach it?"
The raft was small enough for a man to lift whole, bobbing gently against the rocks.
One guard plunged in at once, the current dragging at him as he struck out. With a grunt, he seized the raft before it could slip downstream and wrestled it back to shore. The other guard leaned low, reaching for the bundle swaddled atop it.
He froze.
Ashara's stomach knotted. "What is it? What's wrong?"
The guard swallowed hard, eyes wide. "Nothing, my lady. It's… It's a boy."
He placed the child into her arms.
The world shifted.
Ashara looked down, and her breath faltered. The babe's hair was black as midnight, thick and soft against her fingers. But his eyes—gods, his eyes—blue as no sky she had ever seen, bright and sharp as jewels. They glowed with a life too fierce for one so small, too enthralling. To look upon them was to be caught, to be bound, as if her soul itself bent toward him.
The ache in her chest, the hollow where grief had lived, melted away. She pressed him close, her tears dripping into his hair. "My blue sky," she whispered, trembling with wonder. "What's your name, little one? What's your name, my blue sky?"
The baby reached up, touched her cheek with tiny fingers, and giggled again.
Ashara laughed through her tears. "You love to smile, don't you?" she cooed. "Even the river couldn't take that from you."
Behind her, the guards dragged the raft fully ashore. Something heavy lay within, swaddled in black cloth. With effort, they pulled it free, then stepped back in unease.
It was a sword.
Sheathed, sodden, and heavy—far heavier than it should have been. The wood of the raft groaned as they shifted it. It had taken both men, straining to haul it clear. When at last it struck the stones, the ground itself seemed to thud.
One guard unwrapped a corner. The cloth fell back to reveal a handle scorched with a mark deep and raw, as though branded by fire. A blood-red emblem: a circle painted in jagged strokes, a winged serpent with a dragon's head coiled to bite its own tail, and within, a hollow triangle of three broken points.
The mark seemed less forged than seared into the steel, violent and unclean.
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"Seven save us," one guard muttered, stepping back. "This is no common steel."
The other only nodded, unease plain on his face.
Ashara spared it no more than a glance. Her whole world lay in her arms, warm and laughing, with eyes that made even the Torrentine hush.
"My lady." The dripping guard approached hesitantly, voice low. "How… how did you know the babe was there?"
Ashara's gaze never left the child. "What are you talking about? I heard him giggle. Didn't you?"
The guard shook his head slowly. "No, my lady. Not until I touched the raft. Until then… nothing."
Ashara turned, stunned. Nothing?
Her eyes fell back to the boy. His lips curled into another smile, and he cooed softly, reaching again for her hair. As he did, the river's roar seemed to fade, quieting as though it dared not disturb him.
A shiver passed through her—not fear, but recognition.
The gods had not abandoned her. The babe had called only to her, his voice not carried on the air but drawn straight into her soul. She was meant to find him. Meant to live.
Ashara pressed him tight against her chest, whispering so softly the guards could not hear: "You're mine. Fate sent you to me. Only me."
She bent and kissed his forehead. The name came to her unbidden, clear as if whispered by the stars themselves.
"Vorian," she breathed. "Your name will be Vorian."
And without noticing, every shard of grief in her heart had already vanished, leaving only warmth—as though it had never been.
Allyrion Dayne — Lord of Starfall
"Good night, Allyria," Allyrion murmured as he tucked the blankets around his little sister.
"Good night, brother." Allyria's smile was bright as ever, untouched by grief, untouched by the weight of death. That smile was the only light left in Starfall, and it gave him hope, however thin, for the days to come.
The last few weeks had been the hardest of their lives. Arthur—his brother, their pride, their sword—cut down at the Tower of Joy. Allyrion still could not understand it. No man alive could best Arthur Dayne. Yet Stark had come with Dawn in hand, solemn and heavy, and rage had consumed Allyrion. He would have torn the man's heart out had Ashara not begged him otherwise.
And Ashara…
The thought of her hollowed him. First Arthur, then the child she had carried—born still and silent. Too much. Too cruel.
She frightened him now. Her violet eyes once shone like starlight, but now they were glassy, dull, and lifeless. She hardly ate. She drifted like a shade through the halls. Allyrion had no balm for such wounds. Allyria was too young to understand; she did not even remember Arthur. But Ashara—Ashara was breaking before his eyes, and he was powerless.
At times, he longed for their mother, wished she lived still to guide them. Yet even that hope soured. Could she have endured the death of her son and her grandchild? Could any mother?
His chest burned, his throat tight. "Ahhh! What am I thinking?" he snarled, his voice echoing through the chamber. He lashed out with his boot, sending a chair clattering across the floor.
"My lord," came a voice at the door. "Lady Ashara is here."
Allyrion stiffened, hastily righting the chair. "Send her in."
The door opened.
"Ashara," he breathed, relief and dread entwined, but as soon as he saw her eyes, his fear faded. Her eyes seemed full of Life now.
"Allyrion," she said softly. His eyes went at once to the bundle in her arms.
She caught his look before he could speak. "I found him," she said fiercely. "On a raft in the river. He will be my son."
Allyrion blinked, stunned. "What?" He closed the distance in two strides and looked down.
The child's sky-bright eyes met his own. Allyrion's breath caught. He had never seen eyes like that, never seen a babe who seemed to shine with such strange, unnerving life. For an instant, his grief faltered—and in its place, wonder.
Yet doubt lingered. Whose blood are you? What fate have you brought to my hall? The questions whispered in him.
And then the babe giggled. Just once.
It was enough.
"Meet Vorian," Ashara said, her voice trembling with pride and defiance. "My son. Your nephew."
Allyrion's throat worked. He could only nod. Slowly, reverently, he stretched out his arms.
Ashara hesitated, then placed the child into them.
Allyrion looked down, and the boy's eyes held him fast. The anger, the grief, the weight of despair—all stilled. Peace washed over him for the first time since Arthur's fall.
His hold tightened, protective and reverent.
"My nephew," he whispered, tasting the words as if they were a prayer. And for the first time in many nights, he dared to believe that hope had not left House Dayne forever.
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Somewhere Beyond the Wall
The Three-Eyed Raven(More like the Useless Raven)
The man bound within the weirwood jerked suddenly, a hiss of pain escaping his lips. "Argh!" His pale face twisted. "Seven hells…"
Leaf padded closer, her eyes bright with worry. Behind her, several of the children of the forest gathered, whispering. "What is it, Three-Eyed Raven? Did you find them?"
His breath came ragged, like every word cost him. "Aye. One remains. Far to the south, in Dorne. Starfall." His tone curdled with frustration. "But my ravens cannot reach him. They fall dead the moment they draw too close. Faster than I can slip my sight into their eyes."
Leaf's brows furrowed. "But why? What power lies there that kills your birds?"
The Raven's pale, clouded gaze fixed on her, long and unblinking. For a heartbeat, it seemed he might answer—but he only turned away, ignoring her entirely.
Leaf pressed. "If you know something, speak it. The long night stirs. We must be ready."
He let out a weary sigh, his voice dropping low. "The great war is upon us. Whether it breaks from the frozen north… or from fire in the south… I cannot yet tell."
And his eyes rolled up again.
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A/N: "Thank you so much for reading! The second chapter will be up tomorrow, likely around the same time. If you spot any mistakes or feel something doesn't quite work, please let me know—I'd really appreciate your feedback."