Bran: "That's Ser Arthur Dayne... the Sword of the Morning."
Three-Eyed Raven: "He would have killed all of them."
Bran:"But my father beat him."
Three-Eyed Raven:"Did he?"
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Eddard Stark stood with six companions; Howland Reed, Willam Dustin, Ethan Glover, Martyn Cassel, Theo Wull, and Mark Ryswell with their swords drawn, their faces set with grim purpose.
Sweat beaded on Ned's brow, his chainmail felt heavy under his surcoat and the weight of his mission pressing harder than the armor.
Across from them, three Kingsguard held their ground: Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning was gripping Dawn with its blade glinting ; Gerold Hightower who is broad and scarred had his hand steady on his longsword; and Oswell Whent, lean and watchful had his eyes darting between foes.
Ned's voice carried over the wind, steady but with unease. "I looked for you on the Trident."
Arthur's face was calm with his violet eyes unyielding. "We weren't there."
"Woe to the Usurper if we had been," Gerold said, his voice rough, his knuckles whitening around his hilt.
"When King's Landing burned, Ser Jaime slew your king with a golden sword," Ned said, stepping closer, his gaze locked on Arthur. "Where were you then?"
"Far away," Arthur answered, his words came calm and precise. "Or Aerys would yet live, and that butcher would not."
Ned's jaw tightened, the memory of Rhaegar's fall flashing through him, a memory of ruby blood in the river and a prince broken on the Trident.
"Rhaegar lies dead. Your war is done."
"Our prince commanded us here," Oswell said, his voice sharp, almost a snarl. "We guard what he valued most."Ned's hand tightened on his sword, his heart thudding. "My sister. Is Lyanna inside?"
Arthur's silence answered, his stance shifting, Dawn catching the sunlight in a cold flash. Then answered "I wish you good fortune in the wars to come."
Ned said in a low voice, a final offer to avoid bloodshed. "Lay down your swords, Ser Arthur. You know me."
"And now it begins," Arthur said, raising Dawn, his words a quiet vow filled with duty.
"No," Ned said, drawing his blade fully, his men bracing around him. "Now it ends."
The clash was immediate, steel slamming against steel.
Arthur moved first, Dawn arcing down, catching Martyn Cassel's blade and shearing through it, the steel splintering as Cassel staggered, blood welling from a gash across his chest. He fell choking and his hands clawing at the dust.
Gerold Hightower surged forward, his longsword hacking at Willam Dustin, who parried with his axe, grunting as the blow jarred his shoulder.
Oswell Whent darted left, his blade meeting Ethan Glover's, their swords scraping in a shower of sparks.
Ned lunged at Arthur, his sword swinging hard, but Dawn deflected it with a flick with the pale blade impossibly fast.
Arthur countered, his strike grazing Ned's arm as blood started seeping through his sleeve and a sharp pain flaring.
Theo Wull roared while charging Gerold with his mace swinging, but Hightower sidestepped, his sword slicing Wull's thigh, dropping him to one knee with a howl.
Mark Ryswell flanked Oswell, his blade nicking Whent's side, but Oswell spun, his counterstrike opening a cut across Ryswell's forearm with blood dripping to the ground.
Howland Reed stayed low, his spear probing for gaps, his eyes darting between the Kingsguard. He jabbed at Arthur, the spearpoint grazing his hip and drawing a grunt but no pause.
Arthur's skill was a marvel as each movement was precise, Dawn weaving a deadly pattern that kept Ned and Glover at bay. But the numbers were relentless; seven against three, a tide no knight however legendary, could hold back.
Gerold bellowed, driving his sword into Dustin's gut with the axe falling as Dustin collapsed, blood pooling beneath him. But Howland's spear found Hightower's side, piercing mail, and the White Bull staggered, his blade wavering.
Theo Wull, limping, swung his mace one last time, catching Gerold's helm and cracking it open. Hightower fell, his blood soaking the earth and his eyes staring blankly at the sky.
Oswell fought on, his blade clashing with Glover's, but Mark Ryswell struck from behind, his sword biting into Whent's shoulder. Oswell snarled, turning to parry but Glover's blade found his throat, and he dropped, choking, his hands scrabbling at the wound as life left him.
Arthur stood alone now with blood streaking his armor, His breathing was quick, yet controlled. Dawn flashed deflecting Ned's strike, then slashing at Glover, who stumbled back, clutching a gash on his arm.
Ned pressed forward, his sword heavy, his shoulder burning from Arthur's earlier cut.
Howland circled with his spear low waiting for an opening. Arthur parried Ned's next blow, countered with a thrust that nearly took his eye, but Howland struck switly a dagger to the thigh, sinking deep.
Arthur's leg buckled with his knee hitting the dust. Dawn wavered, then fell, its tip sinking into the earth. He looked up, his eyes finding the tower as if seeing beyond its stones. "Lord Stark…" he rasped, his voice fading then slumped forward with blood spreading beneath him, red against the red ground.
Ned stood panting, his sword dripping and his chest heaving as he scanned the carnage. Only he and Howland Reed remained, their companions strewn across the dust, their blood mingling with the Kingsguard's.
Then, a scream tore through the silence, a woman's voice from the tower. Lyanna.