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D3AD ST4RHouse Dayne of Starfall
Fallen and Reborn
House Description:
The Daynes have a very old and storied heritage, traced all the way back to the distant Kings of the Torrentine. That history hardly bears any relevance now however, all but myth the modern man needn't know.
What matters is that the Rhoynish invasion ended their proud rule, and now the Daynes have long served their new liege. Faithfully they fought their wars, gaining many enemies in lands near and far in the name of a cause that was not even their own.
But with the passage of time, the end of this yoke becomes an ever more feasible and interesting proposal.
What matters is that the Rhoynish invasion ended their proud rule, and now the Daynes have long served their new liege. Faithfully they fought their wars, gaining many enemies in lands near and far in the name of a cause that was not even their own.
But with the passage of time, the end of this yoke becomes an ever more feasible and interesting proposal.
Recent History:
For recent years, constant bickering with their Dornish neighbours would be mediated by House Martell largely into the favour of all of their neighbours. Combined with dynastic and marital issues caused by Daynish preference for male focused primogeniture as opposed to the unisex succession of the rest of Dorne finally came to a head.
In the leadup to Aegon's failed invasion of Dorne, the crown kept in touch with House Dayne to coordinate. Just before the invasion began, House Dayne would strategically begin localized conflicts with all of the Houses loyal to the Martells that they were adjacent to with the goal of forcing them to devote a sizeable portion of their forces to dealing with the forces of the Daynes rather than the Targaryens.
This gambit failed in the same moment that the fleet of the Targaryens was turned to driftwood.
The Daynes had never formally renounced the Martells, and never publicly spoke in favour of the Dornes either. At the level of pure formality and decorum, they had done anything against the broader Dornish realm. However, it would take a fool to not realize what the Daynes had been attempting, and hence the Court at Sunspear conspired to put the Daynes in their place.
Just as the Daynes would not formally declare an effort of secession from Dorne, so too did the Lord of Sunspears not outright declare that it would seek to punish House Dayne for their insolence.
Immediately after, the many Lords that hadn't sought to find alternate lieges came together to make the Daynes suffer.
Both sides were very careful in curating the troops they brought to the conflict, ensuring they would be just small enough that the Maesters would never record this as a war, but violence was nonetheless had. Blood ran down the faces of mountains, raids and skirmishes and misunderstandings being the words used to describe the ensuing loss of life even after they began to number in the thousands.
The only way that the Daynes managed to end this incursion into their territories was through a series of duels. They knew they were far outnumbered, and so they knew that the only way forward was to remove those so interested in their downfall.
A majority of the men-folk of the Dayne name died in the ensuing series of single combats, including Azariah Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, the House shrinking almost in half with whole male lines of cousins being wiped out as they fought in single combat to fight the leaders of other Houses, their heirs, and their commanders.
Eventually, this did yield fruit. With hundreds of heads staked on the borders of their territory those who sought to destroy Starfall retreated. The Daynes rejoiced, but they knew that their foes were only licking their wounds.
While Starfall had weathered the soft siege it had experienced, the new head of their House knew that their Dorne had many scores to settle, and so Lord Athangeld had to act fast.
Much of what the Daynes owned was quickly sold, old tapestries and paintings and relics, anything without practical value was disposed of to make Starfall a quite spartan-looking affair. Mercenaries were hired to staff the vacancies among their bannermen, and repairs were made to their fortifications alongside damages to their serfs. While already bearing families, Lord Athangeld was also very clearly to his family; if they were to overcome the inbound struggle, they were to be fruitful. Many of their family died fighting their recent conflict and they were to replace their losses, fast whilst having to arrange for marriage for dozens of the women in their cousins who had lost the fathers and brothers that otherwise cared for them.
But this was only a part-time solution. If the Martells chose to be sufficiently vengeful for this insurrection in spirit if not in word, then the Daynes could be extinguished in one go. So it was that Athangeld sent much of his family to King's landing. Between the lad that would be his heir, several of the greatest warriors in his bled, and the vast majority of the women who bore the name Dayne, another gambit was ongoing. With so much of his flesh within King's Landing, he hoped to secure some sort of guarantee that the future of his line would not be wiped out by vengeful Rhoynar. Hoping to bind families all across Westeros with his daughters and nieces, Athangeld needs King Landing to ensure his safety at the very least, if perhaps not his prosperity and success.
Of course, his own family unfortunately proves to be as unpredictable and inconsistent as he....
In the leadup to Aegon's failed invasion of Dorne, the crown kept in touch with House Dayne to coordinate. Just before the invasion began, House Dayne would strategically begin localized conflicts with all of the Houses loyal to the Martells that they were adjacent to with the goal of forcing them to devote a sizeable portion of their forces to dealing with the forces of the Daynes rather than the Targaryens.
This gambit failed in the same moment that the fleet of the Targaryens was turned to driftwood.
The Daynes had never formally renounced the Martells, and never publicly spoke in favour of the Dornes either. At the level of pure formality and decorum, they had done anything against the broader Dornish realm. However, it would take a fool to not realize what the Daynes had been attempting, and hence the Court at Sunspear conspired to put the Daynes in their place.
Just as the Daynes would not formally declare an effort of secession from Dorne, so too did the Lord of Sunspears not outright declare that it would seek to punish House Dayne for their insolence.
Immediately after, the many Lords that hadn't sought to find alternate lieges came together to make the Daynes suffer.
Both sides were very careful in curating the troops they brought to the conflict, ensuring they would be just small enough that the Maesters would never record this as a war, but violence was nonetheless had. Blood ran down the faces of mountains, raids and skirmishes and misunderstandings being the words used to describe the ensuing loss of life even after they began to number in the thousands.
The only way that the Daynes managed to end this incursion into their territories was through a series of duels. They knew they were far outnumbered, and so they knew that the only way forward was to remove those so interested in their downfall.
A majority of the men-folk of the Dayne name died in the ensuing series of single combats, including Azariah Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, the House shrinking almost in half with whole male lines of cousins being wiped out as they fought in single combat to fight the leaders of other Houses, their heirs, and their commanders.
Eventually, this did yield fruit. With hundreds of heads staked on the borders of their territory those who sought to destroy Starfall retreated. The Daynes rejoiced, but they knew that their foes were only licking their wounds.
While Starfall had weathered the soft siege it had experienced, the new head of their House knew that their Dorne had many scores to settle, and so Lord Athangeld had to act fast.
Much of what the Daynes owned was quickly sold, old tapestries and paintings and relics, anything without practical value was disposed of to make Starfall a quite spartan-looking affair. Mercenaries were hired to staff the vacancies among their bannermen, and repairs were made to their fortifications alongside damages to their serfs. While already bearing families, Lord Athangeld was also very clearly to his family; if they were to overcome the inbound struggle, they were to be fruitful. Many of their family died fighting their recent conflict and they were to replace their losses, fast whilst having to arrange for marriage for dozens of the women in their cousins who had lost the fathers and brothers that otherwise cared for them.
But this was only a part-time solution. If the Martells chose to be sufficiently vengeful for this insurrection in spirit if not in word, then the Daynes could be extinguished in one go. So it was that Athangeld sent much of his family to King's landing. Between the lad that would be his heir, several of the greatest warriors in his bled, and the vast majority of the women who bore the name Dayne, another gambit was ongoing. With so much of his flesh within King's Landing, he hoped to secure some sort of guarantee that the future of his line would not be wiped out by vengeful Rhoynar. Hoping to bind families all across Westeros with his daughters and nieces, Athangeld needs King Landing to ensure his safety at the very least, if perhaps not his prosperity and success.
Of course, his own family unfortunately proves to be as unpredictable and inconsistent as he....
Family Members:
- Lord Athangeld Dayne
- Anastasius Dayne
- Dorika Dayne
- Vespasian Dayne
- Isidora Dayne
- Florentina Dayne
- Odoacer Dayne
- Kassia Dayne
- Ser Justinian Dayne
- Valens Dayne
- Florian Dayne
- Rognhilde Dayne
- Theodora Dayne
- Freywulf Dayne
- Dunstan Dayne
- Omar & Egilona Dayne (twins)
Daynes of High Hermitage - Ser Marcal Dayne
- Caecilia, Zenobia, Lysandra, Dayne (triplets)
- Servenda Dayne
- Julian Dayne
- Orland Dayne
- Fatima Dayne
- Valencia Dayne
- Amalasuntha Dayne (gestating)
Athangeld Dayne
Age: 40 years (year born AC)
Appearance:
Bearing long black hair starting to be tinted the slightest of streaks a soft grey, Athangeld has a quite stately appearance. A constant shave each morning somehow fails to prevent his face from being gently dotted with stubble that his wife insists gives him a look of authority. He has an unfortunate case of cauliflower ear born of some youthful duels, but people rarely look past the inquisitive amber eyes. He has started to lose just a few hairs to balding, but the length and thickness of his hair makes this difficult to note to most who have not met him. He is of average height, and is slowly growing a slight paunch from inactivity as his legs are lame after his last battles.
Description & biography:
Lord Athangeld Dayne was not born as such, for he was the younger brother of Sofian Dayne. An inquisitive mind, he was always more content to eavesdrop on the meetings of his father than play with wooden swords or pull the pigtails of girls. He did not mind this path, his white haired and purple eyed brother the natural face and leader of House Dayne.
But though an intellectual in contrast to his sibling, Athangeld was of one goal with his brother. The very brief Targaryen rule of Dorne following its insecure conquest ensured far greater honours to House Dayne, and the exit of the influence of the rest of Westeros signalled another setback to the rise of the Daynes. There was no need for Athangeld to whisper into his brother’s ear, for he was already set on avenging the insults the Martells gave by ignoring their requests and paiges, and Sofian was already incensed by ever more common Rhoynish heathenry in the mountains.
What what Athangeld was not prepared for was not just the death of his brother, but also of both of his sons in battle following their pseudo-rebellion. The shift of power in the Dayne family was quite sudden, and to some of its younger members barely understood, for it was Athangeld that had managed Starfall and even much of High Hermitage. Yet it was nonetheless shocking to make this adjustment. Indeed, already his son Anastasius was making a name for himself already prepared to take the position of his uncle, and some suspected that jealousy at a mirror of his sibling was what made Athangeld reluctant to make the boy get all he wished for.
But as far as he was personally concerned, Athangeld did not want his son to become Sword of the Morning simply because he didn’t want his heir to perish as his brother did for this would risk a chaos which he himself narrowly avoided.
Though Anastasius was a prodigy with the art of war, he saw much of himself in the youth. He had a knack for numbers and history and all the other little things that were the real deciders of the future. But his son so thoroughly insisted on this.
It was thus that the duel was arranged, and perhaps in a lapse of judgement Athangeld arranged a meeting with all those he trusted, demanding one simple thing: Julian ought to win the duel with Anastasius.
He expected Julian to be drilled, perhaps his training sword was to be sharpened such that even grazes would be more devastating, or any other such small action. But he saw what happened, he saw it all too well.
Athangeld tried to salvage it, but his son was emotive as ever, and so it was he. After one of the boy’s disappearances from which he returned covered in blood of himself and others, Athangeld finally had enough of Anastasius. It was difficult, and perhaps in a moment of rage, but he sent the boy off to King’s Landing with an unsubtle threat preceding this.
The Lord regretted this almost as soon as he spoke it, but he could not take it back, not yet. Perhaps he could undo his actions, but not until he got reason to. Unfortunately, his son seems to have ideas entirely distinct to redemption. But either way, he must merely hope for the best in King’s landing as once more raiders from the lowlands show their face not far from Starfall and High Hermitage.
But though an intellectual in contrast to his sibling, Athangeld was of one goal with his brother. The very brief Targaryen rule of Dorne following its insecure conquest ensured far greater honours to House Dayne, and the exit of the influence of the rest of Westeros signalled another setback to the rise of the Daynes. There was no need for Athangeld to whisper into his brother’s ear, for he was already set on avenging the insults the Martells gave by ignoring their requests and paiges, and Sofian was already incensed by ever more common Rhoynish heathenry in the mountains.
What what Athangeld was not prepared for was not just the death of his brother, but also of both of his sons in battle following their pseudo-rebellion. The shift of power in the Dayne family was quite sudden, and to some of its younger members barely understood, for it was Athangeld that had managed Starfall and even much of High Hermitage. Yet it was nonetheless shocking to make this adjustment. Indeed, already his son Anastasius was making a name for himself already prepared to take the position of his uncle, and some suspected that jealousy at a mirror of his sibling was what made Athangeld reluctant to make the boy get all he wished for.
But as far as he was personally concerned, Athangeld did not want his son to become Sword of the Morning simply because he didn’t want his heir to perish as his brother did for this would risk a chaos which he himself narrowly avoided.
Though Anastasius was a prodigy with the art of war, he saw much of himself in the youth. He had a knack for numbers and history and all the other little things that were the real deciders of the future. But his son so thoroughly insisted on this.
It was thus that the duel was arranged, and perhaps in a lapse of judgement Athangeld arranged a meeting with all those he trusted, demanding one simple thing: Julian ought to win the duel with Anastasius.
He expected Julian to be drilled, perhaps his training sword was to be sharpened such that even grazes would be more devastating, or any other such small action. But he saw what happened, he saw it all too well.
Athangeld tried to salvage it, but his son was emotive as ever, and so it was he. After one of the boy’s disappearances from which he returned covered in blood of himself and others, Athangeld finally had enough of Anastasius. It was difficult, and perhaps in a moment of rage, but he sent the boy off to King’s Landing with an unsubtle threat preceding this.
The Lord regretted this almost as soon as he spoke it, but he could not take it back, not yet. Perhaps he could undo his actions, but not until he got reason to. Unfortunately, his son seems to have ideas entirely distinct to redemption. But either way, he must merely hope for the best in King’s landing as once more raiders from the lowlands show their face not far from Starfall and High Hermitage.
Julian Dayne
Age: 19 years (year born AC)
Appearance:
Shorter than well-fed noblemen yet taller than peasantry, Julian Daynish zebra-stripe hair is largely invisible for he very carefully braids it to instead leave each black strand woven with a white one, making it (if not closely examined) appear as if his hair is broadly gray. While he has blue eyes, his skin tone is more in line with the Rhoynish majority of Dorne in its bronze colouration; this has brought rumours of his bastardhood when both of his parents are Stony Dornishmen, and though to his family his unique colouration of hair is sufficient to disprove this the contrast between him and his parents is jarring enough for outsiders to believe this rumour. His voice is soft and warm, like sunlight spilling through a window yet not bearing
Description & biography:
Julian was to a large degree raised in a similar manner to his cousin Anastasius. They faced similar accusations of bastardry, they both loved their fathers and aspired to do great things for their houses. Indeed, being so similar the cousins were great friends, swearing great oaths to one another and often seeking out time to spend with the other branch of the Dayne line just to be with this favoured kinsman rather than immediate family.
But perhaps in being born of a cadet branch of the Daynes and hence of more humble origin in turn instilled a certain greater humility in the lad. While on the surface level he had a certain suaveness more stereotypical to the Sandy and Salty Dornishmen that the Daynes of High Hermitage were closer to, as opposed to the Daynes of Starfall that were the quintessential Stony Dornishmen.
Many an adventure was had by the lad before he even hit puberty, and far more after, many Sands being born from his actions in just the few years he had opportunity to do so.
He was almost oblivious to the world outside the small realm allowed into his mind by wanderlust, an ever shifting little town of people he met and would never see again as he disappeared from home on almost monthly bases suddenly replaced by a grim and constant conflict. The Daynes of High Hermitage answered the call of their cousins, and so went to battle. They lost as many if not more than the parent branch of their House, indeed Julian being raised to the state of heir after his elder brother died in a duel.
What was more shocking yet was when Lord Athangeld came to him with Septons by his side, offering him the Sword of the Morning. He was shocked, yet honoured to accept. He had never sought it out, but it felt nothing less than natural for him to be such.
Quickly though, he understood why part of him was reluctant to accept it when his beloved cousin Anastasius’s rage was apparent. They had spent so much time together, each learning from the other and declaring they were closer than siblings could ever be. But it made sense in retrospect, and truth be told Julian was more than ready to hand over the blade and title to his cousin.
Yet… he won. He was shocked more than anyone, and it was only as frostbite’s first stages began to creep in on that mountain peak after the duel was over that he realized that he surmounted Anastasius. That terrifying warrior that never faltered before has conceded defeat.
Some seemed wholly unsurprised at this result many betted against, and in some small order it hurt the ego of Julian to see the disgruntled faces of all those that bet against him, to know so few believed.
But a far greater part of him was proud, eager at the sudden prominence of his branch of the family won solely by his hand.
However as time passes and he sees the bitter change in the dynamic of his family, Julian comes to regret his victory, especially as the expectations of him shift wholly with his new status, an aching for the freedom he once had arising in mind and soul.
But perhaps in being born of a cadet branch of the Daynes and hence of more humble origin in turn instilled a certain greater humility in the lad. While on the surface level he had a certain suaveness more stereotypical to the Sandy and Salty Dornishmen that the Daynes of High Hermitage were closer to, as opposed to the Daynes of Starfall that were the quintessential Stony Dornishmen.
Many an adventure was had by the lad before he even hit puberty, and far more after, many Sands being born from his actions in just the few years he had opportunity to do so.
He was almost oblivious to the world outside the small realm allowed into his mind by wanderlust, an ever shifting little town of people he met and would never see again as he disappeared from home on almost monthly bases suddenly replaced by a grim and constant conflict. The Daynes of High Hermitage answered the call of their cousins, and so went to battle. They lost as many if not more than the parent branch of their House, indeed Julian being raised to the state of heir after his elder brother died in a duel.
What was more shocking yet was when Lord Athangeld came to him with Septons by his side, offering him the Sword of the Morning. He was shocked, yet honoured to accept. He had never sought it out, but it felt nothing less than natural for him to be such.
Quickly though, he understood why part of him was reluctant to accept it when his beloved cousin Anastasius’s rage was apparent. They had spent so much time together, each learning from the other and declaring they were closer than siblings could ever be. But it made sense in retrospect, and truth be told Julian was more than ready to hand over the blade and title to his cousin.
Yet… he won. He was shocked more than anyone, and it was only as frostbite’s first stages began to creep in on that mountain peak after the duel was over that he realized that he surmounted Anastasius. That terrifying warrior that never faltered before has conceded defeat.
Some seemed wholly unsurprised at this result many betted against, and in some small order it hurt the ego of Julian to see the disgruntled faces of all those that bet against him, to know so few believed.
But a far greater part of him was proud, eager at the sudden prominence of his branch of the family won solely by his hand.
However as time passes and he sees the bitter change in the dynamic of his family, Julian comes to regret his victory, especially as the expectations of him shift wholly with his new status, an aching for the freedom he once had arising in mind and soul.
Anastasius Dayne
Age: 19 years (year born AC)
Appearance:
Anastasius seems in many ways an aesthetic mirror of his father in his youth. Bearing a youthful boyishness, the shape of his face is unmistakably paternal and is paired with similarly long hair, but the similarities end at that point.
His skin is far paler, and his hair is a pale platinum-blond whilst his eyes bear that distinctive Daynish purple giving him an aesthetic profile many might mistake for Valyrian. These aesthetics combine to create a man that many call outright beautiful as if a statue, rather than merely handsome.
He is however also a far taller man than his father. While being just somewhat short of being legendarily tall and bearing a moniker to make note of it, he is nonetheless sufficiently towering over most people to be intimidating by merely standing at rest. Perhaps oddest about his outwards appearance is that which result of his Mithraditic experiments. His voice is either hoarse or hissed with no in-between, as if suffering from an intense cold. Few and rare are movements of his face, yet when brought to emotion they usually bring it to an exaggerated rictus. Sometimes his face or whole body will be stuck in little twitches — a fact all the more noticeable as an assortment of scars dot his body including his face.
His skin is far paler, and his hair is a pale platinum-blond whilst his eyes bear that distinctive Daynish purple giving him an aesthetic profile many might mistake for Valyrian. These aesthetics combine to create a man that many call outright beautiful as if a statue, rather than merely handsome.
He is however also a far taller man than his father. While being just somewhat short of being legendarily tall and bearing a moniker to make note of it, he is nonetheless sufficiently towering over most people to be intimidating by merely standing at rest. Perhaps oddest about his outwards appearance is that which result of his Mithraditic experiments. His voice is either hoarse or hissed with no in-between, as if suffering from an intense cold. Few and rare are movements of his face, yet when brought to emotion they usually bring it to an exaggerated rictus. Sometimes his face or whole body will be stuck in little twitches — a fact all the more noticeable as an assortment of scars dot his body including his face.
Description & biography:
Anastasius was born precisely in time that some of his first memories were or observing the souring relations between the Daynes and the rest of Dorne. Anger about trade deals or marriages not going their way, or revulsion to the incursion of Rhoynish heathenry into the mountains all coloured his childhood.
Still, what he remembers most is looking up to and adoring his uncle Roger, the Sword of the Morning. Some would have said Anastasius looked more like Roger than his own father, factoring into his affinity for the man that bore platinum hair and violet eyes akin to his own, a fact that brought even more grave insinuation of bastardhood than his cousin faces.
But even though he spent much time and love upon his uncle, Anastasius nevertheless had more than enough filial piety for his father. While he wanted the position of his uncle, he pre-emptively credited the success he expected to attain in becoming the next Sword of the Morning to Athangeld.
As he became a young man, Anastasius certainly seemed fitting for the position. He was a large man, towering over most including even the already tall uncle he looked up to. He had a voracious intake of whatever information his father brought upon him.
But as it was, every boy matured into a man, and for Anastasius this was just in time for the failed invasion of Dorne by the Targaryens.
The Daynes went forth to fight the rest of their neighbours in Dorne, too many lives to count slain in their incursion into Dorne. But with the failure of the Targaryen’s re-invasion, the Daynes knew a retribution far more harsh than what violence they had incurred was coming and they had to be ready to fight.
Their mountains were tall and cold, and using them as natural defences the piles of foemen slain that came for vengeance grew tall. But they could not sustain it, and the men-at-arms of House Dayne became ever more reluctant to go into this ceaseless violence.
There was only one way they saw to get out of this, and it was to remove the leaders of the assault on Starfall. So it was that every man and boy of the Daynes swore that he would fight the invader until they were gone. But they would not fight in battle, for that would be a losing prospect.
With harsh insults to the character of the leaders of the foe, they were baited into duels. Most males of the Daynes died in the ensuing fights, but their sacrifice was well worth it in the eyes of the survivors, Anastasius himself proud to have a collection of heads and other trophies taken. It was on this merit - and the death of his uncle, the Sword of the Morning - that he felt he was owed the position.
Anastasius represented what everyone in their head envisioned the sword of the morning to be. Hale of body, bearing the unnatural beauty of the Dayne family in the colour of his eyes and hair, and successful in just about everything he came to partake of. A golden boy, if ever there was one.
But though his father was clearly proud of him, Anastasius did not get the sword. His father gave many reasons as to why, but it all seemed like… excuses.
He was frustrated, and thus eager to prove himself. Anastasius went o wild raids of his own accord, once more bringing hateful attention from Dorne to Starfall. Yet every time he returned home with more heads to show off his martial talent his father seemed the opposite of pleased.
This frustrated the youth ever more, all the more he showed he was worthy of the title, and yet suddenly it was announced that his beloved cousin Julian was to be Sword of the Morning.
A roar said to cross the mountains emanated from Anastasius, and he demanded to duel his cousin for the blade and the title bequeathed upon its wielder.
So it was arranged, two cousins once loving each other as much as family can in the cold snow with naught but a small undergarment and a training sword in hands.
Anastasius was confident, for he always won these. His arms and lungs were longer, his endurance was far greater. Mere minutes passed of careful parries and ripostes, Julian covered in small bleeding marks and his skin turning red between exhaustion and cold. Confident was the heir to House Dayne, only for a single nick to come upon him from just a small moment of judgement. Though it was little more than a papercut from the training blade of his cousin, somehow the tide turned from there.
Suddenly Anastasius felt exhaustion and the cold hit him all at once, he found himself falling for the feints and not catching the ripostes in time. He was in moments covered in wounds himself, and finally he fell to his knees with his pale skin and hair melding with the shade of snow. It was only as his chin was raised by the tip of his cousin’s blade that the victor was declared.
Anastasius was shocked, in the days he spent recovering afterwards playing through every moment of the battle and failing to understand how he could let himself be bested. It was only as he looked at the failure of his wounds to heal in a timely manner that he came to a simple conclusion: poison.
It had to be something very potent yet diluted to affect him so quickly yet not kill him. They wanted him to leave, but fail, and be content with the result.
He accused his father, he accused Julian, he accused the Maester and everyone in between them of being complicit in this, and all denied this to his face. He sought records of such things being purchased, he looked through the finances of the family to find any unexplained use of coin from the treasury.
Nothing, nothing could prove it, but he knew nonetheless as he watched the odd scars form on every breach in his skin. Somebody had done something to bring him low.
Regardless of what the full truth was, Anastasius could never let himself be so vulnerable again. Whatever training he had, he doubled. His sleep halved to instead be replaced with time reading more books on how martial arts were conducted in history, but most importantly he had to account for poisoning, something he had never considered before. He began to experiment with taking small doses of poison to strengthen himself against them, and as he ever increased the doses he knew rumours spread of his oddities. He did not care, and perhaps that was his downfall as he behaviour changed even more with impulsiveness becoming a daily occurrence rather than a rare failing.
One night, his father took him to a balcony, and sold him a simple truth. He would go forth and join the King’s Guard, relinquishing his inheritance as a consequence or his father would find other ways to be rid of him.
Reluctantly and with no intention of doing as his father intended, Anastasius headed to King’s landing at the head of a column of his sisters and cousins.
Still, what he remembers most is looking up to and adoring his uncle Roger, the Sword of the Morning. Some would have said Anastasius looked more like Roger than his own father, factoring into his affinity for the man that bore platinum hair and violet eyes akin to his own, a fact that brought even more grave insinuation of bastardhood than his cousin faces.
But even though he spent much time and love upon his uncle, Anastasius nevertheless had more than enough filial piety for his father. While he wanted the position of his uncle, he pre-emptively credited the success he expected to attain in becoming the next Sword of the Morning to Athangeld.
As he became a young man, Anastasius certainly seemed fitting for the position. He was a large man, towering over most including even the already tall uncle he looked up to. He had a voracious intake of whatever information his father brought upon him.
But as it was, every boy matured into a man, and for Anastasius this was just in time for the failed invasion of Dorne by the Targaryens.
The Daynes went forth to fight the rest of their neighbours in Dorne, too many lives to count slain in their incursion into Dorne. But with the failure of the Targaryen’s re-invasion, the Daynes knew a retribution far more harsh than what violence they had incurred was coming and they had to be ready to fight.
Their mountains were tall and cold, and using them as natural defences the piles of foemen slain that came for vengeance grew tall. But they could not sustain it, and the men-at-arms of House Dayne became ever more reluctant to go into this ceaseless violence.
There was only one way they saw to get out of this, and it was to remove the leaders of the assault on Starfall. So it was that every man and boy of the Daynes swore that he would fight the invader until they were gone. But they would not fight in battle, for that would be a losing prospect.
With harsh insults to the character of the leaders of the foe, they were baited into duels. Most males of the Daynes died in the ensuing fights, but their sacrifice was well worth it in the eyes of the survivors, Anastasius himself proud to have a collection of heads and other trophies taken. It was on this merit - and the death of his uncle, the Sword of the Morning - that he felt he was owed the position.
Anastasius represented what everyone in their head envisioned the sword of the morning to be. Hale of body, bearing the unnatural beauty of the Dayne family in the colour of his eyes and hair, and successful in just about everything he came to partake of. A golden boy, if ever there was one.
But though his father was clearly proud of him, Anastasius did not get the sword. His father gave many reasons as to why, but it all seemed like… excuses.
He was frustrated, and thus eager to prove himself. Anastasius went o wild raids of his own accord, once more bringing hateful attention from Dorne to Starfall. Yet every time he returned home with more heads to show off his martial talent his father seemed the opposite of pleased.
This frustrated the youth ever more, all the more he showed he was worthy of the title, and yet suddenly it was announced that his beloved cousin Julian was to be Sword of the Morning.
A roar said to cross the mountains emanated from Anastasius, and he demanded to duel his cousin for the blade and the title bequeathed upon its wielder.
So it was arranged, two cousins once loving each other as much as family can in the cold snow with naught but a small undergarment and a training sword in hands.
Anastasius was confident, for he always won these. His arms and lungs were longer, his endurance was far greater. Mere minutes passed of careful parries and ripostes, Julian covered in small bleeding marks and his skin turning red between exhaustion and cold. Confident was the heir to House Dayne, only for a single nick to come upon him from just a small moment of judgement. Though it was little more than a papercut from the training blade of his cousin, somehow the tide turned from there.
Suddenly Anastasius felt exhaustion and the cold hit him all at once, he found himself falling for the feints and not catching the ripostes in time. He was in moments covered in wounds himself, and finally he fell to his knees with his pale skin and hair melding with the shade of snow. It was only as his chin was raised by the tip of his cousin’s blade that the victor was declared.
Anastasius was shocked, in the days he spent recovering afterwards playing through every moment of the battle and failing to understand how he could let himself be bested. It was only as he looked at the failure of his wounds to heal in a timely manner that he came to a simple conclusion: poison.
It had to be something very potent yet diluted to affect him so quickly yet not kill him. They wanted him to leave, but fail, and be content with the result.
He accused his father, he accused Julian, he accused the Maester and everyone in between them of being complicit in this, and all denied this to his face. He sought records of such things being purchased, he looked through the finances of the family to find any unexplained use of coin from the treasury.
Nothing, nothing could prove it, but he knew nonetheless as he watched the odd scars form on every breach in his skin. Somebody had done something to bring him low.
Regardless of what the full truth was, Anastasius could never let himself be so vulnerable again. Whatever training he had, he doubled. His sleep halved to instead be replaced with time reading more books on how martial arts were conducted in history, but most importantly he had to account for poisoning, something he had never considered before. He began to experiment with taking small doses of poison to strengthen himself against them, and as he ever increased the doses he knew rumours spread of his oddities. He did not care, and perhaps that was his downfall as he behaviour changed even more with impulsiveness becoming a daily occurrence rather than a rare failing.
One night, his father took him to a balcony, and sold him a simple truth. He would go forth and join the King’s Guard, relinquishing his inheritance as a consequence or his father would find other ways to be rid of him.
Reluctantly and with no intention of doing as his father intended, Anastasius headed to King’s landing at the head of a column of his sisters and cousins.
