CHAPTER THREE.
━━━━━━━━━
Her heart wasn't supposed to break
for an almost lover.
━━━━━━━━━

ASTORIA IS A BEAUTY. That is what everyone has always whispered. She is the pride of her family, destined for great things.

     The gods had given her the beauty she had prayed for in her youth, but it comes with a price. Her parents hopes of a grand betrothal weigh heavy on her shoulders. The Pentoshi knows very well that they would never truly force her into something unwanted but should she not be able to find a husband herself, then they would intervene.

Astoria stands on her balcony and smiles as the warm breeze rustles her skirts, city bells clanging in the distance. It's still chillier than she'd like, it's certainly no Pentos, but the morning of Prince Rhaegar's name day has dawned bright, with the glowing sun visible through the high scuttling clouds.

     There is a faint knock on the door of her chambers. She closes the shutters and swiftly turns to answer it.

     "How may I help you, Ser Arthur?" she greets the knight. His white armor sparkles in the light from the windows behind her, his violet eyes burning into the woman.

     "Princess Elia has sent me to escort you down to the tourney grounds, my lady," he replies with a small smile. The vapid, blushing servant girls make it no secret what they think of the lilting accent he'd never managed to lose.

     "Sometimes she is too considerate for her own good. Shall we go then?" Astoria grins brightly to the man before her.

     The Kingsguard offers her his arm and she lets him lead her from her chamber. The fabric of her dress is tight across her chest and then flies freely around her curves. It is the colour of the morning sky and something Ashara had gifted her with. She arrived just a fortnight ago, making the castle seem warmer.

After walking in comfortable silence for some minutes, Astoria finally gathers the courage to speak to him. "I thought you'd ride the tourney in the afternoon."

"I do," he nods. "But my duty lies with the royal family as well, my lady."

"There is no need for formalities, I believe. Please call me Astoria," she insists, not knowing why her heart is pounding so fast.

"Then it is Arthur for you," he offers in return.

"Arthur," she says, and marvels. It is the first time she has said it, not in whispers, and not in jest, and not in the low voices of a gossip. For that second, it feels a magnificent thing, to say his name as if she has a right to, as if it is hers, in some part, to say the name and end it on a breath.

     She pauses.

     She does not say his name again.

     Instead, the Pentoshi smiles gratefully at him as they arrive at the tourney grounds. "Are you glad about your sister's arrival?"

A hundred pavilions have been raised and the common folk has come out in the thousands to watch the games for Rhaegar Targaryen's name day. The banners snapping in the wind and the shouts of the crowd make her feel alive and she is glad that something will distract Elia.

"I love my sister dearly," he states. "But she has the tendency to be quite... vexing."

Astoria cannot help but laugh at his trouble of finding the right words. She knows exactly what he means however, for she has seen Ashara a few times over the previous years. She loves the Dornishwoman with all her heart but in the eyes of a protective brother she must seem unsettling at the least.

She is seated among the other high lords and ladies, beside Elia and Arthur's sister, and their guard for the day, Barristan Selmy.

     As he always does, the knight seems to blush when Ashara smiles at him, utterly besotted with her. "Will you be riding in the lists as well, Ser Barristan?" she questions him after greeting the Pentoshi and her brother.

     "I do," he replies, cheeks burning.

     "And when you win, who will you crown as Queen of Love and Beauty?"

     Next to Astoria, Arthur frowns as Ser Barristan exclaims, "Why, the most beautiful woman in all the realm."

     "And who would that be?" Ashara baits, grinning at the older man.

     He does not get a chance to answer, called away by Ser Lewyn, and Arthur chastises, "You should not tease him so."

     It is Astoria who answers him gleefully, "Oh, I am sure Barristan the Bold does not need you to protect him from your little sister." Linking her arm through the knight's, she adds, "Besides, he would not break his vows any more than you would. You Kingsguards are an unbearably boring lot."

     "We're honourable," Arthur counters with a hint of laughter in his voice but his eyes challenge her. She is no temptress but he is tempted still.

     "Honour," she scoffs with a roll of her eyes. "What is honour compared to a woman's love?"

ALL OF THE SEVEN KNIGHTS of the Kingsguard take the field that evening, all but their newest member. The king has forbidden Jaime Lannister the entrance in the lists, for reasons unbeknownst to Astoria.

Their armour the colour of milk, their cloaks white as fresh-fallen snow, it is two members of the Kinguard that must compete against each other in the final ride. Arthur Dayne and Barristan Selmy have fared well, unhorsing warrior priest's and heirs to noble houses alike. The jousting went all day and into dusk, and not once have they lost their seats against an opponent, overthrowing one foe after the next in ferocious style.

So in the end, it comes down to them.

Whoever would win, Ashara would receive a crown as pretty as she is, and Astoria can think of no one more worthy of wearing it.

     It is a spectacular event for both court and commoners, Barristan the Bold and the Sword of the Morning fighting for glory. The hastily erected gallery trembles as the horses break into a gallop, a ragged cheer going up from the commons. Only moments later, wood shatters and Barristan Selmy is rolling in the dirt. When Arthur takes off his helmet, Astoria can hear the noblewomen in the stands sigh dreamily. They all wish for the honour of being named Queen of Love and Beauty, swooning at the thought of it.

Rhaegar himself slides the yellow lilies onto Arthur's lance, and he directs his horse toward their stands as she'd anticipated. Except he doesn't stop in front of his sister, he stops in front of her. She can do nothing but stare, dumbfounded, as he leans in and places the crown into her lap, and she gapes at him, nothing short of stunned.

"For our newest guest," he declares, voice ringing out across the lists. "Your beauty and grace put the very sun to shame."

Their gazes meet briefly, before he rides away, the cheers in the background. And for the first time since her arrival she senses the daring man he can be, before the white cloak, before vows, before kings and princes.

FIRES AND CANDLES ILLUMINATE THE grey walls of the great hall in the Red Keep. It is hazy with smoke and heavy with the smell of roasted meat and fresh-baked bread when Astoria finally steps inside.

     Jon Connington, a close friend of the prince, stands beside her and while he is only a tad taller than herself, he seems to tower over her petite figure, face red and nervous. The low mutter of a hundred drunken conversations dies down when they are introduced. "The Queen of Love and Beauty Astoria Lhazar of Pentos and Lord Jon Connington of Griffin's Roost."

     It is ancient tradition that the champion is presented with his chosen lady, however, Arthur is placed on the platform where both Aerys and Rhaegar are seated, as it is his duty as member of the Kingsguard.

In the banquet hall, tables upon tables are laid with dishes from every corner of Westeros: all sorts of meat lathered in savory, tangy sauces, vegetable stews from Winterfell to spice-laden curries from Dorne, freshly baked rolls and breads for dipping, rich ciders, fruity wines, and candied delicacies to feed all of the nobility of the Seven Kingdoms. A singer is playing the high harp and reciting a ballad but every eye is locked on her. She is easy to spot, even in the endless sea of lords, ladies and knights which fill the cavernous halls.

     A brilliant smile is plastered on her face and the highborn lords and ladies are fawning over her beauty when she sits down beside Elia, who smiles down on her. "You look quite dashing," her friend murmurs with a mocking grin.

Before she can reply, however, a voice booms through the hall. "Silence!" All eyes drift to King Aerys who sits upon his vaulted chair, the shining Prince Rhaegar on his left. "We have gathered here today for my heir's name day. I congratulate Ser Arthur Dayne for his win and may he serve us until his vows run out. Now eat and fill your stomaches with the food I, the king, provide you with." His eyes bulge, violet irises dancing about erratically.

Queen Rhaella, it is rumored, does not feel well and had chosen to remain at her chambers, nursing whatever wounds her husband had inflicted upon her the days before.

     With his words, the feasting starts.

     At some point during the festivities, Astoria notices the handsome young man — still almost a boy — guarding them in the armour of the Kingsguards. Golden locks and emerald eyes mean that he can only be what had been Lord Tywin Lannister's heir before Aerys snatched him away.

     "Jaime Lannister, are you not?" she asks him, eyes filled with interest for the young knight.

     At the question he turns towards Elia and her, a smirk on his lips. "I am, my lady," he replies, and to Astoria's ears he seems awfully proud of who he is. But when he looks at her, lips slightly parted and brows furrowed, not knowing what to expect from her, the Pentoshi realizes how young he truly is. He cannot be older than ten and six, merely a boy in the service of a cruel king.

After some shared words and a few laughs, Jaime strikes her as the kinder of the two twins. He is by no means an angel, that tongue has known sin, she is certain, but his laugh is sweet. Astoria recalls Elia telling her about Cersei's mannerisms on the first night at Harrenhal, before the crown of winter roses and the Northern girl. How after Elia had grown tired of dancing, the Lady Lannister had thrown herself at her husband, stalking him like a beast would his prey. Even Oberyn, licentious as he is, had looked disgusted, though that may have been due to the girl herself.

Astoria looks at Jaime Lannister once more, so young and achingly handsome, ready to give his life away for a white cloak, wanting to follow in the footsteps of Aemon the Dragonknight and Duncan the Tall. There is honour in the Kingsguard, but he would serve the royal family for the rest of his life, and Astoria pities him for it.

THE TRUE EXCITEMENT OF THE night comes only after the feasting, when the dancing walls are hung with magnificent tapestries, each emblazoned with the symbol, colours, and words of the Great Houses.

It is then that, finally, Arthur is released of his duty as a guard. "May I ask this dance of you?"

"How could I decline?" she asks, smiling brightly and leaning close to him so she can be heard over the music in the hall. "We must show these Northerners what a true dance looks like."

     Elia laughs beside her and Astoria places her Dornish summer wine on the tray of a nearby servant before the knight sweeps her to the center of the hall amid the dying strains of a Southern ballad.

     She can feel his breath on her neck as he pulls her close. Astoria moves gracefully through each move, curling black hair bouncing in time to her steps. The silk of her dress fairly shimmers in the flickering candlelight, its yellow hue perfectly matching her crown of flowers.

     No words are exchanged, for they are not needed. The way his hand is placed upon her lower back, almost, almost, low enough to be considered unruly, tells her more than she needs to know. He might be a knight, yes, but he is a man all the same.

Ashara seems to be having similar thoughts when Astoria returns to her place. She can feel the woman looking at her. "What is it, Ash?"

A mocking smile graces her lips. "My brother's eyes linger far too long for it to be considered solely good company."

"Don't be absurd. He gave me the crown out of respect," she waves the Dornishwoman off, not wanting to dwell on her words or the way his eyes had roamed her face in search of something, anything.

After some time, when Elia starts tiring, Rhaegar commands Arthur to accompany his wife and her ladies to their rooms and it is tolerable for Astoria when she has Elia and Ashara about her, but when they've all broken off to their chambers, it's just the two of them, and the silence becomes stifling, the long halls endless.

The question lays on her tongue, waiting to be asked but she cannot seem to gather the courage. Why did you honour me? she wants to choke out. After mere minutes they stop at her chambers, the sounds of music and song spilling through the castle's halls.

     It would be easy, Astoria realises, to invite him into my bedchamber.

     From the look in his bright eyes, she knows he wants her as well. She can have him. It would be easy. But the reminder of his sworn vow is clear in her mind and just as he had told her before, he is honourable. He would not break his vows, not now and not ever, she is certain. Even if he would, Astoria doesn't want to corrupt him.

     "Good night, Ser," she says, smiling sadly, and opens the door. "I will see you in the morrow."

     Arthur nods. "Good night, my lady."

     He turns away, his white cloak fanning out behind him. Astoria steps inside, into the dark, stripping off her clothes and crawling beneath the furs. She tries to get warm.