As the moon casts its glow through the window of her chamber, Yasmin sits before the ornate mirror, her reflection a haunting echo of the legacy that flows through her veins. She gazes into her own eyes, violet orbs that shimmer with an otherworldly brilliance, a testament to her lineage and the blood that pulses through her veins.

With practiced ease, she brushes her long black hair, each stroke a soothing caress against her scalp as she loses herself in the rhythm of the motion. Her mind drifts back to the tales of old, to the legends and myths that whisper through the halls of Starfall, her ancestral home.

Yasmin is the daughter of Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, and Lady Leah Santagar, a match forged in the fires of duty and obligation. Her parents' marriage was a political alliance, a union designed to strengthen the bonds between House Dayne and House Santagar. But fate intervened with a cruel twist of irony, claiming Leah's life in childbirth and leaving Yasmin an orphan before she ever drew her first breath.

Her father, Ser Arthur, mourned the loss of his beloved wife, but duty called him to the halls of the Red Keep, where he took his place among the ranks of the Kingsguard, sworn to protect King Aerys Targaryen with his life. And so, Yasmin grew up without the guiding hand of her father, her existence a mere footnote in the annals of history, a reminder of the sacrifices made in service to the realm.

Her aunt, Ashara Dayne, stepped forward to take on the role of motherhood in her stead, her love a beacon of light in the darkness that threatened to consume Yasmin's young heart. But tragedy struck s once more when Ashara fell victim to the cruel hand of fate, her own life claimed by the depths of despair.

Yasmin was left to navigate the treacherous waters of courtly life on her own, her upbringing entrusted to the care of nannies and tutors who seek to mold her into the perfect lady of Dorne. But try as they might've, they can never erase the fire that burns within her soul, the spirit of her ancestors that whispers of adventure and glory.

As she brushes her hair, Yasmin feels the weight of her heritage pressing down upon her, a burden that she carries with grace and dignity. She is a Dayne of Starfall, a descendant of heroes and legends, and though she may never know the touch of her father's hand or the sound of her mother's voice, their legacy lives on within her.

With a final stroke of the brush, Yasmin sets it aside and rises from her seat, her eyes lingering on her reflection in the mirror.

Dawn, the legendary sword of House Dayne, is a relic steeped in myth and legend, its origins shrouded in the mists of time. For centuries, it has been the symbol of House Dayne's honor and prestige, passed down from generation to generation as a testament to the valor and bravery of its wielders.

Crafted from a fallen star, Dawn is unlike any other blade in the known world. Its blade is pale as milk glass, shining with an otherworldly brilliance that seems to capture the very essence of the dawn itself. The hilt is wrought from rare metals and adorned with intricate carvings, each symbol a tribute to the ancient magic that imbues the sword with its power.

The history of Dawn is as rich and storied as the lands of Dorne themselves. According to legend, the sword was forged during the Age of Heroes, a time of myth and magic when giants walked the earth and dragons ruled the skies. Some say that it was crafted by the hands of the Children of the Forest, gifted to the first Lord of Starfall in recognition of his bravery and valor in battle.

Others believe that Dawn was a gift from the heavens, a fallen star that landed in the heart of Dorne and was forged into a blade by the skilled hands of the Dayne smiths. Regardless of its origins, one thing remains certain-Dawn is a weapon of unparalleled beauty and power, a symbol of the might and majesty of House Dayne.

Throughout the centuries, Dawn has been wielded by countless heroes and champions of House Dayne, each one proving themselves worthy of the honor bestowed upon them. But it was Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, who was perhaps the greatest of them all.

Renowned throughout the Seven Kingdoms for his skill with a blade, Ser Arthur was the epitome of knighthood, a paragon of virtue and honor. With Dawn in his hand, he was a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield, his swordsmanship unmatched by any who dared to challenge him.

It is said that Ser Arthur never lost a single battle in his lifetime, his prowess with Dawn earning him a fearsome reputation among friend and foe alike.

Despite his untimely death, Ser Arthur's legacy lived on through Dawn, his sword remaining a symbol of House Dayne's strength and resilience. But with his passing, the blade lay dormant, awaiting the next worthy successor to take up its mantle.

In the years that followed, many sought to claim Dawn for themselves, but none proved themselves worthy of its power. And so, the sword remained in the halls of Starfall, a silent sentinel watching over the lands of Dorne.

Today, Dawn is a relic of a bygone era, a reminder of the glory days of House Dayne and the heroes who came before. It is kept safe within the walls of Starfall, guarded by the descendants of those who once wielded it in battle.

And though Ser Arthur Dayne may be gone, his spirit lives on through Dawn, a beacon of hope and inspiration for all who dare to dream of greatness. For as long as the sword remains in the hands of House Dayne, the legacy of the Sword of the Morning will never fade.

The day the houses of Dorne arrive to King's Landing is a day when Oberyn and Yasmin entertain themselves to the finest whores in all of Westeros as Ellaria joins them in the beds of pleasure.

But Oberyn cannot contain himself the moment he hears a man singing the Rains of Castamere. He leaves the beds of pleasure and enters another room within the brothel, where he sees a few men sitting with whores in their laps.

" Forgive me for staring. I don't see many Lannisters where I'm from," Oberyn utters.

" I don't see many Dornishmen in the capital," The man says.

" We don't like the smell."

Yasmin is quick to come to her husband's side, grabbing his arm in an attempt to make him leave," Come with me, my love."

" Gods, look at this one," The man says as he invites his friend to stare at the princess, " Why are you wasting a woman like this on a Dornishman? Bring him a shaved goat and a bottle of olive oil."

But the Prince doesn't take kindly to the insult. He fills a white hot ball of rage form in his chest as he momentarily leaves his wife's arms to plunge a knife into the hand of a man who dares to speak ill about his wife," Do you know why all the world hates a Lannister? You think your gold and your lions and your gold lions make you better than everyone. May I tell you a secret? You're not a golden lion. You're just a pink little man who is far too slow on the draw. Longsword is a bad option in close quarters. When I pull my blade, your friend starts bleeding. Quite a lot, I'm afraid. So many veins in the wrist. He'll live if you get him help straightaway. So, decisions."

" Prince Oberyn, forgive the intrusion. We heard there might be," Tyrion Lannister utters as he enters the room, only to see Oberyn removing the blade from the man's wrist," trouble."

" Apologies, my love," The Prince says as he pulls his wife into a searing kiss.

" I'm here to welcome you to the capital," The imp says.

" Princess Yasmin of House Dayne... my wife," Oberyn announces as he pulls back, wrapping an arm around her waist," The King's own Uncle Imp. Tyrion, son of Tywin Lannister."

" If there's anything I can do to make your stay at King's Landing--"

" What are you? His hired killer?"

" It started that way, aye. Now I'm a knight," Bronn responds.

" How did that come to pass? " The Prince questions.

" Killed the right people."

The Prince requests a private word with the Master of Coin, leaving his wife in the trusting hands of Ellaria, both of them keeping busy with the whores of King's Landing.

" Seems I visited the Lannister brothel by mistake," Oberyn utters.

" Oh, they take all kinds," Tyrion remarks," The King is very grateful that you travelled all this way for his wedding."

" Let us speak truth here. Joffrey is insulted. I am only the second son."

" Well, speaking as a fellow second son, I have grown rather used to being the family insult. Why did you come to King's Landing? "

" I was invited to the royal wedding."

I thought we were speaking truth.

" The last time I was in the capital was many years ago. Another wedding. My sister Elia and Rhaegar Targaryen, the Last Dragon. My sister loved him. She bore his children. Swaddled them, rocked them, fed them at her own breast. Elia wouldn't let the wet nurse touch them. And beautiful, noble Rhaegar Targaryen left her for another woman. That started a war, and the war ended right here, when your father's army took the city.They butchered those children. My nephew and niece. Carved them up and wrapped them in Lannister cloaks. And my sister, you know what they did to her? I'm asking you a question."

" I've heard rumors."

" So have I. The one I keep hearing is that Gregor Clegane the Mountain raped Elia and split her in half with his great sword.

" I wasn't there. I don't know what happened.

" If the Mountain killed my sister, your father gave the order. Tell your father I'm here. And tell him the Lannisters aren't the only ones who pay their debts.

After a night of endless enjoyment, Princess Yasmin stumbles through the halls of the Red Keep, drunkenly making her way through the labyrinth to head up to her quarters.

As Yasmin weaves her way through the dimly lit corridors, the echoes of her footsteps mingling with the distant sounds of revelry and laughter from the nearby chambers, she catches snippets of conversation drifting through the air.

Her senses are heightened by the alcohol coursing through her veins, and she strains to listen, curiosity piqued by the hushed tones and furtive glances exchanged by the servants she passes.

Then, like a whisper carried on the wind, she hears it-a murmured complaint, a disdainful remark that sends a shiver down her spine.

"I don't want to have to clean up more Dornish blood," A voice mutters, the words dripping with malice and contempt.

Yasmin freezes in her tracks, her heart pounding in her chest as she tries to process the implications of what she's heard. Was it merely a drunken jest, or something more sinister?

Her mind races with questions, her thoughts consumed by the memory of Edrick and the mystery surrounding his death. Could it be possible that his demise was not the accident it appeared to be? Was there someone within the Red Keep who harbored ill will towards the Dornish?

With a newfound sense of urgency, Yasmin continues on her way, the weight of suspicion heavy upon her shoulders. Yasmin's steps falter as she reaches the door to her and Oberyn's chambers within the Red Keep. Her mind races with thoughts and suspicions, fueled by the wine that courses through her veins, clouding her judgment and leaving her senses dulled.

With trembling hands, she pushes open the heavy wooden door and steps into the dimly lit room, her heart hammering in her chest as she seeks solace in the presence of her husband.

Oberyn looks up from where he sits at a small table, a goblet of wine in hand, his dark eyes gleaming with concern as he takes in her disheveled appearance.

"My love, you look troubled," He says, his voice soft with concern as he rises to his feet and crosses the room to envelop her in his arms.

Yasmin buries her face against his chest, seeking comfort in the warmth of his embrace as she struggles to find the words to express the turmoil that churns within her.

"Do you think that... that it's possible Edrick's death wasn't an accident?" She asks, her voice barely above a whisper as she pulls back to meet Oberyn's gaze.

Oberyn's brow furrows in confusion, his expression a mixture of surprise and concern as he searches her face for clues to her meaning.

"What do you mean, my love?" He asks, his voice gentle as he reaches up to brush a lock of hair from her forehead.

Yasmin swallows hard, her throat tight with emotion as she struggles to articulate the thoughts that race through her mind. She knows that she is treading on dangerous ground, that her words have the power to unravel the delicate balance of their lives within the Red Keep.

"I mean..." She begins, her voice trembling as she meets Oberyn's gaze with a steely determination, "what if he was killed?"

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