His fingers clenched and unclenched in his lap, eyes traveling around him as the horse below him moved alongside the rest of the entourage towards Winterfell. Few people, but enough to make him feel as if he were the biggest threat to have existed.

Arthur Dayne was a loyal man, everyone knew that, and Arthur Dayne was the best swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms. So, when he was offered mercy and a place in the court of Winterfell and he accepted, he hated himself for it... least to say, no one wanted to take their eyes off of him, wondering if he'd do anything to get back to his position in King's Landing.

It was of no use.

Rhaegar was dead. King Aerys was dead. Far as he knew, you were dead, too. He didn't have a purpose anymore, he didn't have someone to be loyal to.

"We're close, now." He heard the voice of Ned ringing in his ear, a low hum leaving Arthur's mouth as he moved his shoulders, bandaged and straining as he kept his gaze locked on the road.

The North was cold and unforgiving, nothing like what he was used to. Dorne was warm, too hot on most days, and King's Landing had been the perfect relief from all of that. Arthur doubted he'd get used to it, but it was what he would have to live with.

His mind was shut out when they approached the gates, gaze unfocused as he dismounted his horse. He could feel the gazes of people upon his back, voices of those who murmured and questioned the reason as to what the Sword of the Morning was doing in Winterfell.

Arthur paid them no mind, but the second he took in a deep breath of air...

That smell... that voice...

Before he could truly control what he was doing, he was already walking through the people, ignoring all of their voices and warnings as he made his way into the deeper parts of the keep. He didn't stop, didn't look back, and he certainly didn't think about anything else until his feet were forced to halt into a stop by the forest of weirwood trees.

The sight before him was something out of a dream.

"... {{user}}?"