Edric Dayne - Blog Posts

Older Edric & Arya 

He’s asking for a dance and she’s asking to spar 🥰!

The Swiftfoot Maid | Chapter 1, a snippet

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

“You’re a good dancer,” she said suddenly, eyes darting away too quickly as he startled and missed a step.

Edric caught her gaze, then swept them back into rhythm. “Thank you, my lady. I spent many years in King’s Landing, where even squires are expected to know their steps.”

“Grace-footed, then,” she acknowledged with a lift of her sharp chin. “But does that make you swift-footed?”

“No, my lady. I have never been the swiftest, nor the strongest.”

A crease came between her dark brows. “Then how is it you expect to defeat me?”

You were right, he scolded himself. You are a fool. But he only smiled lightly. “Fortune, perhaps.”

“I’ll not be shamed by defeat at the hands of fortune,” Arya scoffed. “No, I’ll not be shamed by defeat at all.”

Edric didn’t speak for a moment. He only moved in time with the music, with her. For all her steel and storm, she felt rather slight in his arms. It was almost enough to forget she’d speared a man through the heart that very morning. Up close, he could see the faintest powdering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Soft, like a kiss the sun forgot to take back.

He imagined she liked to spend her days beneath the sun.

“If I may be so bold,” he said at last, pivoting them through a swell of harp strings, “if fortune fails to favor you, how could it shame you to be bested? There are many great men vying for your hand. Sons of the kraken and the flayed man—warriors in their own right.”

“Courteous of you, to call them great,” she muttered. She searched his face, curious and sharp, her stormcloud stare pinning him in place. “And what of you, Lord Dayne? Are you a great man?”

“I…” Edric faltered, searching himself for the answer. The hearthfire roared at his back, swallowing the clangor into its molten breath. The moment nearly slipped—but he caught it. Remembered. Fallen and Reborn. He straightened. “I am Edric Dayne, Lord of Starfall. Descendant of the Kings of the Torrentine. Kin to the great Ser Arthur Dayne. Blood of those named Sword of the Morning, wielders of Dawn.”

Just for a heartbeat, he thought he saw a flash of surprise cross her eyes. But it vanished quick as lightning. Then she struck with a smirk.

“Ah, but you are not Dawn’s wielder, are you?”