The Dawning of a New Day (Unfinished)

The time had finally come. Though he'd arrived in Dorne only a few short hours ago, already he was being prepared to attend his formal coronation as not simply a prince but the ruling Prince of Dorne and Lord of Sunspear. No one else knew of this honor save his uncle. It was not because Josmyn was trying to keep secrets. No, he simply had not had time to talk to anyone, not even the companions that had journeyed from the north with him. As soon as their carriage had arrived, he and his uncle Doran had set about finalizing arrangements, both for a smooth transition of power and Josmyn's wardrobe for that evening.

As fine as the garments that Doran Martell had provided for his trip to Dorne were, the garb that he wore now was of an even better quality. His tunic was made of cloth of gold and had been quickly tailored to his frame as Josmyn and his uncle had discussed the state of regional affairs. His breeches were a deep ruby silk and tucked into a knee-high pair of the softest brown leather boots that Josmyn had ever worn. Over his chest and torso, he wore an open faced orange sand silk robe embroidered with the House Martell sigil over the left breast. Golden thread work framed the edge of the robe adding to its decadent look. Around his waist, there was a brown tooled leather belt on which was clipped a gold filigree sword sheathed in a shining red lacquered scabbard. As he gazed into the mirror as he tweaked this and that, all the while thinking just how princely he looked.

Though he'd been wearing fine clothes since the moment he'd stepped foot on the boat that had taken him from the Wall, the quality of these clothes astounded him. Truly, they could rival anything any noble on either Westeros or Essos owned. A smirk crossed his face as Josmyn knew that he was finally getting what he deserved for this night he would be crowned as the Prince of all Dorne in front of all the nobles from the region as well as a few visiting guests from Essos. As for his friends that had made the journey with him, not only they would be given places of honor at the feast but by the end of the night they would also be given places of honor within Dorne. Tristan Rydralle, he would be named Captain of the Sun Guard and be given a chance to earn a knighthood. Florien Flowers, he'd saved Josmyn's life and he would be given the lordship over the lands of House Allyrion. That house had fled with his father and cousin when they made their escape to the Free Cities and it was expected of Josmyn that he would fill such a stronghold with someone he could trust implicitly. Who else would be a finer choice than a fellow former Black brother as well as someone that had already saved his life? His dear sisters would be given their choice of the lands of Dorne as a way to reassert Martell dominance and further strengthen ties to other noble families.

His eyes glanced over towards the jewels that had been laid out by his uncle. Prince Doran had explained that these were the traditional jewels of the crown prince of Dorne and as such were his by right. A gold signet ring, a heavy ruby sun on golden chain, these were the marks of his current office. However, soon, he'd have the princely crown of his homeland laid upon his head by his uncle Doran as the current ruler resigned from public life. That was the one piece of finery he was truly looking forward to. All his life, he'd never worn jewels or chains. He had been a bastard and as such, he had never been given anything of his family and those were the only bits of finery he'd ever wanted. Now, they were being freely given to him as was his due. Aye, the gods were good.

As he slipped the symbols of his office onto his person, a page announced himself at the door with a knock before entering at Josmyn's signal. After a quick bow, the page informed the new prince that it was time for him to begin the long walk towards the throne room. With a quick nod of assent, Martell smoothed over his wardrobe one final time before turning towards the door. He paused at a weapons rack and pulled free an ornamental spear with gold filigree vine work down the length of the shaft. The edges of the spear head had been gilded with gold leaf, showing that this was a ceremonial weapon and not one of war. However, a Dornishman never went anywhere without a spear, especially not his coronation. It was simply unheard of.

With the spear firmly in hand, Josmyn looked to the page, a sandy haired boy of about nine or so that wore the crest of House Wyl, and gave him a smile.
“Lead the way, my good Wyl. What is your name, page?” he asked, making small talk with the boy. A shy smile crossed the young face before he answered.
“My name is Stevron, Your Grace.”
Josmyn nodded then pointed with his spear.
“Well, Stevron Wyl, I believe we must be going,” he said, causing the boy to nod and take the lead, dutifully marching ahead of his prince. Josmyn had to admit that he did quite like hearing the words 'Your Grace' being addressed to him.

The walk towards the throne room was one of complete silence. All that was on Josmyn's mind was that of the ceremony that was awaiting him, just a few hall ways away. Everything was within his grasp, more than he'd ever dreamed about, if he was honest with himself. The soles of his boots tapped out a steady cadence against the white marble of the floor of the Tower of the Sun as his red robes streamed out behind him. Every twenty feet, guards in shining scale-mail pulled their spears up in salute as Josmyn and the page passed by. When he'd first arrived back in Sunspear, Josmyn thought he might recognize at least a few of the palace attendants from his youth but so far he had been proven wrong. Perhaps they had all been caught up in the “plague” that had swept through Dorne or maybe they had moved on to other things. Still, it would have been nice to have a few familiar faces about him.

Their journey came to an end before two elaborately carved heavy wooden doors that led into the throne room. Wordlessly he stood, waiting to be announced to the assembled nobles. Slowly, the doors were wrenched open, revealing his uncle sitting on the Spear seat, the Sun seat left completely unoccupied as was tradition. The crown upon Doran's grey hair gleamed in the candle light reflected by the overhead golden dome as the nobles turned as one to look at Josmyn. As the horn players blasted a loud note, Josmyn Nymeros Martell began the march that would begin the rest of his future. As his uncle had advised, he did not look at the nobles but locked his gaze upon the throne that would soon be his. His steps were measured and precise but not hurried. It took all his will to keep his heart from beating out of his chest as the excitement swelled within him.

As he approached the steps that led to the throne, in an instant, the salty Dornishman dropped to his left knee, bowing his head and again presenting his spear to his uncle. With a grim and dour look on his face, Doran Martell rose from his throne and made his way down the steps, taking the pro-offered spear from his nephew and heir.
“Josmyn Nymeros Martell, my own blood, it is with a heavy heart that I welcome you back to Dorne. Everyone here knows the circumstances that have returned you to us and we are all grateful that you saw fit to do what was right, despite those that were involved,” the older man said, his voice level but projecting so that all those gathered could hear his words. Lightly, he tapped the gilded spear head on either of Josmyn's shoulders before placing the spear back into his upturned palms.

Drawing in another breath, Prince Doran spoke again, “I recognize you as my nephew, Josmyn, and hereby name you as true a Martell as I am. However, this is not the only honor I seek to give you this day.”

With this sentence, Doran's hands went to his own crown, lifting it from his head, which drew gasps from several courtiers in the crowd. Carefully, he lowered it to Josmyn's still bowed head, pressing the heavy metal object firmly onto the younger man's brow. When this happened, Josmyn finally looked up at his uncle, a dutiful countenance fixed firmly on his face. Doran continued, “With this crown, I forthwith resign from public life and name you ruling Prince of Dorne. The death of my sons and betrayal by those I counted as family, these things have sapped my will to live. However, you have shown loyalty to Dorne and to House Martell above all else. For this, I name you Prince Josmyn Nymeros Martell and grant you all the rights, privileges, and responsibilities that come with that title. What say you?”

Speaking in a clear voice, Josmyn began, “I, Josmyn Nymeros Martell, do solemnly promise and swear to govern the people of Dorne according to their respective laws and customs. I will uphold law, justice, and mercy in all of my judgments and rulings. I will give honor and respect to my bannermen. I will grant mercy to those that ask for it. All these things that I have promised and sworn, I will keep. I swear upon the Seven and my own honor.”

He'd had only hours to learn and memorize the oath of the throne of Dorne and judging from the tight smile that crossed the face of his uncle, he had correctly recited it without hesitation.
“Then rise, Prince Josmyn, and take your seat on the Spear throne and rule as you will,” the elder man said, his arms gesturing towards the throne. With grace, Josmyn rose to his feet and ascended the short stairs to the throne. As he sat, a great applause arose as Prince Doran nodded to his nephew, backing into the first row of nobility. He would leave for the Water Gardens in the morning, where he would live out the rest of his life, leaving Josmyn in power in Sunspear.

Tomorrow, he would begin taking fealty oaths from all of his assembled vassals but tonight, Josmyn had other business he needed to attend to. After sitting for a few moments as was required of him, the prince rose, using his left hand to signal for silence. His nobles obliged him, eager to hear what their new prince might have to say. Clearing his throat, Josmyn smiled to his people.

“Born of both House Martell and House Dayne of High Hermitage, I have always been proud to be a Dornishman above all else. This identity was what I clung to when I was away in the cold north. I have been beyond the Wall but no matter where I walked, Dorne was always in my heart. Memories of the sun on my face kept me warm during the bitingly cold nights. Many nights I dreamed about returning to Dorne, to Sunspear but I never thought it was possible and yet here I stand. I am grateful to be back in my homeland though the circumstances surrounding my return sadden me. I will not dreg up the horrid events that have so recently occurred. I will promise, though, that henceforth, anyone who dares to threaten the peace of Dorne, either through schemes or declarations of war will be dealt with in the most painful way possible. Dorne will serve Dorne again and no one else!” he declared, causing another uproar of applause from the passionate and proud Dornish men and women gathered. A sharp nod of approval from his uncle caused the crowd to cheer louder until Josmyn thumped the butt of his spear on the heavy floor twice.

A silence fell over them as they recognized the call for quiet again.
“To help me in this endeavor, I must call forth two friends. One saved my life and the other has sworn to guard me with him. Tristan Rydralle and Florien Flowers, I, Prince Josmyn Nymeros Martell call you forward.”

For the past few years of his life Ser Florien Flowers had been nothing more than a ranger in the Night's Watch, he had hated it because, like most men that took the black, he had been presented with the choice of going to the Wall to live out of the rest of life or being hung. The years he spent at Castle Black had been fairly uneventful, aside from a few fights with wildlings whilst out ranging, until he met a man by the name of Josmyn Sand; a Dornish princes bastard who had been forced to take the black just as Florien had. They had been sent out beyond the Wall together and where ambushed by wildlings who thought they could surprise them; one of them did, he dropped out of a tree in an attempt to kill Josmyn but the knight had saved him which lead to the two men becoming friends. Things at Castle Black where boring, as usual, for a few months after that but Josmyn surprised Florien in his chambers late one night and told him that, through some scheme, he had been legitimized by his uncle and they would be going to Dorne where Josmyn was going to become a prince. They had set out for Eastwatch almost immediately but one of their fellow black brothers, Jon Snow, had decided that he was going to interfere with their plans and attempted to stop Florien leaving. The knight had wanted to kill the boy, he was sure could have, but Josmyn had acted first and knocked Jon out before Florien even had the chance to draw his sword. From there on it was plain sailing to the south, they even picked up a third member of their group; a man by the name of Tristan Rydralle whom the soon to be crowned prince had decided would act as his guard.

That was how Florien had come to be in Dorne and he loved it. For the first time years he was able to venture outside without having to wear multiple layers of black clothing to avoid freezing to death in the midst of the snow and the wind, the southernmost of the Seven Kingdoms was like a dream come true for the Knight; he felt at home in Dorne despite the fact he had been there before in his life. Ser Florien planned to start a new life in Dorne and he knew that Josmyn would be willing to help him to do so in order to repay the knight for saving his life in the haunted forest, there was a chance that his friend would even bestow a lordship upon him; being a lord had been one of Florien's childhood dreams right up until he was told that a bastard would never rise high enough to become a lord but now it could really happen. The journey from the far north to the far south had been a long one but there had been not time for rest, he had been brought to Sunspear and lead to the throne room so that he could witness Josmyn being made a prince; Florien knew that because Dorne had become a part of the Kingdom's via marriage rather than being conqeured members of House Martell had been allowed to be known as princes rather than as simple lord but, in reality, they had no more power than the Starks, Lannisters or any of the other great houses despite the fact they held titles that sounded as though they should be more important.

When the time came for Josmyn to enter the throne room Florien felt as though all his dreams where about to come true; once his friend was made a prince, he would have his reward. Josmyn made his way into the throne room, he carried a spear that was clearly made for ceremony, not for actual combat, and wore the finest clothing that Florien had ever seen. He watched as his prince made his way towards his uncle who welcomed him back to Dorne before surprising everyone by naming Josmyn the ruling prince rather than simply giving him a title and making him his heir; Florien had not expected his friend to step into real power so early but, all the same, he was happy for him as it was what he deserved after being condemned to the Wall for nothing more than asking for a name. A further surprise came when Josmyn rose to his feet in front of everyone in the throne room and declared that Dorne would serve no one but it's self which Florien took as a declaration of independence from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms; it was a smart move on the new rulers part as it meant he was seperating his kingdom from the war that was being fought throughout the rest of the land for the Iron Throne. All of the nobles where cheering, Florien joined in until Josmyn called for quiet and everyone instantly obeyed their impressive new leader.

“To help me in this endeavor, I must call forth two friends. One saved my life and the other has sworn to guard me with him. Tristan Rydralle and Florien Flowers, I, Prince Josmyn Nymeros Martell call you forward,” Josmyn said, Florien supposed he was going to recieve his reward now. The knight pushed his way through the crowd of nobles until he was infront of his prince; it was going to take some time to get used to having to speak to his friend formally all of the time now that he was a ruler.

"Your Grace," Florien said, kneeling before Josmyn, "I am not a Dornishman, nor shall I ever be one, but I am your true and loyal friend. If you require my help I will do whatever is asked of me."

The knight wasn't used to treating people with respect so he really hoped he sounded suitably respectful for such an occasion. Florien was truly beginning to wonder what Josmyn had in store for him.

Word Count; 1,013.

Mouth agape, Tristan turned in a circle on the spot as he looked up at the ceiling of the Great Hall of Sunspear. He was willing to bet that the room reached up as high as the heavens, for he had never seen such a grand room or such a high ceiling in his entire life. At first it had almost been too much to process for the young baseborn man, and he was still in complete awe at the magnificence of this room, let alone the rest of the glorious castle that was Sunspear. He could likely remain here all day, just simply appreciating the décor, but the room was already full of men and women far above his own stature, and he was afraid he had already made a big enough fool of himself.

If one man could have stood out more in this setting than Tristan, he certainly wasn’t here. He had never expected Dorne to be so hot. He had always heard tales of the South being hotter than the North, and he had always felt he wouldn’t feel comfortable in such heat, but as they had travelled closer and closer to Dorne, the temperature rising with each passing mile, Tristan had began to feel the full extent of his naivety. The heat was truly draining for him, perspiration forming on his forehead at almost all times. To make matters worse the pale Northerner, dressed almost exclusively in black and dark crimsons, couldn’t be more different from the colourfully dressed, olive skinned people of Dorne; he didn’t dare open his mouth, for that would only further single out his differences, if that were even possible at this point.

So Tristan, managing to pull himself away from his fascination for the setting, resigned himself to simply standing still and keeping himself to himself. He knew that sooner or later Prince Josmyn would enter the room for his official coronation, the reason for everyone being here in the first place, and all he had to do was wait silently for that moment to arrive. It was hard to believe that soon enough he would officially be the sworn sword for a Prince. Though he had always dreamed of being a Knight, this was further than he had ever realistically believed he would be able to achieve, and it was all thanks to Prince Josmyn; Tristan owed him more than Josmyn likely knew.

However, he didn’t have to wait long, and before he knew it Prince Josmyn had been announced and was walking down the centre isle of the Great Hall. He was garbed in clothes finer than Tristan had ever seen, even more regal in appearance than the ones he had been wearing on their journey to Dorne, and the lowborn Northerner had thought those to be princely. He carried a golden spear that was adorned with precious gems and jewels. Tristan felt that it was ill suited for war, after all who would want to ruin something so beautiful with the blood and dirt from battle? Then again, he couldn’t begin to hope to understand the minds and ways of royalty. Prince Josmyn stopped in front of the steps that led up to the throne, where his uncle, Doran Martell was seated.

“Josmyn Nymeros Martell,” Prince Doran Martell began, standing and taking Josmyns spear from him. “My own blood, it is with a heavy heart that I welcome you back to Dorne. Everyone here knows the circumstances that have returned you to us and we are all grateful that you saw fit to do what was right, despite those that were involved,” with graceful movements he lowered the spear on either of Prince Josmyns shoulders, much in the same way as a sword was used to Knight someone. “I recognize you as my nephew, Josmyn, and hereby name you as true a Martell as I am. However, this is not the only honour I seek to give you this day.”

A wave of near silent muttering floated across the room at this announcement, and although Tristan did not make a sound, he was equally as surprised; what could be more of an honour than being legitimized and made heir of a kingdom? When Prince Doran lifted the crown up from atop his head it became absolutely clear what he was doing, though Tristan did not understand the true meaning of the gesture until the crown was lowered onto Prince Josmyns head.

“With this crown, I forthwith resign from public life and name you ruling Prince of Dorne. The death of my sons and betrayal by those I counted as family, these things have sapped my will to live. However, you have shown loyalty to Dorne and to House Martell above all else. For this, I name you Prince Josmyn Nymeros Martell and grant you all the rights, privileges, and responsibilities that come with that title. What say you?” the room instantly fell into complete and utter silence. The adjustment of ones weight from one foot to the other could have been heard, it was so quiet. Tristan found that he was leaning forward slightly, awaiting Prince Josmyns response through a held breath.

“I, Josmyn Nymeros Martell, do solemnly promise and swear to govern the people of Dorne according to their respective laws and customs. I will uphold law, justice, and mercy in all of my judgments and rulings. I will give honour and respect to my bannermen. I will grant mercy to those that ask for it. All these things that I have promised and sworn, I will keep. I swear upon the Seven and my own honour.” it had been spoken with such grace and finality that it completely impressed Tristan, though he was not accustomed to being present at such grand events.

“Then rise, Prince Josmyn, and take your seat on the Spear throne and rule as you will.” Prince Doran stepped aside, allowing Prince Josmyn to move up the steps and take his rightful place on the throne of Dorne. As the former ruler moved into the first row of the nobility the entire room erupted in claps and cheers, though before it could continue for any length of time the new ruler cleared his throat, signalling that he wished for silence; he got it.

“Born of both House Martell and House Dayne of High Hermitage, I have always been proud to be a Dornishman above all else. This identity was what I clung to when I was away in the cold north. I have been beyond the Wall but no matter where I walked, Dorne was always in my heart. Memories of the sun on my face kept me warm during the bitingly cold nights. Many nights I dreamed about returning to Dorne, to Sunspear but I never thought it was possible and yet here I stand. I am grateful to be back in my homeland though the circumstances surrounding my return sadden me. I will not dreg up the horrid events that have so recently occurred. I will promise, though, that henceforth, anyone who dares to threaten the peace of Dorne, either through schemes or declarations of war will be dealt with in the most painful way possible. Dorne will serve Dorne again and no one else!”

The room erupted into applause once again, the cheers seemingly louder this time. Though Tristan remained silent, his expression happy yet sombre looking in comparison to everyone else within the room, he did clap his hands enthusiastically. Tristan was a little concerned about what Prince Josmyn had said, more so the part that sounded as if he was showing intention to make Dorne independent from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. It was true that the Dornish held no true alliances with the other Kingdoms of realm, but Tristan couldn’t help but feel that calling for Dornish independence would merely force attention on Dorne, dragging them into the war whether they wished it or not. However, he was not as educated in war as others were, and he could not expect to understand its workings as well as Prince Josmyn clearly did.

As silence once again fell in the room, at Prince Josmyns command, the Prince spoke once more. “To help me in this endeavour, I must call forth two friends. One saved my life and the other has sworn to guard me with him. Tristan Rydralle and Florien Flowers, I, Prince Josmyn Nymeros Martell call you forward.” this caught the young Northerner completely off guard. He had not expected named in this ceremony or to be called out in front of everyone. Glancing about he noticed Florien pushing his way through the noble men and women, clearly egger to get to the front as commanded. With far slower movements Tristan also began to make his way forward, quietly asking for people to move aside as he did so. Eventually he made his way out into the isle, where he was able to move freely towards the throne.

"Your Grace," Florien began as Tristan arrived, dropping to his knee. "I am not a Dornishman, nor shall I ever be one, but I am your true and loyal friend. If you require my help I will do whatever is asked of me." unable to muster the grace needed to speak to royalty, and uneducated in the customs of Dorne or indeed those related to dealing with Lords and Ladies, Tristan mimicked Florien and got down on one knee.

“For as long as I draw breath, you and your kin will have my sword…” he began, his Northern accent echoed throughout the silent hall. “…and my spear.” he quickly added, remembering what Josmyn had taught him about the Dornish and their love for spears.

Word Count: 1,638.

Tyene Martell's Post

Josmyn had always been her favorite brother. They had grown up together, and Tyene had missed him terribly when he had gone off to the Wall. It was good to have him back in Dorne where he belonged, and it was especially good that he had come back to rule in Doran's place. The old man was weak, and had been perfectly content to do absolutely nothing about the wrongs that had been done to his family. Yes, truly it was good to have Josmyn back. He looked especially regal as he made his way through the hall, the jewels that decorated sparkled breathtakingly in the sun. Tyene smirked, it would be so easy to play matchmaker for her big brother, now that he was the ruler of Dorne and no longer sworn to that horrible cold wall.

“Born of both House Martell and House Dayne of High Hermitage, I have always been proud to be a Dornishman above all else. This identity was what I clung to when I was away in the cold north. I have been beyond the Wall but no matter where I walked, Dorne was always in my heart. Memories of the sun on my face kept me warm during the bitingly cold nights. Many nights I dreamed about returning to Dorne, to Sunspear but I never thought it was possible and yet here I stand. I am grateful to be back in my homeland though the circumstances surrounding my return sadden me. I will not dreg up the horrid events that have so recently occurred. I will promise, though, that henceforth, anyone who dares to threaten the peace of Dorne, either through schemes or declarations of war will be dealt with in the most painful way possible. Dorne will serve Dorne again and no one else!”

Tyene stood up and applauded louder than anyone else in the room, causing several curious glances from people in the room who had never seen her. A sense of great pride and respect rose within her as she had listened to her brother's speech. Josmyn was not finished though, he began to speak again.
“To help me in this endeavor, I must call forth two friends. One saved my life and the other has sworn to guard me with him. Tristan Rydralle and Florien Flowers, I, Prince Josmyn Nymeros Martell call you forward.”

How curious, Tyene thought as she eyed the two men who came forward. One was very tall, with dark hair and dark eyes. The other was a bit scruffier, with curly brown hair. Tyene had never heard of a Tristan or a Florien before, but then again she had not corresponded with her brother for quite some time. She would have to learn more about them, to make sure they were truly loyal to Josmyn. Tyene, you could say, is a bit paranoid about strangers. However, if Jos trusted them, perhaps she could too.

As the two men swore their allegiance, Tyene felt that she should say something too. She never had quite grasped the concept of "speak when you are spoken to." She stood up once more, her beautiful emerald gown swaying delicately as she moved. Tyene thrust her fist in the air and shouted:

"Hail Prince Josmyn, long may he reign! UNBOWED, UNBROKEN, UNBENT!"

The rest of the hall took up the chant, and Tyene grinned and winked at her brother.

Both Florien and Tristan had justed finished swearing loyalty to Dorne, when Josmyn's younger sister, Tyene, now a princess in her own right, shouted out his name and wished him a long reign over Dorne. The older man could not help but let a smile pass over his face, though a few of the nobility seemed to be a bit shocked at her outburst though they quickly picked up her chant. He chuckled at her antics then nodded to her, once again raising his hands for those assembled to quiet down. Slowly, the chants died out, but it was not until the hall was completely silent that Josmyn did speak. Indeed, while his sister might have spoken out of turn according to court protocol, the newly crowned prince could not find it in himself to actually care. Instead, he decided to recognize her new status as a princess as well.

“Thank you, my sister, Princess Tyene, for that rousing chant. I hope I can live up to her expectations as all of yours,” he replied, his hands gesturing to show that he meant all assembled there. Still, it was good that she was so willing to show support for him. His sisters meant the world to him and he was going to do everything in his power to make sure they had whatever it was they wanted.

Giving a last smile and nod to his younger sister, Josmyn turned his attention back to Tristan and Florien. They were here, pledging their fealty towards him and Dorne, mostly because of the rewards he'd offered to them. It was clear that neither of them had been raised amongst nobles from the way they spoke but that mattered little. Josmyn would see to it himself that they learned Dornish court customs so that his nobles would feel more comfortable around them.

Indeed, Prince Doran, his uncle, had warned him that a few of the Dornish houses might grumble when Florien was raised to Lord of Godsgrace or Tristan was named as Captain of the Sun Guard. It was only to be expected. After all, these were non-Dornish being raised to positions of authority and prestige. There would be rumblings but it would also give Josmyn a chance to appease those that were upset with gifts of their own, further binding Dorne together under his rule. Josmyn's dark eyes focused on Florien first, taking a few steps toward him before lowering his ornate spear point to both of the man's shoulders then raising it again.

“Ser Florien Flowers, you saved my life beyond the Wall. If not for your quick actions, I would be dead. Since that day, you and I have been friends. On this day, I honor that friendship. Rise, Ser Florien Floxney, Lord of Godsgrace with all its attendant responsibilities and rights,” he declared, smiling at his friend. As he looked around the room, a few of the nobles had begun to whisper to themselves and Josmyn decided to stop it before it could spread.

“As you all know, House Allyrion once held Godsgrace. However, they dishonored themselves when they fled across the Narrow Sea with those that betrayed their family and all of Dorne. I am trusting you, Ser Florien to restore Godsgrace to a place of honor,” Josmyn concluded, glancing out over the crowd of lords and ladies, practically daring them to gainsay his choice. They would not. At least, not publicly. They would wait for a private audience before they voiced any dissenting opinions on his choice. After all, they did not no what type of Prince he was going to be and they did not want to risk his ire in such a public venue.

Slowly, his attention turned to Tristan, the Northern still bowed on his knee. While he was a low-born male, Josmyn had grown fond of his sworn man, coming to look at him like he would have a younger brother. While they were not brothers and would likely never be equals, Martell was going to make sure that his friend had the tools he needed to succeed in his new life in Dorne. Giving a surreptitious signal to a nearby page, Josmyn smiled down at the younger man-at-arms.
“Tristan Rydralle, I hearby name you Captain of the Sun Guard and charge you with the protection, not only of myself and my family, but with the safety of all of those that live within Sunspear,” the Prince decreed, taking a jeweled brooch and orange cloak from the page's outstretched hands. He gave a nod of thanks to the page, remembering his face so he could send him a choice piece of meat at the feast that would follow this ceremony.

Josmyn urged Tristan to rise, fastening the brightly colored cloak around his shoulders and securing it with a ruby brooch in the shape of the Martell sun. Again the page came forth, this time with an spear, of obviously high quality in his hands. He presented it to Josmyn with his head bowed and Josmyn again marked the face of the boy so he could give him a reward later. Taking the spear, the Martell prince offered it to Tristan, making it clear he was to take the fine weapon.
“With this spear, you will guard not only myself but every man, woman, and child that lives in my city. Serve with honor, my friend,” he commanded softly, a smile still spread across his face.

With official business concluding, Josmyn looked out at all before him. It was nearing time for the feast that would celebrate his coronation. The feast was as much of a part of the ceremony as the actual crowning had been because it would bind Josmyn with his guests in the guest right, but also serve to show his generosity to those that were now sworn to him.

Clearing his throat, Josmyn began again, “With this, my loyal lords and ladies, I conclude that court business is done for this day and ask that you all join me in the banquet hall to partake in a thirty-five course meal celebrating this day.”

For a few moments the crowd of nobles that had crowded into the throne room took up a chant, led by a girl that turned out to be Josmyn's sister, but the Prince silenced them, thanked his sister for her support and continued with the proceedings; he approached the knight first and touched him on both shoulders with his ornate spear before addressing him.

“Ser Florien Flowers, you saved my life beyond the Wall. If not for your quick actions, I would be dead. Since that day, you and I have been friends. On this day, I honor that friendship. Rise, Ser Florien Floxney, Lord of Godsgrace with all its attendant responsibilities and rights,” Josmyn declared, smiling at the newly made lord who smiled back at him graciously. Some of the nobles in the crowd began to whisper, they where apparently upset that a bastard who wasn't even a dornishman had been raised to lordship in their kingdom but Florien did not care what they thought of his appointment as he that, given the chance, he would able to impress them.

“As you all know, House Allyrion once held Godsgrace. However, they dishonored themselves when they fled across the Narrow Sea with those that betrayed their family and all of Dorne. I am trusting you, Ser Florien to restore Godsgrace to a place of honor,” the ruling prince of Dorne continued, he looked at the noble men and women that had come to witness his coronation; Florien knew he was daring them to complain about his appointment as Lord of Godsgrace but not one of them was brave enough to do so in such a public setting. Florien could tell that Josmyn was going to be a strong ruler, he was making it clear that no noble could stop him doing things his way.

"I will do my best to not only restore Godsgrace to it's former but I will go beyond that; I will make it greater that it has ever been."

Florien didn't know much about Dorne or nobility but he knew enough to understand that his friend had handed him a prestigious title and, on top of that, given him a new name. He wasn't sure how he felt about the name change because, despite the fact it removed the social stigma of having a bastard name, he had been called Flowers his whole life and it would take some time to adjust to being called Floxney but even if he wasn't sure about how it felt to suddenly have his name changed it definitely didn't sadden him; nothing could, this day was the best day of his entire life and he was going to enjoy it. He stood in front of Josmyn, beside Tristan Rydralle, as he could not leave his position until court was dismissed in it's entirity but, before that could happen, Tristan had to recieve whatever honour the prince had in mind for him.

“Tristan Rydralle, I hearby name you Captain of the Sun Guard and charge you with the protection, not only of myself and my family, but with the safety of all of those that live within Sunspear,” said Josmyn, taking a brooch and cloak from a young steward; he presented the newly appointed captain with these items before allowing him to rise. Once the fine brooch was fastened, the steward approached again, this time with a spear, which was given to Tristan, “With this spear, you will guard not only myself but every man, woman, and child that lives in my city. Serve with honor, my friend." Josmyn was once again smiling and it was clear that he was happy, no one had openly complained about the appoint of two "outsiders" to positions of prestige although they would probably having to say if they recieved a private audience with their prince.

“With this, my loyal lords and ladies, I conclude that court business is done for this day and ask that you all join me in the banquet hall to partake in a thirty-five course meal celebrating this day.”

The mere mention of the thirty-five course meal made Florien realise just how hungry he was; he had not eaten since they had arrived in Dorne and now he could not wait to devour some food. This was going to be his first feast as a lord, as someone important, and he knew that his fellow lords and ladies would be curious about him; they would have questions to ask him, opinions to form and first impressions to make. Florien felt that this would be his chance to impress a few of them.

While Tristan remained bowed on one knee, his eyes looking down at the floor directly in front of him, he suddenly heard someone shout out from amongst the nobles behind him. "Hail Prince Josmyn, long may he reign! UNBOWED, UNBROKEN, UNBENT!" the female cheered. Tristan managed to stop himself from looking up and turning around, to see just who had shouted it out, but despite the now cheering room he somehow managed to hold his position. He was unsure whether or not such a thing was common practise within the courts and castles of the higher society, but in truth it mattered very little either way to the lowborn man. Soon enough the cheering began to die down, and when Prince Josmyn began to speak it became clear that it had been he who had calmed down the roaring noblemen and women.

“Thank you, my sister, Princess Tyene, for that rousing chant.” Prince Josmyn began. So it had been one of his sisters? Prince Josmyn had spoken of them fondly during their journey South, and though Tristan had heard all of their names, he knew very little about them; he didn’t even know what Princess Tyene looked like, and he would not break his position to turn and look. “I hope I can live up to her expectations as all of yours.” Tristan could tell that Prince Josmyn truly meant every word. In the short time that they had known each other, Tristan had not seen the man fail to keep his word, and that was something that Tristan could easily respect; Prince Josmyn would no doubt make a good ruler, he had decided.

“Ser Florien Flowers, you saved my life beyond the Wall. If not for your quick actions, I would be dead. Since that day, you and I have been friends. On this day, I honour that friendship. Rise, Ser Florien Floxney, Lord of Godsgrace with all its attendant responsibilities and rights,” Tristan was unsure as to how he felt about the name Floxney. It was not a name he would have chosen for himself, but then again he loved his own name so he was a little biased. “As you all know, House Allyrion once held Godsgrace. However, they dishonoured themselves when they fled across the Narrow Sea with those that betrayed their family and all of Dorne. I am trusting you, Ser Florien to restore Godsgrace to a place of honour.” the crowd seemed to take to this in a mixed manner; there was cheers and clapping, but also a low whisper that seemed to float throughout the room.

"I will do my best to not only restore Godsgrace to it's former but I will go beyond that; I will make it greater that it has ever been." It was a bold claim from the new Ser Florien Floxney, one that Tristan was unsure if the man could deliver upon, but Ser Florien was a Knight and it was not for Tristan to doubt him.

“Tristan Rydralle,” his own name shocked him, signalling that it was time for the focus to be placed on his shoulders; he could almost feel the weight of all the eyes in the room pressing down upon him. The young man didn’t know what to expect, and that was what put him on edge more so than anything else. “I hereby name you Captain of the Sun Guard and charge you with the protection, not only of myself and my family, but with the safety of all of those that live within Sunspear.” he heard the words, his eyes opening in shock at them, but it took more than a few seconds for them to sink in. The young man was so taken back by it all that he almost didn’t see Prince Josmyns hand, lowered so Tristan could see it, gesturing for him to rise - and rise he did.

Before Tristan knew what was happening, the Prince flapped a brightly coloured orange cloak around his shoulders, and secured the cloak with a beautifully decorated brooch - a ruby in the shape of the Martell sigil, the sun. Moments later a spear was held out towards him by Prince Josmyn. Tristan found himself looking down at the fine weapon, before glancing up to Prince Josmyn just to make sure he was meant to take it, though the small nod of the head from the Prince settled the matter. Reaching out, Tristan clasped his hands around the spear as Prince Josmyn began to speak again. “With this spear, you will guard not only myself but every man, woman, and child that lives in my city. Serve with honour, my friend.” The Prince commanded with a smile.

Tristan knew he should say something honourable and strong, something that would lend confidence to the nobles of the room that he would see his position through with honour and pride, but he could not find the right words to say. “I…I will serve your family, this city and its people with honour and justice.” he said, immediately unhappy with his choice of words, but knowing full well it was too late to take them back; his inexperience in these matters was likely as clear as day, and if it hadn’t been for the excessive heat already causing his pale skin to turn bright red, he would have no doubt done so through sheer embarrassment.

With his part in this seemingly through, hopefully at least, Tristan took his spear and held it proudly, it’s tip pointing skyward as he took his place alongside Ser Florien and waited for Prince Josmyn to speak. After clearing his throat, the Prince did indeed begin to speak, putting Tristans fears of having more focus placed on him, to rest. “With this, my loyal lords and ladies, I conclude that court business is done for this day and ask that you all join me in the banquet hall to partake in a thirty-five course meal celebrating this day.” the young Captain of the Guards - a title that would no doubt take some getting used to - sighed a sigh of relief at the Princes words, but instantly realised that he was unsure as to when he was supposed to move from his position in front of the throne, and whether or not he was supposed to simply make his way straight to the feast or to some other location first? His lack of experience and noble upbringing was proving to be quite the hindrance, he realised, and it was most certainly something he would have to try and rectify.

Word Count: 1,100.
Total Word Count thus far: 2,738.