A/N: Ah thanks so much for taking the time to review! You guys rock!

OSWELL

Storm's End was unusually warm despite the barrage of rain and wind that laid assault outside. The feast within its great walls was, without a doubt, one of the biggest the Stormlands had ever seen, although it was hardly out of the ordinary for Oswell who had spent years at court where such extravagances were commonplace. The tables groaned under the weight of the dishes served; the finest fruits from the Reach, flagons of Arbor Gold and Dornish Red, venison and beef and mutton, all roasted with various spices and peppers. Above them hung huge banners of the Stag of Baratheon and the three headed dragon of Targaryen, together for the first time since Robert's Rebellion.

Queen Rhaella was a glowing vision of beauty and vibrancy, a stark contrast to the man sitting beside her. Lord Stannis Baratheon looked as if he was begrudging every single morsel of food, every single drop of wine. Could anyone look dourer at a feast? Oswell highly doubted it. This Stormlord is completely different from the would-be usurper…

Oswell and Ser Barristan stood at their usual positions behind the queen and her children, watching for any sign of danger or threat. Though he hid it well, Ser Barristan looked to be slightly saddened by the reminder of his old homelands. Oswell wondered how his own kin were doing back at Harrenhall; it had been an age since he had last seen his brother.

"Lord Stannis you have excelled yourself," observed the Queen. "I don't think I've been to a feast this lovely in years."

The Lord of Storm's End was silent for a time, his stormy blue eyes focused on the sight before him as guests laughed and musicians played. "Yes," he reluctantly agreed. "There was a great deal of work put into it."

"And who was it that convinced you to go to such lengths?"

Stannis looked confused. "My lady, I-"

"You need not make excuses," she said lightly. "Not everyone is as extravagant as Mace Tyrell."

The Baratheon looked down at the dish before. "Maester Cressen advised me that it would be my duty to properly welcome you my lady."

"Oh Stannis," A smile danced across Rhaella's face then. "You haven't changed have you? You're still that serious little boy from Steffon's letters."

Stannis Baratheon's mouth fell open slightly and for a moment the grim expression fell away. "He…I did not know my lord father wrote to you."

"Your father was like a brother to me," she paused to take a sip of wine. "I miss him."

There was a slight blur of movement at the edge of Oswell's vision, and with a slight grin he saw Princess Daenerys throw a grape at her brother. Viserys scowled at her and Prince Jon who was laughing, the older sibling's face rapidly turning red with anger before his mother put a single hand on his arm, silencing him. I wonder if that was how it was with the Queen and Aerys? After serving the Mad King for years, Oswell often tried to understand how a man could sink so low, but more often than not he had to concede that sometimes sanity and reason did not always enter into the lives of men and kings.

The night pressed on, the music grew dimmer, the food was consumed, the Stormlords grew tired and content and the candles burnt out whilst Stannis and the Queen grew livelier. Long after the children had been escorted to their guest rooms by Ser Barristan and much of the hall cleared out, still did the Queen and the Lord of Storm's End talk.

In the end it was just Rhaella, Stannis and Oswell left in the large empty room.

"What you suggest could be considered treason," Stannis Baratheon told the Queen, his blue eyes boring a hole through her. "To go against your lawful king like this."

"And what if the king goes against the law?" countered Rhaella. "How does one get justice then?"

Stannis clenched his jaw. "The king has a small council and a Hand to keep things within the line of the law."

"Did that stop Aerys?" she asked mildly.

The Baratheon began grinding his teeth, not even bothering to mask his displeasure. This man is not one for courtesy, Oswell observed. I suppose months of living off rats and boot leather will erode a man's fear of being rude…

"My duty is to the King,"

"Your duty is to the realm," Rhaella corrected. "And to justice, both of which my son is abusing at the moment. All I ask of you is that you do your duty."

Stannis let out a hesitant breath. "What about Renly?"

"As I told you in my letters, Renly is doing fine at Highgarden." Her purple eyes softened. "Lord Tyrell is with us on this matter."

"Tyrell," spat Stannis, his face twisting into an expression of fury. "He sat outside these very walls feasting while I and all my men starved. Renly would have died if not for Ser Davos and his onions, and now you say that my brother is safe with this man?"

Rhaella watched his seething rage without a hint of expression, her eyes regarding him silently as she reached out and took another mouthful of Dornish Red. "I was the one who convinced Rhaegar to spare you and Renly, did you know that?"

The Stormlord was startled by that. "You?"

"I told him that it would not do to kill off any more of our kin," she said mildly. "And so he allowed you your seat and titles."

"Why would you do that?"

Rhaella looked him straight in the eye. "Because, despite your brother's foolishness, you boys are the sons of Steffon….I did not want the last pieces of such a good man to be gone from this world."

Stannis was silent. His brooding face no longer held any traces of anger or bitterness, only a deep sense of longing and grief. In that moment Oswell could see that the young man before him was not some mercurial, blood-hungry man of violence like his brother had been, but rather a sad and broken soul. Yet there is strength to him, the knight realised. He is not one to surrender….

"I didn't have enough time with him," confessed Stannis. "I didn't get enough time with either of them."

Rhaella's hand reached out slowly and held the larger, more calloused hand of the Stormlord. Though the Baratheon stiffened at her touch, he did not pull away and that was encouragement enough for the She-Dragon. "He would have been proud of you, and he would have trusted you to do the right thing, the just thing."

"I still don't trust these Tyrells," he complained grudgingly. "I need proof that they won't hurt my brother."

The Queen allowed herself a slight smile. "You are not married yet, or even betrothed….perhaps a bride from Highgarden would silence your doubts? The Lord of Storm's End is quite a desirable match after all."

"A bride?" Stannis gave the Queen dowager a sharp look. "That is no small token."

"Indeed, and Janna Tyrell is not yet spoken for." Rhaella waved the concern away. "If I ask it of Lord Mace on your behalf then he will grant it."

Stannis sat back, jaw clenched and eyes focused in deep thought. They could almost hear the grinding of his teeth as he brooded over the matter. The Lord of Storm's End released a tired breath. "Very well, ask your Fat Flower if his sister would wed me." His eyes went back to their tranquil fury. "But I would see my brother before any such marriage would occur."

"And the offer matter we discussed?" Rhaella's tone was hopeful, yet cautious. "What of that?"

Stannis made a sharp gesture. "If it comes to war then I shall do my duty to the realm."

The Queen was smiling as Oswell escorted her back to her guest chambers, and it seemed to the knight that she walked with a purpose and confidence. Strange, thought Oswell, She is the only person whom I have ever seen energized from a discussion with Stannis Baratheon.

When they reached her doorway Oswell could no longer contain himself. "You just won an argument with the most stubborn man in Westeros, my lady. That's quite an accomplishment."

"Not really," she said as she went to a vanity and begun to remove her jewellery. "At his heart Stannis is his father's son."

Oswell raised a brow. "Lord Steffon was quite charming from what I can recall of the man."

"Yes," she agreed. "But he also had a strong sense of right and wrong. Of all the boys, Stannis was the one who took after him in that."

"He seems awfully grim."

"His parents died when he was young and he grew up alone," Rhaella paused in her efforts and looked away. "Sometimes when I look at him I can't help but think of Jon." Her purple eyes closed in anger. "Rhaegar is such a bloody fool. Why can't he see that Jon is his son? He hasn't a mother but at least he could have had a father to teach him about the world, a father to sit with him, to hold him and tell him stories…."

Oswell remembered the first and only time Rhaegar had held his son, after the trident when they had all returned to King's Landing. Arthur Dayne himself brought the babe forth to present him to his father. That was one of the worst moments in my time as a Kingsguard, Oswell reflected sadly. Rhaegar had looked utterly heartbroken when he saw the little prince, bundled up in his blanket. The future King had howled in grief and hastily handed the babe back to Arthur before storming from his solar and locking himself in his chambers for several days afterwards. When he came out he declared that the child would not be raised at court.

"Has he ever spoken to you about it?" he found himself asking. "Did he speak of Jon at all?"

Rhaella's mouth pressed into a thin red line. "Of course, when the word spread that I had a third grandchild I went to him and we spoke at length about it. He did his utmost to ignore the very existence of the boy altogether, but when I pressed hard enough….he was despondent, as if the child had been an insult to his very person. Can you believe that? A child barely a month old and his own son and he thought that Jon was an offense!"

"He has you," Oswell pointed out. "You love the boy like he was your own son."

The She-Dragon gave him a soft expression. "When the wet-nurse put him in my arms….I don't think there is a more divine moment than that, he had my heart."

Oswell found himself nodding. "Lyanna Stark was…lively. She should have been Dornish for all the ferocity to her and she fought tooth and nail bringing that babe into the world."

"She was a child," reflected Rhaella, "A victim of Rhaegar's affections and the plotting of my forefathers. We should have stopped it before it got out of hand."

You should have smothered Aerys in his bed a good long time before that. Oswell wondered how many lives would have been saved if only he and his sworn brothers had just looked away back when the king had first begun showing his mania. Probably thousands….

The Queen had let her hair down and began combing it, her curls like that of spun moonlight. With only a light dress on and sitting in such a relaxed manner Oswell found his gaze wandering down the dragon queen's body. She fills that dress quite well….

"Did you know that Rhaenys has started writing to Jon," her voice was full of pride. "You should have seen his face as he read it; I've never seen him more excited. She is such a sweet child, and frightfully smart. Mayhaps I can get Elia to let her come visit once we settle in at Summerhall."

He could just see the faintest space of bare flesh when she moved her arm up…

"Ser Oswell?"

"Hmmm…"

Suddenly he felt her eyes upon him and forced himself to look up. There was a knowing smile upon her full lips. "My eyes are up here, Ser."

"I…uh," he felt a wave of shame wash over his face. "I'll…uh, stand guard outside."