A/N: Thanks to everyone who left a review, they keep me going!

OSWELL

"Isn't it beautiful?"

Oswell felt the breath leave his chest as he laid eyes on the castle before him. He had seen Summerhall plenty of times with Rhaegar and Arthur, and it had always seemed to be little more than a haunted ruin of black stone, a grave marker to the Targaryen days of glory. What stood before him now was much, much different.

The stones no longer seemed black. That was the first thing he noticed, the lack of ash and smoulder. Summerhall's new foundations may be built upon the ruins of the old, but Oswell could not see any remnant of that, just a basic shape. The remainder was pristine stone that almost shone like polished marble. Much of the vines and plants that had become overgrown were cut back into beautiful shapes and a garden of flowers and fruit trees that were a marvel to look upon stood out proudly. House Tyrell's contribution, he told himself as he scanned the rest of the castle. The three-headed dragon of Targaryen was displayed proudly over its considerate walls, a triumphant statement to all that the dragon's nest had been rebuilt.

"It's so big!" marvelled Princess Daenerys, her head sticking from the window of the wheelhouse. "Don't you think, Ser?"

Oswell did not take his eyes from the structure before them. "It is certainly a grand sight my princess."

"It used to be much bigger," Ser Barristan remarked quietly, his sad blue eyes focused ahead. "I remember some of the tourneys that King Aegon and his sons used to hold here. It always used to remind the realm of times past, back in the days of Daeron the Good and his successors."

"Did you ever meet King Daeron?" Daenerys asked innocently.

Barristan the Bold gave her a warm laugh. "I am not that old princess."

Oswell considered his sworn brother. Ser Barristan was well into his fifties, and had been competing in tourneys since he was a boy, knighted by King Aegon the Unlikely himself and the man who slew the last of the Blackfyre pretenders. It was on rare moments such as this that Oswell was reminded that he was in the presence of a legend. Aemon the Dragonknight of our time…

"King Jaehaerys once said that this was the greatest place he had ever known," the old knight said wistfully. "Would that he was here to see it now."

"Rhaegar used to say that was place was where he was saddest," Oswell frowned. "Yet he also said it was where he could find that most peace."

Barristan gave a tired nod. "His birth place."

There was an excited giggle from within the wheelhouse and princess Daenerys' voice carried out as they all trotted along. "Did you hear that Jon? Your father was born here!"

Oswell could not hear the response, either the boy had spoken much more quietly than his aunt or he had not answered at all. He doubted that any response would be as enthusiastic as the little princess had hoped.

"I heard Prince Aemon once hosted a tourney here," he said casually to his sworn brother. "Did you attend?"

Barristan gave a nod. "Aye, it was a lively event as I recall."

"How was the prince himself?"

The older knight gave him a strange look. "I only saw him briefly after the fire, but in his youth he was a kind man. Her grace had best hope that he is still the same."

Oswell doubted a man could remain kind after being set ablaze, even less so after years of living amongst corsairs and cutthroats, but said nothing.

The gates opened up for them as they approached, the entire courtyard filled with servants, stableboys, smiths, cooks, maids, a kennel master, a septon and large group of guards and knights. A new Maester had even been sent from the Citadel, an older man with kind eyes. Not for the first time Oswell wondered how the Queen Dowager had managed all of it. He and Ser Barristan dismounted and allowed their horses to be taken away whilst they stood ready and vigilant for any signs of danger. Behind them the carriage door opened and the little princess practically bounded out, staring at the group of people standing before her with wide eyes. After Daenerys came Prince Viserys, standing stiff and formal as if he were in the Great Sept of Baelor itself. Finally the Queen stepped down, Prince Jon clutching her hand. She looked about and those in attendance fell to their knees, as she stepped forward.

Rhaella raised her hands and the procession arose with them. Among them the old Maester made his way over, his chains rattling with every step he took. "My lady, I am Maester Symon."

The Queen Dowager bowed slightly to him. "Maester, it is a pleasure to have you here with us."

"I only do my duty," he gave her a kind smile. "I am sure that after such a journey that you'll want to see your rooms?"

Rhaella gave a brief nod. "Shortly, though I would know those of my household." She suddenly turned to Oswell. "Ser, would you be so kind as to ride out and escort our guests back to the castle?"

And I just sent my horse off. Oswell kept his face devoid of emotion. "Of course my queen."

He went off to the stables and found his horse munching away on a bag of oats. The stable boy gave him a confused look as he put his saddle back on the courser and mounted up once again. He urged the horse into a gallop as he rode out towards the second wheelhouse on the horizon. The Tyrell men waved to him and Oswell waved back as he approached. He trotted over to the window of the carriage and rapped on it with his knuckles. A pair of brown eyes greeted him.

"Ser Oswell," Willas Tyrell gave him a smile. "Might I ask how the travels go?"

"Smoothly, the Queen awaits you at Summerhall."

The heir of Highgarden gave a nod and then called for his coach to pick up the face. Oswell kept up to a trot beside him, his guard down now that the rest of the royal family were safely inside of the castle walls. "I must confess I am a little nervous, Ser." Willas gave an uneasy laugh. "The Queen Dowager is an intense woman."

"She is," agreed Oswell. "But you needn't worry; this is mostly a casual affair."

Willas looked relieved. "My grandmother had it drilled into my head that I must be wary."

Yes, the Queen of Thorns would say that wouldn't she? Oswell had several retorts on the tip of his tongue, but chose to swallow them. "There is nothing to be wary of. Simply answer her questions, take your look at the castle and try to uphold your manners. If you do that then you might be home by the morrow."

"I…I have never met any of the royal family," he confessed.

It was only then that Oswell saw him for the boy he was, and tried to be more supportive. "Well you are in luck, as Queen Rhaella is the most even-tempered of them. She will return kindness with kindness."

Willas nodded in understanding, and then laughed lightly to himself. "You are nothing like they say, Ser."

"And what do they say?"

"That you're a man with humour black as midnight and just as cruel," the smile did not waver from the young man's face. "I can see they were nothing but malicious lies."

I see that damned bat that adorns my helm and chest has done nothing for reputation, despite the years since he took up the white cloak he still could not escape all the follies of youth. He forced himself to smile. "Oh, they're absolutely right; you just caught me in a good mood."

That night he had his duty to stand guard outside Prince Jon's chamber whilst Barristan stayed with the Queen and her Tyrell guest. He remembered a thousand other nights when he had done the same for Rhaegar's other two children back at the Red Keep; most nights were crushingly boring, but every now and then the little princess would try and sneak out and he would have to escort her back with a gentle word. I wonder if she still troubles the others that way. Ser Gerold would certainly not tolerate such a thing, but Ser Lewyn would likely indulge the girl, who was after all his own kin. The old man is nothing compared to what he was, yet his oath demands that he serve until his death…

He often wondered how long the old Dornishman would last in his duties. Surely it would not be for much longer, Oswell thought. He'd die taking more than a few with him, but in the end he would not survive another battle. It was a sobering idea, and made Oswell think of his own future, his own death. Let it be in battle and not as an old man in my bed…

A soft cry came from within the room. Oswell turned his head and tried to listen more carefully despite his helm muffling most of the sound. There was silence for a beat, and then another soft cry. He took a breath, looked down the hall to see if anyone was coming and then entered into the chamber. The light was bad and his helm was obstructing his vision, but he could see an outline of the boy sitting up amongst his sheets.

"Are you alright my prince?" he asked softly as he approached.

The boy looked up at him, his face was red and his grey eyes were puffy with tears. "I want Grandmother," he sobbed.

Oswell pressed his mouth into a thin line. He had little and less experience comforting frightened children. With a sigh, he removed his bat helm and set it on the ground before sitting at the foot of the large bed. "She is busy at the moment my prince, what troubles you?"

The boy gave another sob and looked around at the room. "I don't know this place."

"It's to be your home," he said softly. "There is nothing here that can hurt you."

His grey eyes looked up at Oswell with a sadness that was so like Rhaegar that he was almost startled. "I had a dream that they would leave me."

"Why would they do that my prince?"

"That's what Viserys said," he admitted between huffed breaths. "He…said…my father left me at Dragonstone and…that ….that Grandmother was going to take him and Dany back home!" After that the children was wracked with another bout of sobbing, his little body shaking with the effort.

Oswell found himself more angered than he thought he would be. That little worm will be hearing from me. Somehow he smothered his anger and instead turned it into something positive. He removed his gauntlets and his mailed gloves and put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Your uncle Viserys is an idiot, my prince. You shouldn't listen to anything he says." His voice softened, like the way his brother's used to when he spoke to his children. "I know for a fact that your grandmother would never leave you alone, not even the Gods themselves could keep her away…." He didn't know exactly what it was that made him speak next, but he did so anyway. "And I'll always be around to protect you."

The boy quietened at that, and his sobbing came down to almost nothing. His chest huffing slightly as he took in several shaking breaths. "Do you promise?" he asked after a time.

Promise me he'll be kept safe…promise me. "I promise."

"Can you….can you stay here, please?"

Oswell gave a tired nod. "I'll stay right here until you go to sleep."

Jon seemed to breathe easier at that and slowly eased back into his pillows, clutching at the furs around him. His grey eyes watched Oswell for a good while, but eventually they grew heavy and the child's breath grew soft and even.

As quietly as he could with his armour, Oswell moved away from the bed and made for the door. His hand was on the handle as it opened to reveal the Queen standing in the hallway, a curious expression on her face. He brought a finger to his lips to silence her. "He just got back to sleep," he whispered.

Rhaella frowned. "What was he doing up this late?" she asked softly. "He was put to bed hours ago."

"A bad dream," he replied. "Prince Viserys' has been….putting notions into the boy's head."

Her brow rose. "Such as?"

"You leaving him here and returning to Dragonstone," he could not contain his frown, "or something of that nature."

Rhaella's purple eyes shone with anger. Oswell noted that they were not unlike Rhaegar's during the Battle on the Trident when he set out to face Robert Baratheon. "I shall have a very long talk with Viserys."

She walked over to his bedside and watched the rise and fall of his chest. In the blink of an eye the rage had vanished and tenderness taken its place. After a moment she leant over the bed and gently kissed the boy's cheek. "Sleep well my little Prince of Summerhall," she whispered quietly. He stirred a little, but settled back into whatever dream he was in with a smile on his face.

"How was the Tyrell boy?" Oswell asked. "He seemed amiable when I spoke to him."

Rhaella gave a small nod, not taking her eyes from Jon. "He's a lot more intelligent than his oaf of a father, and lacks the ambition of his grandmother. Mace suggested that I send Viserys to Highgarden to squire but I can already tell that that would only lead to disaster. I think we'll simply betroth him to Mace's daughter and keep on Willas here. I think he'll do well under your guidance."

"Hmmm?" Oswell was taken aback. "My guidance? I thought it was decided that Ser Barristan would take the boy on as a squire?"

"I changed my mind Ser," she replied with a smile on her lips. "He'll be much better off with a younger knight to teach him. And besides," she grinned. "If I'm lucky, some of his manners will rub off on you."