A/N: This is the penultimate chapter of this 'phase' of the story, after which there will be a time jump of about seven or eight years and will feature new POVs mixed with the living ones of this era. For those of you who left a review, big thanks! It keeps things alive and inspired!

OSWELL

He was in a world of warmth and comfort, submerged within the protective depths of half-formed dreams and pleasant memories. It was as though he floated underneath the waves of the sea during a heavy storm, safe from the onslaught the waged on above the surface. There was a single noise that cut through his bliss, the distant and far removed song of a bird. Slowly, his breathing changed and gravity returned to him.

His eyes slowly fluttered open, and right away he could tell that he was not within his own bed. The room was much larger than the small space he occupied, and much more lavishly decorated than a mere knight would have been afforded. A ray of sunshine shone in through an open window which gave a direct view of the garden. At the end of his bed sat the most beautiful thing he had ever seen; Queen Rhaella.

"Welcome to the realm of the living."

Oswell blinked at her, and slowly eased himself up against his pillows, doing what he could with his heavily bandaged ribs. The layers of furs and blankets were heavy, and their warmth lulled him, but he grew alert enough. "How long was I out?"

"About three days," Rhaella replied with a slight smile. "You must forgive me; I didn't think your recovery would go so smoothly in the cramped rooms you keep, so I had you brought to one of the guest rooms."

He could not help but laugh at that. Is she really apologising for giving me a comfortable bed to sleep in? When he saw the slight frown of confusion upon Rhaella's face he elaborated. "I haven't had a decent night's sleep in what feels like months. All it took for me to get an enjoyable rest was to have my sides split."

"Well, enjoy it while you can. I expect you'll be fit to serve in a few days' time?" Rhaella looked him up and down. Her purple eyes a mystery. "I know Ser Barristan would be relieved to know that he doesn't have to do all the heavy lifting around here."

A sudden realization of the havoc that had been unleashed upon the castle caused Oswell to abandon all mirth. "Is everyone alright? Have the Dornish tried anything else?"

"All dead," Rhaella's face turned into a scowl. "Those damned fools killed each other under Darkstar's orders. Those loyal to the Martells are all dead, and the Dayne warriors refused to be taken alive, even as their lord lay reduced to a malformed blob of ash and flesh."

Oswell winced at the memory of the man's grizzly demise. "How is the princess?"

To a trained knight of the Kingsguard, watching a person's facial expressions for any sign of discontent or anxiety or any of the other multiple precursors that indicated a person was distressed became a second nature. He couldn't help but notice the subtle way the Queen paused for a gentle exhale before she answered. "Rhaenys hasn't been feeling her best, as you can imagine…..but she's a strong child."

"Where is she now?"

Rhaella gestured out the open window. "She's playing in the gardens with Jon. The two have become quite inseparable ever since Jon moved his bedchamber to the one beside Rhaenys."

Oswell's noise wrinkled. "Is the room completely ruined?"

"They had to scrape his remains from the floor," Rhaella replied with a certain amount of disgust. "It was only by pure luck that Jon had snuck into Daenerys' chambers when that…butcher arrived. It's all been a mess."

He exhaled in irritation. "What do the other lords think? Stannis, Mace Tyrell?"

Rhaella's purple eyes slowly travelled from the window back to Oswell's form. She looked at him for a long moment, blinking and working her jaw as if considering his loyalty. "Mace Tyrell is making a fuss of course. He thinks that we should send out an army of Reachlords to scour the lands for the ones behind the attack. Stannis is being more patient, but I can already tell that he took grave offense to his wedding night spoiled."

"Will he be a problem?"

The Queen shook her head slightly. "My uncle Aemon has managed to keep his Baratheon fury reigned in; I think Stannis heeds his council more than he lets on," she swallowed uneasily. "At some point I'm going to have to tell them about who exactly sent those men, and when I do…well, it'll mean war."

Oswell closed his eyes and laid his head back against the pillows, trying to work out a way around a course of action that would result in a full-scale war across the Seven Kingdoms. The two lords in their little alliance would throw around their hefty political and martial weight, their chances of victory greater. But Oswell was at heart a soldier, and he knew that a war fought between two sides of near equal strength would only create a longer and harsher conflict. The devastation alone would be just as extensive as Robert's Rebellion…

"What a thing to wake up to,"

Rhaella's slender hand wound around his own calloused one and gave it a light squeeze. "Don't worry about it now, just get better."

He allowed himself a weary smile, and allowed himself to slip back into the soft comfort of sleep, the Queen's hand still firmly clasped in his.


It was another two days before he was up and about, ready to carry on with his duties. Ser Barristan, ever a tireless and modest knight, never once complained about his increased role in the protection of the royal family, instead he merely gave a good natured nod when he saw Oswell return to the great hall in full armour. And with helm firmly in place this time….

The Queen was sporting a necklace of red stones round her long and delicate neck, whilst she wore a creamy dress trimmed with gold that made her glow like the sun. When she spotted him she smiled openly, something that had Oswell grinning with confidence. He felt an odd sort of serenity when he took his place behind them on the dais.

Lord Stannis, as the guest of honour sat at Rhaella's side looking a stiff and serious counterpoint to his cheerful Tyrell bride. He ate little and drank only his lemon water while all others broke their fast copiously. Eventually he turned his stormy blue eyes to the Queen. "I should like to converse with you and Lord Tyrell in private, Your Grace. It has come to that time when we organise ourselves."

Rhaella hesitated, and looked at her cousin with a soft expression. "Are you so eager for bad news Stannis? Don't you want to enjoy the first few days of married life?"

"Wants do not enter into it; we have a duty that we must see to."

The Queen ran her delicate fingers through her long mane of silvery gold hair, exhaled sadly. "The morrow. We'll discuss everything then."

The Lord of Storm's End looked as though he was going to say something more, but then his wife laid her hand upon his and suddenly whispered something in his ear with a giggle. Stannis blinked in embarrassment before returning to glare at his plate of food. Oswell relaxed somewhat at the sight of them. Queen Rhaella may have done us all the more good than she thought when she arranged that match. A wife can keep him from being so bloody relentless all the time…

Oswell spotted his squire sitting uncomfortably with his father and siblings on the other side of the Queen. Ever since he had been bedridden the boy had made it his sworn duty to try and play nursemaid to him, despite the numerous times Oswell had ordered him back to his family. In truth he was touched by the boy's loyalty and felt a swell of pride whenever he saw him. The boy was suffering through some story his lord oaf of a father was regaling the whole table with when he spotted Oswell and gave a big happy grin, made to wave but then thought better of it.

The breakfast feast went on for another hour before all the guests excused themselves. Normally such a wait would have been excruciatingly boring for Oswell, yet the chance to be around other people after days of confinement was a welcome change, even if he did spend the whole time pretending to be a statue.

He followed the Targaryen children as they were shooed from their breakfast and sent off to their lessons with the Maester. Daenerys and Rhaenys had Jon caught between, teasing him playfully whilst Viserys lingered behind, falling in step with Oswell.

"So you were there when that assassin tried to kill my mother and Rhaenys," he said quietly, watching his niece. "Did he say why?"

Oswell frowned at the boy. "It's not my place to say. But you don't need to worry about it."

Viserys' eyes widened in outrage and he leant over to hiss at Oswell without being overheard. "A crazed man came within inches of killing my mother and my niece; of course I'm going to worry!"

"The man was a cutthroat who thought he could make a name for himself," Oswell looked utterly relaxed as he spoke to the prince, a habit he had picked up over the years when dealing with king Aerys. "You needn't fret."

The prince seethed at that. "Don't talk to me like I am some unruly child, Ser. If you will not tell me then I shall get the answer from Rhaenys herself."

Oswell did not break stride, but he took his armoured fist and set it upon Viserys' shoulder with the just right amount of pressure to serve as a warning. "You will not speak of it to the Princess, not a single thing. You want people to start treating you like an adult? Then start acting like one."

They walked together, his hand still firmly pressed upon Viserys shoulder until they reached the Maester's chambers. The younger children hurried inside whilst Oswell held the prince back, frowning through the openings of his bat helm. "What happened was a frightful thing, and Rhaenys had to see it all. You are like an older brother to them Viserys and it's your responsibility to look after her, Jon and Daenerys as best you can. For their sake, let it rest and trust me on this. You needn't worry."

Viserys looked away, ashamed, but gave a nod of acceptance. Oswell smiled at him and gestured into the chamber, watching as the boy took his seat amongst them with newfound reverence. The white knight silently closed the door and relaxed into his duty.


It was dusk when Queen Rhaella summoned Oswell to her chambers. The sun bathed the world in a reddish hue that made the outside landscape look surreal and dreamlike. The air was empty of bird songs and most of the servants had moved their activities towards the host of Stormlanders that still resided at Summerhall, leaving the upper parts of the castle almost empty of life. Oswell thought it a bad omen.

Aemon the Exile was the first person he saw when he entered. He sat at one end of a short, rectangular table. As Oswell came in he didn't look up, just continued to stare into candle-light with hawkish eyes, his scarred face looking sinister in the dull light. Only when Oswell pulled up a seat across from him did those deadly eyes lift to fix on him, though there was no acknowledgement within the purple orbs, it almost seemed as if he was looking right through Oswell's very soul.

A memory came to him then, sudden and sharp, from his childhood when he first learned of the Dance of the Dragons. The history of House Targaryen was irrevocably linked to Harrenhall and for a boy growing up within its melted walls it seemed useful to learn all he could about the Blood of the Dragon and all the ancients within that line. Sometimes there would be illustrations depicting a king or queen of note, and sometimes members of their court. One image in particular stayed with him, an illustration of Corlys Velaryon the Sea Snake. Sitting across from Aemon, he couldn't help but see a resemblance.

To escape the stare he looked at the table. It was uncluttered, save for a decanter of wine and a small tray of cups. He almost made to pour himself a drink, but then recalled what happened to the last man who shared a toast with Aemon Targaryen and thought better of it.

Finally Oswell looked up, met the expressionless eyes. He gestured to the dark liquid in the decanter and spoke to end the silence. "Even after seeing how potent it can be, you still drink that foreign juice? Don't you fear hurting yourself?"

Aemon stirred. "I have no fear for my own life," he replied, his voice low, "but I don't think a single cup would be my undoing. Not after my many years of drinking things that would make a mountain goat sick." He poured himself a drink and raised the cup in a toast before throwing it back, his throat working as he swallowed the purple liquid. "Good for the spirit."

Oswell looked down at the cup, hesitantly filled it halfway and took a dubious mouthful. Sudden warmth bloomed in his chest. "Strong stuff," he said.

"My eldest son had a vineyard of it growing back at Bloodstone."

"I wasn't aware you had any children."

"Bastards," he clarified. "It wasn't…prudent to give them my name, though they are trueborn in my heart. When I die, they shall inherit my modest little fiefdom in the Stones."

Another generation of Targaryen kin settling on those damned isles. Oswell wondered how many pirates could be convinced to actually serve a Westerosi force, should worse come to worst. That's the thing about pirates; they're good at killing men trying to run away, but when it comes to a fair fight they break…

Aemon refilled his cup and made to down it when he caught Oswell staring. "Just one more,"

"One more can easily become two," Oswell laughed, finishing his own drink.

"You're just as bad as my niece," Aemon lifted his cup, drank. "She always loved to fret over my drinking habits despite my robust health. As a girl she used to come running up to me during feasts and chastise me for my unseemly behaviour….and here she is." Aemon stood, smiling.

Rhaella did not return her uncle's smile as she approached. Her face was as white as snow, hands trembling slightly as she placed two letters upon the table. Wordlessly, she sunk into a chair between them, all sense of poise gone. With a shaking finger she pushed one of the letters forward. Oswell reached down and picked up the single, silky leaf of paper. He knew at once who had written to the Queen.

Mother,

I have heard that you have been quite the busy little bee of late, seeing to the repairs of Summerhall and hosting Lord Stannis' wedding must have been quite exhausting for you. I would have invited you to my own ceremony, but your schedule was crowded enough.

How are the children? I was told that Rhaenys was beaming when she arrived, and I know that she was eager to be around you all again. No doubt she and Viserys are resuming their old habits of getting into trouble, and I have been told that Daenerys is already dazzling everyone around her. In time she may grow into another delight of the realm, a true Valyrian princess. My thoughts have turned to Jon of late, this child I bled half the realm to create. Do you remember what you said to me the day you found him? You said I was cruel for shunning him. Perhaps you are right, though you lack my perspective on the matter, so you'll have to forgive me if I don't fall to my knees begging for redemption. Though I grant you, I have been cruel of late, such is necessary for the Realm's survival.

I have news Mother, grave and frightening news that may put the fear of the Gods back into you. The old enemy has returned, and he has brought death with him. It turns out that Father's folly was greater than we could have ever known and the realm has bled for it. Lord Varys, the official Master of Whispers, is in fact Varys Blackfyre, a spy sent to destabilize the crown's hold on the realm to prepare for some future invasion. His plan began with the lies he whispered into Father's diseased mind and was to end with my assassination on the night of my wedding. I myself barely escaped with my life, though Ser Robin and Ser Walys of the Kingsguard were slain. It was by the gods' intervention Arthur arrived in time to cut down all of the men, and even the traitor Varys himself.

We were not without greater losses of our own. Lord Tywin Lannister and his brother Ser Kevan were already dead, no doubt lessor targets in Varys larger scheme. Though I do not know how he came to be in the castle, Prince Oberyn Martell also fell victim to the Black Dragon's frenzy. I shed no tears for the Red Viper, but my heart aches for Elia. Do you think sympathies give her any form of comfort? I hope they do, for the sake of her health.

At this time we are all in a state of shock here at the capitol, what started off as such a happy day will now be marked forever as one of utter tragedy. Cersei most of all is beside herself with grief at how cruel the Gods were to take her father on the very night of her wedding, but alas, we men cannot understand such celestial designs. I have decided that I will name Ser Tygett Lannister as regent of Casterly Rock until Tyrion the Imp, should he prove capable, is older.

I am sending Oberyn's body back to Sunspear so that his kin might bury him however they wish. I am sure they can help me understand why Oberyn was in Kings Landing, though I will not press them on the matter until after they have properly mourned.

So this is where we are at, Mother; a realm in mourning, but also a realm united. I have made every preparation should things come to war with any of the Free Cities, and I trust I can count on your support and the support of your new friends. We have bested the Blackfyres before and we can best them again, but only as a united front. I hope you can do what is right, for the realm.

I can't say with any certainty when I might be seeing you next, but I hope it is not too long. I do so miss the sound of your voice, soothing as it is. Until then I shall keep you in my thoughts.

Rhaegar

Oswell clenched his jaw so hard that he was certain his teeth would crack. Wordlessly he pushed the letter over to Aemon and exhaled. Sitting next to him, Rhaella looked utterly miserable slumped in her seat, trembling slightly. It is just like when Aerys was alive, he realised sadly.

"I think I'm going to be ill," she said wearily.

Aemon scowled up from the letter, scrunching it slightly. "Half-truths and outright lies,"

"Undoubtedly," Oswell's voice was hoarse, his mouth dry.

The old Targaryen exhaled, and then finished his drink. "So what do you think truly happened? Did Tywin Lannister make a failed attempt at seizing power?"

"Possibly," Oswell stared into his own cup of wine. "And we know for a fact that the Martells planned to kidnap the children. Mayhaps Oberyn was caught up in the crossfire." His expression turned sour. "Either that or he just killed Oberyn for the sake of it."

"It doesn't matter!" Rhaella's voice cut through the air like a whip. Breathing heavily, eyes watery, she looked on the verge of tears. "Whatever is true or not….it doesn't matter. Rhaegar has always been able to make people love him and with this story of his he'll have more than half the realm under his sway," she gave a sad laugh, closed her tearful eyes. "I used to be so proud of how charming he was…."

Oswell couldn't stand to see her in such a state, yet dared not to reach across and take her delicate hand within his own calloused one. Instead he found the fire in his belly and gave it voice.

"We know for a fact that Rhaegar had reason to kill Oberyn Martell." He insisted. "Maybe not solid proof, but it would be enough to cause the likes of Mace Tyrell and Stannis Baratheon to turn against him. His lies needn't be inflicted upon the realm; we can contest whatever he claims."

Aemon shook his head, suddenly looking weathered. "And what would that accomplish? Mace Tyrell is pliant, aye, and his resources are vast, but Rhaegar has complete and unrestricted access to Lannister gold now and Stannis…..if Stannis gets a whiff of this then he'll not stop until Rhaegar's head is on a spike. That is of course, if Rhaegar doesn't take his first." His purple eyes looked sad, exhausted. "If we reveal the truth to them, then we damn Westeros to a war."

The room went silent at the Exile's words. Oswell had a sick feeling in his guts, as though his insides were snakes writhing about in agony. He ran a hand through his dark hair, trying to wrap his head around the situation. In the end it was the queen's soft voice, tired and melodious, that stirred them.

"I called these lords together and united them under an alliance because I wanted to protect the realm," Her purple eyes, large and thoughtful, settled on them as though they were the only two people in the world. "Now I'm in a position where if I try and utilize that alliance it will only go against its very reason for being. A snake eating its own tail," she tucked a lock of silvery gold hair behind her ear and took a shaky breath. "Living with Rhaegar's lies, or instigating another war. Whatever choice I make, it will go against my conscious…but I cannot shoulder the deaths of thousands in bloodshed."

Rhaella stood from her chair and plucked the letter from her uncle's hands. After murmuring a silent prayer, she held the edge of the paper over a candle. They all watched in silence as the flames ate at the letter, until it was naught but ashes. The three conspirators shared a look, an acknowledgement of what they were a part of. Yet another secret I am to take to my grave, Oswell had to stifle a sardonic smirk. They'll need to bury me with a library….

With a tired groan and muttered curse, Aemon the Exile rose from his chair and slowly made to leave. He paused to kiss his niece's cheek and graced Oswell with a single nod before moving from the dark room. Oswell made to follow him, but felt a gentle hand stop him up.

"There's another letter from Rhaegar," she said quietly, unable to meet his eye. "It's addressed to you."

Wordlessly he took the second letter, bowed in respect, and then retreated to the solitude of his chamber. The amount of anxiety and fear he felt was to the stage where it had ceased making his heart beat and his brow sweat, instead he merely felt tired as he settled into his small desk and read the letter's contents in the half-light. The seal was already broken.

Oswell,

It has been some time since we last spoke, and I must confess I have begun to miss your morbid attempts at humour. Beyond the small matters of friendship,the Kingsguard has suffered a grievous blow of late and I am considering calling the rest of you back to the capitol, at least until new members can be appointed.

Though, I understand that you enjoy guarding the children. I do not begrudge you that, and of course would allow you to stay on as Rhaenys and Jon's sworn shield if that is what you so desire. I will warn you however; that what you do over the next few weeks will decide a great deal. Do you wish to return to my service, along with Arthur and Gerold, or will you stay at Summerhall?Few men have my trust, and fewer still my friendship. You are one such man Oswell, but for you it is now or never. You may do as you wish, but know that if you do not return you will no longer hold my trust or my graces.

Ser Richard's family, the Lonmouths, like tosay 'The Choice is Yours' and is this case they apply well to you. Make your choice Oswell, and choose wisely.

Rhaegar of House Targaryen, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.


"Blackfyres? Surely there is a mistake!" Mace Tyrell shouted, leaping up.

It brought Oswell's attention back to the meeting and the four people sitting around the oaken table. He had not been there for a while, lost in his own thoughts and his own internal struggle. The four people sitting at the table would decide the fate of a kingdom, whilst Oswell would decide the fate of his own heart.

"I'm afraid there is not, my lord," Rhaella said, grasping the Fat Flower's arm. The touch silenced the lord of Highgarden, though Tyrell still looked troubled. Rhaella gave him a sympathetic look before continuing on. "There have been reports that the female line of Daemon Blackfyre still lives in the Free Cities, and not one of us could ever identify Lord Varys' origins."

Rhaella's words were spoken to Mace, but they were meant for the other Great Lord there, the one still sitting. It was Stannis Baratheon whom they needed to convince for their charade to work, elsewise the delicate peace would be set alight and the people of Westeros would burn for it. If they could convince the Stormlord that no great injustice had been committed by Rhaegar, that his iron determination was not needed in this time, then there stood a chance at peace.

Oswell turned to Stannis and, as he attempted from time to time as the tale unfolded, tried again to read something definite in the Baratheon's face. Yet, as ever, there was little he could tell. Violence and murder had been described, yet even with this last announcement of Blackfyre plots, Stannis' expression scarcely altered. His mouth was a thin line, his eyes focused on the oak table as he listened. But though they weren't looking about, the eyes themselves held an icy hardness.

"But the Spider has been in court for years," Mace insisted. "Do you mean to say that the whole time he has been working as a spy for the Black Dragon?"

"It's very likely that he had a hand in most of the conflicts that have happened in the Seven Kingdoms, going all the way back to when Aerys first brought him to court." Aemon Targaryen's quiet tone shocked as much as any shout would have.

"And he sent men here to kill us," the Fat Flower looked ill. "On my sister's wedding night…"

"They failed, both here and at King's Landing," Aemon replied bluntly. "Their master is dead and whatever ties to power they had within court have been severed."

Rhaella nodded in agreement. "The task that now falls to us is to try and secure peace within our lands and work together as a united front vigilant against future threats. The Stormlands, the Reach and the Marches, along with the Stepstones, are a shield that protects the realm."

"Of course," Mace Tyrell agreed with a sudden fervour, eager to please. "House Tyrell will as always give its utmost support in anything Your Grace should ask."

Stannis Baratheon stirred and set his gaze on Rhaella. "It would seem that both Sunspear and Casterly Rock are united through grief, but can you be so sure that they won't try and continue plotting against one another?"

The Queen shifted in her seat, and from where he was standing, Oswell could see her hand clutching onto the lap of her dress beneath the table. Yet her face was certain and her voice was strong. "Without Tywin Lannister or his brother Kevan around to do the thinking for them, the lions will be content to stay at Rhaegar's side, licking their wounds. Dorne has lost its favourite son; they'll be out for revenge against anything remotely resembling a Blackfyre force. Elia's relationship with Rhaegar would not supersede that."

Blue eyes held purple for a long moment. Stannis' eyes were so determined and fearsome that Oswell considered unsheathing his blade just an inch, but then the moment passed and Stannis gave the queen a nod of acceptance. "Very well, Strom's End shall do its duty."

There was a noticeable wave of relief in Rhaella's eyes as the lords left the small room. She almost smiled as Aemon led them out into the hall. Oswell wished he could have shared the feeling, but it came painfully obvious that they were both alone together with Rhaegar's letter hanging between them. The seal was broken; she knows exactly what choice Rhaegar has given me….

"Is there something else, Ser?" She did not look up at him as she spoke, merely examined some old accounts the Maester had left for her to overlook.

Seeing her act so absent brought him desolation, surges of longing and a jabbing pain in his chest. He had often delighted in watching Rhaella when she thought no one was around, the relaxed and girlish way she held herself, so in contrast to the regal and stiff manner when she was in court, her lack of attention did not bring him joy this time. Through some miracle he found the strength to speak. "You read the letter?"

"I did," there was no hint of emotion in her voice or face as she spoke. "When are you leaving?"

That knocked the wind from him. "Why would you assume I'd choose to go back?"

"Isn't obvious?" she said, finally lifting her gaze to look at him. "If you go back to Rhaegar you'll once more enjoy the full glory of being one of the finest knights in the realm and a trusted confidant of the king himself. What sane man could turn that down?"

Oswell felt himself grow angry. "I don't care about Rhaegar's friendship. Why would I? He might be talented and beloved, but in his service I had to stand guard and watch as a young woman died alone whilst her family and the rest of the kingdoms went to war," he looked down at his hands, clenched and unclenched them. "I know for a fact that you would never ask me to do something like that."

Rhaella crossed her arms and her purple eyes shone. "You don't know anything."

"I know that I have served with the Kingsguard for over twelve years now and watched kings' rise and fall," he felt his mouth go dry, struggled for words. "In all that time, you are the only one I have ever felt proud of serving. I have never felt like more of true knight of the Kingsguard than I have living here with you."

"You won't earn glory here," she said much more softly. "If history should choose to remember you, under my service it would be as a protector of children."

He closed the distance between them and somehow felt the warmth of her skin through his cold armour. "That is an epitaph I would gladly hold."

Rhaella's eyes were uncertain as she looked up at him; nervously she bit down on her lip. "You really want to stay with me?"

Oswell smiled with reverence and love. "There is no place in this world I would rather be."