ARTHUR

He stood beneath the statue of the Father.

Dressed in the finest white silks and armor, as afforded to them as members of the Kingsgaurd, Ser Arthur Dayne led a silent vigil over his fallen brother. Ser Harlan Grandison, the oldest and most frail member of the Kingsgaurd had caught a chill and died in his sleep. The man had been brave and his service had been a long and faithful one. So Arthur had been the first of his brothers to gladly volunteer to stand vigil for the fallen knight. And stand he did, for seven days and six nights, undeterred and unmoving despite the weight of his armor, the throngs of mourners (both noble and common) who had come to pay their respects and after a few days, the unmistakable stench of death. It was the least he could do for a knight who had died of old age, a rare feat in their line of work.

The news of Grandison's demise spread quickly throughout King's Landing to a somewhat mixed reaction. There those who knew of Ser Harlan were saddened to hear he had passed but not overly upset by it. The man had little in the way of family as they had passed long before him and those relations left living were distant at best. There had been those who had fought beside him at one point who had spoken about his various deeds and honors and were sad more out of respect for his position than any sense of personal loss. There were those who knew of him who were happy to finally see the old man die as they felt he was too weak and feeble to be in his kind of position. And then there were his fellow brothers in the Kingsguard whose reactions were a mixture of all three with varying degrees of emotion to see the man put in the ground.

Prince Rhaegar, however, seemed to be the only person truly mourning the loss. The way a person normally mourns the death of someone they were close to. Those who did not know Rhaegar saw it one of two ways: as a noble gesture by the much loved heir to the throne over the passing of one of his loyal subjects or as yet another sign of his melancholy, something that King Aerys did well to hide from those outside of the inner most circles. Arthur knew better. Arthur, Rhaegar's oldest and dearest friend, knew all too well that it was guilt that led Rhaegar to such a fit of grief. Guilt that their moonlit adventures in a wet and windy area of the castle had led to the old man's death. Guilt was an emotion that Rhaegar wore too often and wore too well. It had followed him since infancy, when a fire had decimated his family on the day of his birth. An omen that forever hung over the young Prince like an executioner's blade waiting to strike. A constant portent of doom.

It was no wonder then that the Prince was prone to fits of extreme sadness where he would lock himself away in his chambers for days on end, refusing visitors and often food, until the fit had passed and he was himself again. In times of extreme melancholia, Rhaegar would sojourn to Summerhall, the place of his birth, to spend quiet solace in the ruins of the old palace. He had told Arthur once that being there was as if he was staring death itself in the face. It gave him the courage to continue. Arthur found it to be a noble gesture for Rhaegar to have found strength in place that cause him so much pain. There were others, some members of the Kingsguard among them, who saw this as a sign of the 'Targaryen Madness' in the heir to the Throne. He was the son of the Mad King, they justified,how could he not be even a little crazy?

Arthur found the whole idea to be ludicrous. True, there had been stories of past members of Rhaegar's had suffered from one form of insanity or another, but one man's sanity is another man's genius. Baelor the Blessed was a perfect example. His devotion to The Faith and piety are revered by the annals of Westeros history. A gleaming example of what we all should live by. Many often forget that his religious zealotry led to paranoia causing him to raise a child to the ranks of High Septon because he believed he worked miracles; how he imprisoned his own sisters because he felt that they tempted him away from his devotion to The Seven; or that he starved himself to death in the hopes of cleansing himself of his lustful urges. People tended to look past all that and focus on all the good that he had done instead.

He often wondered how history would remember Aerys. The man definitely suffered from some form of insanity but he had done much good during his reign and Arthur wondered if years of triumphs would erase the years of failures. He highly doubted it however. As much as history was written by the powerful and therefore painted them in a much more gleamingly light then they may have actually warranted, it also loved a good story. More often than not it was scandal and rumor that fueled the history books. The more scandalous, salacious the story the more people liked it and the more people liked it the more it was likely to be remembered. Aerys, though, was little in the way of salacious or scandalous. By comparison he seemed a rather weak ruler. A man who had been held captive and imprisoned by his own countrymen. Not exactly someone to be revered for his great works, or feared for his vile deeds.

Rhaegar, on the other hand, would be different. Despite all of the whispers of his melancholy, it was clear to all who knew him that Rhaegar was destined for great things. Everyone who had ever crossed his path knew it. Something hard to exactly describe in words, one always got the feeling that when you stood with Rhaegar you were standing next to greatness. It was one of the reasons he was so well loved. There was just something about Rhaegar that endeared him to so many. He was intelligent, wise and just. Able to hold philosophical discussions with a Maester one moment to helping to restore the homes in Flea Bottom after hard rains, Rhaegar was a prince of his people, always willing to help. Always willing to serve.

Arthur watched as the rays of sunlight began to diminish in the Great Sept, signaling that his watch for his fallen friend was coming to an end. He stood ever more vigilant. A last sign of respect who a man who truly deserved it. When the sun could no longer be seen, and with the arrival of the Silent Sisters to carry Ser Harlan off to his final internment, Arthur gave one final bow before heading out the door. It was there that he met Gerold Hightower, Lord Commander of the Kingsgaurd, wore a somber, yet wholly expressionless face.

"Lord Commander," Arthur stated as he stood to attention at Hightower's side.

"This is not the time for formalities Arthur," he replied, clapping Arthur lightly on the back. "We are both mourning the loss of a good man and a good knight. And most importantly, a good friend. I come to you as a friend, not a Lord Commander."

"Gerold, then."

"Gerold it is."

The two made the trek down the steps of the Sept in silence. The loss of Ser Harlan still heavy on their minds. The Lord Commander had been a member of the Kingsgaurd for almost as long as Ser Harlan, had rode with the man during many campaigns and was the closest out of all of the men to the fallen knight. His loss had hit him just as hard as Rhaegar. Which is why he was not taken aback too much by his insistence in referring to him by his first name. Addressing him as Lord Commander was always a given due to the respect of his position.

"Aerys is looking to set Ser Harlan's replacement." Gerold stated as they began the long trek down Visenya's hill and back towards the castle.

"Already?!" Arthur exclaimed. It was a tradition that a small grace period to pass before consideration started to replace a member of the Kingsgaurd. A way to honor the fallen knight and to show that he was no longer here, he was not easily replaced. While there was no set time period given for this, it usually ran for no less than seven weeks from the moment the knight was interred.

"It's that spider's doing," Gerold hissed.

Arthur should have known as much. Lord Varys had the King's ear. More so than Tywin Lannister, the Hand of the King, whose duty Lord Varys had usurped. There were few in court who trusted this foreigner who had gained such a position of power with the King. Rhaegar, especially, disliked the man greatly. Especially since he felt that Varys was fueling his father's ever growing paranoia regarding him and his position. Ever since his return from the trauma of Duskendale, Aerys had begun to see enemies with every turn. Even amongst his own family. Rhaegar was no exception. He was younger than him. Universally loved by both noblemen and smallfolk alike. And most importantly, he was just coming into his power, while Aerys' faded with each passing day. Aerys feared Rhaegar and Vary played into those fears with every opportunity. It unnerved Rhaegar that this man who had come from nowhere, stood in such a position as to dictate not only his own future but that of the entire realm.

"Rhaegar is, of course, displeased."

Arthur sighed heavily, "What does he plan to do about it?"

"He's gone to Tywin. Hoping that he can talk sense into him."

"Will that work?"

Lord Tywin and King Aerys once strong relationship had been dealt a series of hard blows over the years. Beginning with the events of Duskendale, the arrival of Lord Varys and the King's refusal to marry Rhaegar to Tywin's daughter Cersei on the grounds that a King's Hand served the King and he wasn't about to let his heir marry a servants daughter. It had been a brutal blow to Lord Tywin's reputation and one that left Lannister's loyalty to the King in question.

"If Lord Tywin can put aside his pride long enough to show Aerys that breaking this tradition will be a slight to the noblemen and faithful alike. We may have a chance."

"Well if anyone can convince Lord Tywin to set aside that golden pride of his, it's our Prince."

"It's not our Prince whom I question, Arthur. We both know the motivations of our Prince is just. The others with whom we have to deal with are another matter. One can tend a garden til it blooms but if there are snakes in the grass, it defeats the purpose."

"I suspect that it isn't the Tywin issue with which you are speaking of."

"Ser Harlan's death has left me ill at ease. We have just begun this undertaking and already it has cost someone their lives."

Arthur gave Gerold an affronted glare,"Are you placing the blame of Ser Harlan's death on Rhaegar?"

"Of course, I'm not. I just feel that this is a sign that maybe we should not be going down this path."

"Rhaegar did not come to this decision lightly. Nor did he decide to go down this path without reason."

"I know that and I understand his reasoning, but I just have reservations. I am not the only one."

Gerold stopped suddenly in front of a tavern called The Wailing Widow.

"Why are have we stopped here?"

"Despite my feelings on the cause, we lost a brother today Arthur. Oswell is waiting for us and Prince Rhaegar has given us leave for the night. So I don't know about you, but I want to drink to Ser Harlan's memory."

Arthur nodded as he grabbed the handle of the tavern door.

"A night of memories and mead. We can discuss politics another day.

As he watched Ser Gerold walk inside, Arthur took one last look up at the Sept and smiled.

"Goodnight, Ser Harlan."