Their journey from the White Sword Tower to Maegor's Holdfast was both long and foreboding. Although off-duty that morning, Arthur and Oswell traversed the Red Keep side by side, fully clad in their white armor and cloaks. Their weapons were sheathed, yet the pommels of their swords were held in tight grips. Those who found themselves in their way soon hurried to move aside, their greetings dying on their lips.
Arthur hardly noticed any of them. Since awakening that morning, his mind had been clouded with a thousand emotions and thoughts, all vague in detail yet heavy and terrible to consider. He was so preoccupied with what awaited them both that his body seemed to move, clothe, and guide him on the path of its own accord. Neither man ate nor drank anything, and they passed by their returning brothers, Lewyn and Gerold, without so much as a greeting. The two men did not speak to each other on their march.
Arthur was only fleetingly aware of a rush of heat beating down on them from the early morning sunrays. The sun had already covered the crimson stones of the Red Keep with a scalding, eerie glow. He only momentarily acknowledged the sweat that already stained his undershirt and made no attempt to wet his quickly drying lips. What did any of this matter next to the task ahead?
They had requested an audience with the queen dowager a day ahead, and she had acquiesced to the request with naught but a polite smile. A cold, too-polite one. Arthur had looked at himself in the mirror enough times to know when someone was merely pretending to want you nearby. He had to master the art lest Aerys caught wind of what any of them actually thought of him. So too did the queen, he supposed with a curled lip, more strongly than anyone else.
All the same, clarity of purpose did little to stave off the sheer weight of actually speaking to her about the subject of Aerys' rapes and their inaction to stop them. It only intensified the coiling dread that squeezed at his innards, the shame that choked his lungs until his breath perpetually came up short.
Preparing and serving as a knight prepared a man for many things: how to ride, fight and kill, stave off the fear of death and loss long enough to at least keep one's head on their shoulders. None of it gave him any practical advice or lessons for how to face the fury of someone you'd failed so utterly. And there would be fury, he knew.
If you didn't want shame, you should have done the right thing sooner, a voice said in Arthur's head - sometimes his own, other times Rhaella's. He had blocked it out under the foolish pretence of doing his duty before, but once they had resolved to murder Aerys, the voice had assaulted him day and night with growing intensity. Now, it pounded in his head like the beat of an overwhelming war drum.
He didn't expect it to quiet down at all once this was over.
They halted a few paces ahead of the chamber's entrance and stood there, side by side, staring at the imposing doors carved with intricate patterns of soaring dragons. The doors seemed to loom before them, growing fearsomely large and daunting, making it difficult to even lay a hand on them.
Arthur felt the air grow stuffy and thick, the sounds of courtiers deeper in the castle and chirping birds outside growing fainter, as if they were thousands of leagues away. His heart pounded with such force that he almost thought it would burst right through his plate armor. He knew that this was it. Once they crossed the threshold, there would be no turning back.
His gaze turned to his sworn brother. Oswell's usually sharp and fierce features were marred by apprehension, his broad shoulders slumped slightly as if the weight pressing down upon them threatened to push him into the ground. In the silence that enveloped them, Oswell too turned to look at the man at his side.
It wasn't enough to banish their fears and worries; nothing could do that. Yet, in that shared look, they remembered the strength of the bond between them. It was forged in battles and lives saved, and now deepened by being each other's support in their shared guilt and blame.
Arthur allowed his gratitude to show in a fleeting but sincere smile, which the taller man returned. Then, they soberly and resolutely nodded to one another just before Arthur reached for the handle.
Upon entering the chambers, Arthur and Oswell were greeted by beams of light piercing into the room from the east-facing balcony on the opposite end. The floor was adorned with a lush carpet of silver and golden threads, resembling dragon scales. Tapestries in intricate red, gold, and black hues adorned the walls, depicting legendary dragon battles throughout the Targaryen dynasty's reign of nearly three centuries.
As they approached the center of the chambers, heading towards the balcony, Arthur and Oswell passed by the entrances to the queen's private study, where shelves of books had been collected and stored over the years. To their right, they caught a glimpse of the queen's bedchambers, with four posters and large red and black curtains pressed against the far side wall.
By the entrance to the balcony stood their sworn brother and the queen's sworn shield, Ser Barristan Selmy. His white armor shimmered with the brilliance of polished steel, even on the dreariest days, and now it seemed almost blinding to Arthur's eyes. His imposing and chiseled physique added to his appearance. Though his helmet concealed much of his features, his blue eyes softened at their approach, and the weathered lines around his strong jaw deepened with a greeting smile.
Arthur tried, and failed, to return the gesture. He noticed that Oswell didn't even go that far.
Stepping onto the red stone balcony, a gust of fresh air banished much of the lingering heat, carrying with it the invigorating scent of the sea. The fragrance of flowers also filled the air, dominating the balcony with numerous arrangements. Vases of exotic blooms, such as winter roses, golden sunflowers, and white stags, created a fragrance that Arthur had hardly noticed before but now found almost disarming in its uplifting ambiance.
The queen dowager sat gracefully on a plush, elongated chair, positioned against the southern stone railings of the expansive balcony. Her silver-white hair, once tightly braided, now cascaded freely, gently swaying in the wind. Clad in customary black silks, her gown appeared to absorb the sunlight. Long, flowing sleeves elegantly adorned her arms, while a high-necked collar enveloped her neck.
They also kept the marks of Aerys' teeth and claws hidden, Arthur knew and the momentary distraction of the flowers vanished.
As the sound of their approaching footsteps reached her ears, the queen set aside a large, leather-bound book she had been engrossed in, placing it delicately atop the chair. Then, with practiced grace and regality, she stood and offered them a smile, pressing her palms together.
Arthur allowed his gaze to linger on her, perhaps longer than customary. Although the darkened skin beneath her eyes had receded, and some color had returned to her face, the unmistakable marks and weathered lines of pain remained glaringly evident. Her mouth smiled, but her eyes betrayed a different story.
"Ser Arthur, Ser Oswell," she greeted them with a warm voice. "I bid you good morning."
"Good morning, Your Grace," they bowed their heads and spoke in unison. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with us," Arthur added afterward. "The matter we bring before you today... it is of great importance."
"I gathered as much, though I am curious as to how I can help you in a way that the current king or queen cannot."
"What we've come to discuss," Oswell replied in a gruff voice, "Concerns us, Your Grace. Our service to you as the Kingsguard in these past few years."
Though the smile remained on her face, confusion and something else flashed in her eyes. "I am... not certain what it is you mean, Ser."
"P-Please, Your Grace," Arthur managed, his breath short and his chest tight. "Allow us just a few minutes to say our piece. I promise it will be the last thing we ever ask of you. Once it is done, you can choose to scorn or punish us in any way you see fit."
A thick silence descended upon them, even the wind seemed to die down. The heat became blistering, and Arthur's mouth and throat felt as if filled with sand. Rhaella's smile faded into a thin line as curiosity and a myriad of other emotions bloomed and died in her gaze. Under her scrutinizing stare, Arthur felt utterly exposed and pathetic.
He was almost convinced she would dismiss them and order them to never trouble her again, but then she relented, releasing a sigh that eased some tension around her jaw. "Very well, Ser," Rhaella said in a tight voice. "Say what you wish to say."
"Thank you, Your Grace." Arthur replied, almost relieved at her answer.
The two knights then glanced at each other again, they were committed to their course now. It was time to see things through to the end.
Together, they unclasped the straps of their helmets and placed them next to their right legs. Then, they kneeled, their palms resting atop their right knees. Rhaella's eyes were upon them, unblinking, piercing and passing to and from each man's face.
It was all Arthur could do to withstand the gaze. Wetting his dry lips, the Sword of Morning used every ounce and shred of willpower he had and laid himself bare before her.
"We have come to admit our failure, Your Grace," Arthur confessed, his voice heavy with guilt and shame. "Our failure to protect you."
"We were aware of what Aerys was doing to you," his brother echoed, matching his tone of remorse. "Night after night, we stood there like obedient sentinels, listening and doing nothing while that... monster ravaged you."
Rhaella's face remained devoid of emotion. Her gaze had turned distant, as if escaping to a terrible, faraway place she hoped to never witness again.
"We could have saved you," Arthur continued, his anguish growing as he brought this misery back into her life. "We should have saved you. Instead... we hid behind our oaths to the king and became complicit in the pain and suffering he inflicted upon you. There is no forgiveness for such inaction. We neither desire nor deserve it. Nevertheless, we cannot continue serving you and your family without at least acknowledging our failure and swearing to you, here and now, on our knees before you, that we will never fail again."
"The two of us..." Oswell began, his voice faltering briefly in an uncharacteristic moment of hesitation. Arthur heard the strain in his brother's grip, the sound of metal against metal as he clenched his fist. "If Aerys had not died, we would have killed the bastard before he could harm you or anyone else ever again. We should have done it as soon as the rapes and burnings began."
Rhaella's lips parted in a silent gasp, her complexion turning deathly pale as she took a step back. Before they could continue, Arthur heard the sound of rattling mail and the muffled thumps of boots on the carpet. Turning his head, he saw Barristan standing on the balcony, his face a mask of bewilderment and shock.
The air crackled with tension as the three knights stared at each other on the balcony.
"Watch your tongues!" Barristan exclaimed, his voice filled with a mix of anger and disbelief. "Do you have any notion of the weight your words carry?"
Oswell's fury rose, his voice sharp and impassioned. "Our words carry the truth, and nothing else," he retorted. "We should have severed that animal's head the moment we realized what he was doing."
Barristan shot back, accusingly, "That animal was your king! You swore an oath to serve and protect him!"
Arthur blinked in disbelief, his heart sinking at Barristan's defense of their inaction. How could he still justify their choices, knowing the suffering Rhaella had endured under their supposed protection? They had all bent their consciences or chosen to believe their oaths justified their inaction. Yet, as he stared at the older man standing behind him, utterly oblivious to the weight of his own words and actions in that moment, Arthur was faced by a horrible truth he had given no voice to yet held in his heart all the same.
Only two of their group of seven failed knights would admit their failure.
That was why you never approached your brothers. The haunting golt spoke again, now in Oswell's voice, leaving Arthur pained and stunned. You didn't trust them to stand at your side when the time of confession came.
"You were not in Harrenhal, Selmy," Oswell stated firmly. "Harren the Black taught us well the depths a mad king can sink to if allowed to do as he pleases. Given enough time, they will do anything to satisfy their bloodlust and thirst for power."
Again, instead of admitting the truth, Arthur only perceived a defiant desire to argue the point from his sworn brother's scowl. This time, it wasn't incredulity that he felt, but seething rage. Anger simmered and boiled within him, directed at the man he would have willingly sacrificed his life to save and protect. It took all of Arthur's restraint to prevent himself from striding over and throttling Selmy.
"There are no oaths that justify inaction in the face of a terrible crime," Arthur said with an unyielding stare, scarcely containing his fury. "There are deeds in this world that are beyond forgiveness or excuse," he declared, his voice resonating with determination. "Terrible acts that no man should ever commit, boundaries that must never be crossed. Aerys was on the path to surpassing them all, consequences be damned. With the existence of magic known to him, he would have stopped at nothing to get his dragons and the whole Realm would have burned because of it. We had no intention of letting him live long enough to try."
The tension on the balcony reached its peak, with the weight of their shared guilt and conflicting loyalties hanging heavily in the air.
"You know, I often wondered why no one would come to save me," Rhaella's voice came out flat, putting an end to the argument. Arthur turned his gaze back to the queen and saw that she was looking northward, her focus on some unseen place. "When Aerys was taken prisoner, a brave knight, a hero," she added with a touch of venom in her tone, "sneaked into a castle, killed his captors, and rescued him as if it were a tale from the books."
Then, she turned her gaze to Arthur, then Oswell, and finally to Selmy. There was no veneer of politeness left, no regal deference. Only hatred and disgust filled her black orbs of purple eyes, directed squarely at them. "And yet, no one ever came to save me. When I was the one beaten and cornered and helpless, you all just... went away somewhere and pretended not to notice... Just to protect your own hides."
As Rhaella stepped forward, Arthur braced himself, expecting her to strike each of them in turn. Instead, she stood tall and resolute before them, her gaze filled with absolute contempt. Arthur did not avert his eyes. He met her stare and accepted it all, knowing he would carry this memory for the rest of his days.
"Perhaps you would have killed him upon your return, perhaps not. It's irrelevant now," Rhaella continued, her voice cold as ice. "I will give you two a small shred of credit for not being utter cravens like the rest of your woeful brotherhood. But that is all I will grant you. It's all I can bear to give. My respect for your order has long since vanished, and my forgiveness is forever beyond your reach."
Arthur swallowed the lump in his throat, acknowledging the words with a grim finality.
"If I could punish you more severely, I would," pure hatred blazed in her purple eyes. "But there is a war coming, and men of your skills will be useful in ensuring the survival of us all, including my son. We will," Rhaella's lip curled with contempt, "... all need your swords and skills in the days ahead."
Her hand, once tightly held by another, rose sharply in a dismissive wave. "Go now, Sers. Serve my family and the Realm better than you've served me. And unless my son or daughter-in-law explicitly order otherwise, you and all the other Kingsguard are henceforth to stay away from me... I've had enough of you and your... protection."
"Yes, Your Grace," Arthur bowed his head and retrieved his helmet from the ground. Oswell mirrored his actions. "Thank you."
They both rose abruptly, turned, and walked straight off the balcony. Barristan stared after them, struggling to maintain his balance as Oswell deliberately brushed past him on the way out.
Arthur remained motionless, his body consumed by a whirlwind of emotions. He was oblivious to the heat, deaf to the sound of his boots against the stone floor. Without realizing it, he had walked a fair distance from Rhaella's chambers, now standing at a crossroads of hallways in the eastern section of Maegor's Holdfast.
"What has come over you two?!" Barristan barked, his gaze shifting from Arthur to Oswell and back. "Do you even realize what you risked by doing that back there?"
"What has come over us?" Arthur repeated flatly. "What has come over us?" With a swift, viper-like motion, he smacked Barristan's hand away. The older man stepped back, his widened eyes reflecting surprise. Arthur's nostrils flared, and the overwhelming anger from before shook his entire body.
"You have the nerve to question our sanity after you had the audacity to defend Aerys Targaryen back there?" Arthur shouted, not caring who might overhear. His voice carried through the corridors. "You know as well as Oswell and I that what Aerys did was vile, despicable, and wrong. If you had true courage, you would go back to the queen and apologize to her on your hands and knees."
"King Aerys was-"
"A monster!" Arthur tossed his helmet aside, the force of the throw leaving a large dent in the stone wall. "A monster who would have brought destruction upon us all. Tell me, Ser," he spat the title out like a curse, "how long would you have stood by and allowed him to do as he pleased? Until he tried to hatch dragon eggs at Harrenhal? Or perhaps after he raped his own wife to death when his latest scheme failed?! Or maybe..." Arthur's voice lowered to a rough whisper. "Not even then."
"Enough, Arthur," Oswell said quietly, stepping between them. The older man, known for his fiery temper, now appeared as stoic as a stone sculpture, showing little emotion. "Your words ring true, but there's little point in dwelling on them now. We have done our part. Whether Selmy and the others choose to follow us or not, that is for them to decide."
Arthur knew deep down that it was true, but in his fury, he still desired to argue, shout, and fight further. It took many long, hard breaths for him to regain composure, aided by Oswell's unwavering gaze. They both understood the need to step back before the situation grew even more heated.
As the anger ebbed away, Arthur felt a void opening up within him, draining him of strength and purpose. Suddenly, his armor felt heavy, and his sword became a burdensome weight threatening to drag him down.
"Come," Oswell said gently, placing an arm over Arthur's shoulder. "... Let's try to get some rest. We still have our duty to fulfill."
"Aye," Arthur replied with difficulty. "Aye, I suppose we do..."
And so, they began to walk away, heading back to the White Sword Tower. Arthur doubted he would find any rest or solace there, at least not for a long time. But, he supposed, the worst was over.
"Arthur, Oswell," Barristan's voice called after them. Turning to look at him, they noticed the once-strong man now appeared weakened. There was a pleading, tearful look in his previously forceful blue eyes. Wordlessly, his mouth moved a few times before his voice finally emerged. "I... I am sorry..."
The two sworn brothers exchanged glances, then shifted their gaze back to Barristan. "We're not the ones you should be apologizing to," Arthur stated firmly. With a sense of finality, he and Oswell turned away and walked off, leaving Barristan behind.
I would like to thank Kilerog and Skyborne, fellow SB users who helped me realize this chapter. It was extremely tough given the subject matter and I couldn't have done it without them.