A/N: Sorry, this is only a partial chapter again because I'm still trying to work out how I'm going to bring all the pieces of this together in the end.

"Isn't she delightful? Oh Arthur, come, you are allowed to have an opinion."

"She is her mother's child."

"Hmmm, I wonder."

"Whatever you wonder you had best keep to yourself."

"I wonder that she is completely of Dorne with no trace of dragon blood at all."

"Ashara-"

"You know I wouldn't tell a single soul, Arthur. You know how I adore you both, and the Gods know Elia deserves some happiness of her own, even if it isn't to be found in her marriage."

"Enough. You put yourself and Elia as well at risk with such talk."

"But you won't deny it."

"I deny it wholeheartedly."

"But Arthur, I saw the way you looked at each other at the Water Gardens, the way you still look at each other-"

"You see nothing but mutual respect and friendship."

"Tell me you don't love her."

"Never speak of this again, Ashara. Never."

"Ser Arthur."

"My lady."

"You're leaving."

"Yes."

"Take the others. Take them and go to him, please."

"They have orders."

"As do you. He needs you all, you know that. It's why you're going."

"Yes."

"Is there nothing I can say to make them go?"

"No. They'll stay and protect you, as he wished."

"And if I leave? What then?"

"Are you leaving? My lady?"

"Shouldn't I? How can I sit here and wait and hope and do nothing?"

"Winterfell is half a world away."

"But King's Landing is not. If I… I could explain."

"Explain?"

"I have to try. I have to do something, don't you see?"

"All that awaits you in the capital is death, Lady Lyanna. Your family has declared war upon the crown. If there was a time for leaving, it is long past now."

"Ned – my brother –he says you are the best swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms. He's a good person, he never would have… this wasn't his doing."

"No. It wasn't."

"Did you meet at Harrenhal?"

"No."

"He was so taken with your sister, he… Brandon asked if she wouldn't dance with Ned, and she did... Is he right? About you?"

"I couldn't say."

"I understand why you don't care for me, and I would not expect anything else. But I think… you and Ned would have gotten on. If things were different."

"Perhaps so. But things are not different."

"No. I won't keep you any longer. Take care, Ser Arthur. I hope… I hope Ned is right."

"I hope you aren't expecting any special treatment."

"From you? Never."

"Sword of the Morning. What was he thinking? You can hardly lift it, I suppose."

"Well enough."

"Show me."

"You have seen Dawn plenty of times, Arel."

"Yes, but I haven't seen my little brother attempting to wield it. Show me."

"Not so little anymore, I think."

"Only where it counts. Ashara tells me you still haven't done more than made eyes at Elia."

"We aren't children any longer."

"That is the point exactly, Arthur."

"We're friends."

"Friends, is it? I suppose if the Gods could only bless you with one impressive sword in this lifetime, better that it be Dawn and not something it would be entirely wasted on."

He might have believed it had all been a nightmare, or perhaps a hallucination, if it wasn't for the fact it took far longer than it should have for him to rise and dress. Everything was in its proper place, so far as he could tell in the dimly lit tent, and from outside the normal sounds one would expect associated with a large encampment at rest filtered through the canvas walls. But the mark Nymeria's dagger had made on his arm was there, a puckered scar which throbbed under his light touch. Arthur listened as he flexed the fingers on each hand experimentally and tried to shake the leaden feeling out of his muscles. He knew he was severely weakened and didn't even bother with his armor for this simple reason. The added burden would only slow his poor reflexes even further. He hunted about for his sword a few moments before accepting that it had been removed.

If they thought anything of the Kingsguard as he stepped out into the night, the men loitering about the small cookfires which dotted the immediate vicinity certainly didn't show it. Arthur tensed as he took in the Dornish foot soldiers relaxing where previously what had remained of Daenerys' forces had been stationed, but then he narrowed his eyes and discovered that the ruins of Highgarden no longer loomed in the distance, nor indeed anywhere in sight at all. An uneasy weight settled in his gut. He'd been unconscious, of course, but for how long now? Several days at least, if the half-healed state of the wound Nymeria had given him was any indication.

Something tugged at his sleeve and Arthur jerked, chagrined at being so caught up in his own thoughts that he could be approached unawares. Clearly the poison was still dulling his senses. He turned to find a pair of dark eyes watching him expectantly from beneath a shiny fringe of even darker curls. The boy was clothed richly enough in a pale yellow tunic and leggings contrasting pleasantly against his olive skin. He could have seen no more than half a dozen namedays. And without uttering a word, he trotted off, his quick backward glance the only indication that Arthur was meant to follow before he disappeared behind a wagon. With a slow frown forming, the Kingsguard did just that, fleeting glimpses of yellow marking a winding route.

The pavilion he ended up in front of was no different than the rest of the shelters he had passed except for the foreign aroma which seemed to linger on the air surrounding it. Elsewhere the smells of men who hadn't properly bathed in too long, smoke, and Dornish spices were overpowering. But here was different. A lantern illuminated the forms of its occupants, casting their shadows onto the canvas for Arthur to see. The boy's shape was easily discernible, but the other gave him pause until it shifted to reveal not one, but two people.

"Well? Come in," Nymeria's smooth tones prompted eventually, revealing her as one of them. He could have guessed as much, he recalled when he'd last noticed that fragrance now – right before he'd passed out.

Arthur hesitated briefly; he had no weapon, but then she'd already held his life in her hands once and he had been spared for some reason. Pushing the flap aside, he went in.

Nymeria's face was a serene mask as she looked back at him, reminding him, if only ephemerally, of Elia. In the next moment her viper eyes flashed and she was all Oberyn once more. She could school her features against giving away her thoughts, but her eyes spoke loudly enough of her continuing contempt for him. Evidently nearly killing him had not gone a long way in endearing him to her.

"Why is he here?"

He had of course known that there was someone else there and seated very close to Nymeria, but it hadn't stopped him from completely ignoring them. Once again, he blamed any residual poison, and shifted his focus to the adolescent male glowering at him. Caught somewhere between a boy and a man, the tousled sandy hair and light eyes failed to stir any recognition.

"Please excuse us, Daemon," Nymeria insisted. Arthur expected, from the mulish set of his chin, that the youth would refuse to comply, but it was Nymeria who got up from the pillows they were reclining on. She swept past them both and exited the pavilion without explanation, and Arthur found himself following after like an obedient hound for the second time since waking. Her slippered feet made not a sound as she walked, silks fluttering behind in her wake, but it was her glossy braid which Arthur focused on, swaying back and forth between her shoulder blades in time with her strides. They moved along in silence for what began to seem a short eternity, and then suddenly the cookfires and tents and men fell away and they were on the fringe of the encampment. Here Nymeria stopped.

"I didn't expect you to awaken for yet some time," she said, the statement strangely lacking in emotion.

Arthur paused when he stood beside her, but it was their surroundings he took in now, trying to determine their whereabouts from what little terrain he could make out in the darkness. "I would not have presumed you expected me to wake at all."

No response.

"Where is Daenerys?" he asked, more of a demand than a question despite the fact he was hardly in a position to do so.

"Safe." She didn't add 'for now', but neither did she have to. The implication was there.

A/N: So, yay, Arthur isn't dead! Alright, so there was pretty well no question about it, I love him too much to kill him. Please let me know what you think, any feedback is appreciated!