Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's "The Walking Dead" or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

Authors Note #1: Because a little anon birdie dropped the following in my inbox and I just couldn't resist: "I need a caryl au where Carol is a literal queen and Daryl is their head guard like my dog needs bacon, does anything like this exist? please say yes." – To make it more period appropriate I aged both them down to their late twenties – early thirties.

Warnings: *Contains: medieval au: actual queenCarol! and swornshield!Daryl, no zombies, period appropriate language/sexism/classism/religious views, references to domestic abuse/violence, illusions to miscarriage/losing a baby due to physical domestic violence.

White Knights aren't white (they're red)

Chapter Three

The old woman was half asleep, wrinkled wrists sunk deep into the next morning's bread - kneading fitfully when the sound of childish feet and excited shouting outside her hut startled her fully awake. She blinked owlishly through the crinkled slits of her watery eyes, a small smile pulling at the age-spots and papery skin that marked her victory in years.

A life well lived and long lived.

Quite the feat for a simple Tanner's daughter.

If she could be so bold to say so – which, of course, she was.

She only had enough to time to unstick herself from the bowl and wipe her hands on her apron before a chorus of voices and a single, bold little knock on the age-warped door had her tottering to her feet. She pulled open the door with some effort, frowning to herself as the muscles in her forearms quivered at the abuse. Pulling just enough for the three of them to tumble inside before she abandoned the latch and levered herself carefully back towards her chair by the fire.

As was customary, the children kept quiet until she'd settled herself. Not wanting to be the cause of yet another ill-timed fall when there was a break in her concentration. It was so much harder to get around these days. Even leaving her hut to peer outside took far more out of her than it used to.

Thank the Wives that her sons – grown and with families of their own now – always made sure she was well looked after. Such good boys. She'd been one of the lucky ones. To have her children come home when the final battle against the unclean had been won. Not many could boast of such a thing. Not many at all. Such good boys. So very like their father.

She blinked down at them with rheumy eyes, losing her train of thought as the three of them, barely more than street urchins she'd taken under her wing years ago, looked up at her expectantly.

What were they here for again?

She puffed up a bit, affronted at her own question.

One too many things were slipping away from her these days.

She had half a mind to give the Gods a good talking too when it was finally her time.

Wasn't very god-like to rob an old woman of her thoughts, after all.

Still, since she was at heart, a prideful thing, she decided to simply sit and wait for the little ones to remind her. Thankfully, after a bit of prodding they delivered in spades.

"Why bless my soul, look at that state of you all," she clucked, smiling gummily as the three of them tumbled into place at her feet. Dirty, mud-streaked and wild. Little Beth was even barefoot, soot-tipped toes wriggling happily as she beamed up at her.

"Stories, Nan!" Carl trilled triumphantly, holding a bulging bag up by her right knee. Vainly trying to ignore Noah's larger one as the youngling pushed it towards the hearth and poked at the coals to rouse them. "You said so, once we'd collected the herbs you wanted!"

"Did I?" she hummed, old eyes twinkling with genuine amusement as Beth dropped her own satchel on the floorboards. Curling up by the hearth together like a litter of kittens as they looked up at her expectantly.

"You did!" they chorused. So innocent, eager and young all at once that it made her poor old heart want to burst.

"Aye, well then, I best be getting to it," she answered, looking down at her crooked hands as she adjusted her faded brown skirt. "Stories, hmmm….what about how the Forgotten King slew the Great Worm?"

The three of them shared a look. Coming to some sort of unanimous agreement faster than she could follow before Carl peered up at her – freckled nose scrunching. Looked just like his father that one. Shame what happened. It seemed like there hadn't been a family around that the war with the unclean hadn't touched. She shuddered, startling herself as an unearthly chill rattled through her aching bones. Quick to make the sign of the Holy Fire and kiss the inside of her palm in deference.

"You've told that story before, Nan. Lots. Do you 've any other ones?"

Oh dear.

"Other?" she repeated.

"Like the Shield King!" Noah chirped, dark eyes dancing with excitement at the prospect as he drew an outline of a sword in the wood-dust beside the fire.

"-and the Widow Queen!" Beth broke in, brushing an unruly thatch of straw-blonde hair behind her, blue eyes quietly pleading.

"Yeah! Do you have any more about 'em?" Carl finished, so much like that final chord to a chorus that she had to school her expression away from the laugh that was building in the back of her throat.

Now this she remembered.

The Shield King and the Widow Queen. They'd ruled side by side for close to forty years before the Gods came to claim him. Quite the unusual pair, what with him being a low-born and all. But they'd done the land and their people good while they'd sat in state in the Castle keep. King Daryl had ensured – through blood and toil – that their borders remained protected while Queen Caroline had seen to the politics. Elevating him in status from Sworn Shield, to lover, to King soon after the death of her first husband, King Edward. And when the sickness had come, well, everyone knew what the Shield King had sacrificed to keep their lands safe and the darkness at bay.

It had been unheard of, of course. She remembered being only a tiny thing playing at her mother's feet and still understanding the angry lilt in her father's voice when the announcement had been made. That Ser Dixon had been crowned King of the realm by the Queen herself. Disbanding her council to form a new one to match their reign, including representatives from all corners of the land. Uniting the Kingdom rather than dividing it. Forcing everyone to come together for the betterment of all rather than their individual provinces.

It had been rough times, but things had settled – eventually.

And despite the naysayers they'd certainly all come out for the better in the end.

Because for all King Daryl's reluctance, he proved himself to be an honorable and fair ruler in his own right. Just the type of man – the type of King – you'd expect from love match with the High Queen.

"Was his sword really made of Dragon steel?" Noah asked.

"Aye," she answered, wiping her mouth wetly as she took a measured sip from her cup. "With a shard of the Great Worm centered across the hilt. Forged on orders by the Queen herself as a wedding present. It was cut from the very bone that her throne was carved from. It's said that when she ordered it done she took to the seminary to pray. And that when she emerged the God's cast a powerful magic on it so that wherever the Shield King went the spirt of his Queen went with him."

"What was its name then?" Carl demanded, eyes shining with interest. "Dragon's Fang? Or was it Blood taker?"

"That was King Edward's sword, remember? Nan told us last time" Noah answered, gnawing on a haunch of dried meat that she handed him as a reward. Completely covering for the realization that she had no memory of telling them any such thing. "Dragon's Fang was King Mason's sword. The Widow Queen's father. Nan said it was buried with him. Right?"

"Name?" Beth piped up, brow furrowing in confusion when she nodded at Noah approvingly. "Why would a sword have a name?"

"All great swords have names, stupid," Carl retorted, scratching idly at his nose as he smeared a patch of dirt clear across the nub.

"Aye, and King Daryl was no exception," she cut in, smoothly taking the sting out of the child's words as she sent a wrinkled smile in the girl's direction. "It was called 'The Great 'Key.'

"The Great Key?" Noah echoed, head cocking. "Why?"

But for once, she just smiled. The small, coy, secret little smile that all women share when it comes to matters of menfolk and the heart. Keeping her thoughts close to her breast as images of her younger days passed like the flutter of a raven's wing through her mind's eye.

"That my darlings will have to be a story for another day," she hummed thoughtfully, devilishly pleased with herself as the children whined and protested. Thinking fond thoughts of the bedside vigil she had endured during the Widow Queen's final days. Easing her passage and listening to the memories of a good life long lived as the herbs she brought with her every day to the Castle Keep gave the Old Queen enough mind to recognize her grown children when her time came. She'd been there, close at hand as the Old Queen had told her stories. Speaking long into that last night about her lost love and the good they'd done together. How their son, Prince Emerson looked just like him sometimes. The same frown, the same dark eyes, the same quiet shrewdness and bold heart.

After all, a love such as theirs was one that should never be forgotten.

Nor would they ever be, if she had anything to say about it.

Humph.

A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – This story is now complete.

Reference:

*Emerson: German descent. Meaning: brave, powerful. Associated with people who are competent, practical, and often obtain great power and wealth. – Some people might recognize the name as it was the same I used in my caryl!baby fic: "Empires Fall (so that the children of the new might lisp a plan)."