The great hall stank of ale and sweat.
Simon Dondarrion stood near the high table, looking out over the wreckage of his hospitality. Men sprawled on benches and floors alike, tankards overturned, grease smeared across beards and doublets. Laughter had long since died, replaced by snores and groans.
A loud bang echoed through the hall—someone's tankard slipping from numb fingers and striking stone.
Simon flinched despite himself.
At the high table, Lord Rogar Baratheon lay slumped forward, face half-buried among trencher crumbs and bones, snoring loud enough to shame a siege engine. His men were little better.
Seven save me, Simon thought. Father was right. Baratheons are boars.
Emily's voice drew Simon back from his thoughts.
"My love," she said softly, one hand pressed to her lower back. "Shall we go to our chambers? I would very much like to be out of this dress."
Simon's irritation melted at once. He turned to her, expression softening. "Of course."
He rose and offered his arm, helping her carefully to her feet. The silks she wore were heavy, and her belly heavier still. He guided her slowly—
Then he heard it.
A grunt near the hall's entrance.
Simon looked up.
The torchlight caught silvery-gold hair first. Then eyes—purple, unmistakable. And finally—
A crown.
Simple. Golden. Set with seven gemstones.
Simon's heart lurched.
King Jaehaerys.
And in the King's arms—
Lyonel.
Unconscious.
Simon froze. His grip on Emily slackened for half a heartbeat before she steadied him with a sharp tap to his shoulder.
"What was that for?" she whispered.
Simon swallowed. "The King is here."
Emily's breath caught. Her eyes followed his gaze, widening as she saw the figure standing calmly amid the chaos of drunken lords and sleeping men.
Simon leaned close to her ear. "Do not bow," he murmured. "It will pain you. His Grace will understand."
Her fingers tightened around his sleeve.
They approached slowly. Simon bowed deeply.
"My king."
Jaehaerys inclined his head slightly. His expression was calm, almost amused. "Lord Dondarrion. Please—take your brother."
Simon straightened at once and stepped forward, carefully lifting Lyonel from the King's arms. His brother was warm and heavy, reeking of wine but otherwise unharmed. Relief washed through Simon like rain after drought.
The King's gaze drifted around the hall—over the sleeping Stormlanders, over Rogar Baratheon snoring into his feast. He sighed and rubbed at his temple.
"It seems," Jaehaerys said mildly, "that Lord Baratheon and his men have drunk Blackhaven dry."
Simon opened his mouth to apologize—
"THE KING IS HERE!"
Lyonel screamed it.
The shout tore through the hall like lightning.
Men jolted awake, hands flying to weapons that were not there. Rogar Baratheon lurched upright, bellowing, "SEVEN HELLS, WHO THE FUCK IS THAT LOUD?"
Simon shut his eyes.
Kill me now.
Lyonel squirmed in his arms, blinking wildly. "Brother," he slurred, "I just had a nightmare. I insulted the King."
Simon released him.
Lyonel hit the floor on his arse with a solid thump. "What was that for?" he demanded, then frowned. "And why was I in your arms?"
Simon pointed.
"Look."
Lyonel turned.
Saw the crown.
The color drained from his face.
He scrambled upright and bowed so fast he nearly toppled over again. "M-my King," he stammered. "I beg your pardon for any offenses I may have committed."
Jaehaerys stepped forward and caught him by the arm, pulling him back to his feet. "Enough," the King said gently. "You are forgiven."
He studied Lyonel for a moment, appraising. "You are strong," he added. "Let us hope you are as skilled as your brother when it comes to the sword."
Lyonel flushed crimson. "Thank you, Your Grace."
The King turned then toward the high table. "Lord Baratheon," he said calmly. "I see you are awake."
Rogar grunted, clearly not awake enough to answer.
Jaehaerys's voice hardened just slightly. "Clean yourselves. All of you. We ride tomorrow. I want the Vulture King's head, and I want it soon."
Silence answered him—sudden, total.
The King looked back to Simon. "Do you have chambers prepared for me?"
"Yes, my king," Simon said at once.
"Then let us retire."
As they departed the hall, Simon placed a hand on Lyonel's shoulder. "You will help Emily to our chambers."
Lyonel nodded quickly, sobered at last.
Simon watched them go, then followed his King.
Simon led the King through the quieter corridors of Blackhaven, away from the stink of spilled ale and drunk men. Torches burned low, their flames steady, as servants hastened ahead to open doors and bow themselves backward out of the way.
The chambers prepared for Jaehaerys were modest by royal standards but warm and well-kept—thick rugs from the Free Cities on the floor, a broad bed dressed in fresh linens, a brazier already lit against the night chill.
"They will be silent," Simon said. "No one will disturb you unless you command it."
The King nodded, clearly pleased. "You have done well tonight, Lord Dondarrion."
Simon bowed. "It is my duty."
Jaehaerys studied him a moment longer, something thoughtful in his eyes. "Rest while you can. The days coming will not be gentle."
With that, the King dismissed him.
Simon bowed once more and withdrew, the door closing softly behind him.
When Simon returned to his own chambers, the fire was low, and the room was washed in amber light. Emily sat on the edge of the bed, already changed into a simple night gown, her hair unbound and falling freely over her shoulders. She looked up as he entered, relief softening her features.
"You're back," she said.
"Mm," Simon replied, crossing the room. He shrugged out of his doublet and boots, the weight of the day finally settling into his bones.
"How is Lyonel?" He asked.
"Alive. Embarrassed. Likely nursing a headache that will last a moon." A faint smile touched her lips. "He'll survive."
Simon smiled at that.
Simon changed into a simple linen shirt and slipped beneath the covers beside her. She shifted closer at once, resting her head against his shoulder. He placed a careful arm around her, mindful of her belly, and stared up at the dark rafters.
"The King rides at dawn," he said quietly.
Emily exhaled. "Then sleep, my love. Whatever tomorrow brings, you will face it awake."
Simon pressed a kiss to her hair and closed his eyes, the sounds of Blackhaven settling around them as the night claimed its due.