Lyonel POV
It had been one week.
One week since the King had placed Blackfyre upon his shoulders and named him a knight.
The memory still felt unreal.
The King had left Blackhaven days ago, departing upon the back of Vermithor, bound for King's Landing. The dragon's wings had darkened the sky as it rose above the castle, and the thunder of its flight had echoed across the Marches long after it vanished.
And now Lyonel was leaving as well.
The courtyard of Blackhaven bustled with quiet movement as the three riders prepared to depart.
Lyonel sat astride his horse, Thunder.
The stallion was large and powerful, his coat black as midnight. Lyonel had always liked the name. Thunder snorted softly and pawed at the stone beneath his hooves, eager to ride.
Lyonel wore simple armour. Plate over chain. Nothing gilded, nothing ornate. He had been offered finer pieces from the castle armoury, but he had refused them.
He did not want to look like a lord.
A tabard bearing the purple lightning bolt of House Dondarrion hung over his breastplate.
Beside him sat Ser Hary and Ser Hendry, both armoured and mounted.
At the top of the stairs overlooking the courtyard stood Simon.
Lord of Blackhaven.
And Lyonel's brother.
Simon held baby Emily in his arms. The child's tiny hands waved clumsily in the air as she spotted Lyonel below.
Lyonel smiled.
Simon returned the smile, though there was a weight in it. Pride, perhaps. Or worry.
Baby Emily waved her small hand.
Lyonel lifted his own and waved back.
Then he turned Thunder toward the gate.
The portcullis lifted.
And the three riders set off.
Two days later
The road wound gently through the Stormlands.
They rode at an easy pace, stopping often to rest their horses. The Marcher lands were rough country, full of low hills and thick woods where storms could roll in without warning.
They had crossed into the lands of House Selmy several hours ago.
Harvest Hall lay somewhere ahead.
Hary rode at the front, as he often did. Hendry and Lyonel rode behind him, their horses walking side by side along the dirt road.
Over the past two days, Lyonel had grown closer to Hendry.
Closer than he expected.
Hendry was easy to speak with. Honest. Thoughtful in a way Lyonel appreciated.
Lyonel found himself thinking of him as a close friend.
Up ahead, Hary suddenly slowed.
Then stopped.
Hendry stopped as well.
So Lyonel pulled Thunder to a halt beside them.
"What is wrong?" Lyonel asked.
Hendry looked ahead quietly.
"We were ambushed near here."
Lyonel nodded slowly.
Hendry had told him the story the night before while they sat beside their small campfire.
Bandits.
A large group.
They had fallen upon Hary and Hendry's men in the woods, killing several before they could react. Hendry himself had nearly died in the fighting.
Hary spoke without turning around.
"Hendry."
"Yes?"
"Do you remember the way to the camp?"
Hendry nodded.
"Yes."
"Then lead."
Hary's voice was hard.
"Perhaps the bodies of Ser Jack and the others are still there."
Hendry rode ahead this time.
The three knights left the road and moved into the trees, guiding their horses carefully through brush and low branches.
They rode slowly.
After a few minutes—
The smell hit Lyonel.
Rot.
Strong and thick.
"By the Seven," Lyonel muttered.
He raised a hand to cover his nose.
The scent grew worse with every step.
Soon the trees thinned, revealing a small clearing.
The camp.
And the dead.
Bodies lay scattered across the ground.
Some sprawled near the cold fire pit. Others lay where they had fallen beside broken shields and splintered spears.
But what struck Lyonel most was what had been done to them afterward.
The bodies had been stripped.
Armour gone.
Boots gone.
Even belts and cloaks had been taken.
Worse still—
Some of the corpses were missing flesh.
Animals.
Lyonel's stomach lurched.
He turned slightly away, swallowing hard.
Gods.
He had seen death before.
But not like this.
Hary and Hendry dismounted silently.
Lyonel followed, though he remained closer to the horses.
This was their moment.
Not his.
Hendry walked slowly among the bodies, his face tight with grief.
He stopped beside one and knelt.
"Seven above," Hendry whispered.
He bowed his head.
"Father, judge these men justly. Mother, have mercy upon their souls—"
"Stop."
Hary's voice cut through the clearing.
Hendry looked up.
"That is not how they will find peace," Hary said.
Hendry frowned.
"The only peace they deserve," Hary continued coldly, "is vengeance."
He gestured toward the forest.
"The men who did this still breathe."
Hary's eyes burned.
"And until we send them to the Seven Hells, these men will have no justice."
Hendry was silent for a moment.
Then he nodded.
"You are right."
Lyonel stepped forward.
"How?" he asked.
They both looked at him.
"My brother did not send us with his men," Lyonel said. "There are only three of us."
Hary looked at him with open disgust.
"We are knights," he said sharply.
"One knight is worth ten of them."
Lyonel almost laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was foolish.
But he kept his voice calm.
"Perhaps."
He looked at the bodies again.
"But three knights cannot hunt a band of bandits alone."
He turned back to them.
"Let us ride to Harvest Hall."
Hendry listened carefully.
"My brother sent us with no men," Lyonel continued, "but Lord Selmy will not tolerate bandits in his lands."
Hendry nodded.
"That is true."
Hary hesitated.
Then finally—
Reluctantly—
He nodded once.
Hendry looked back toward the bodies.
"We must bury them," he said quietly.
"They deserve proper funerals."
Hary shook his head immediately.
"We will return later."
Hendry frowned.
"We do not even have a spade," Hary continued.
Then his tone turned colder.
"And noblemen do not lower themselves to bury peasants."
Lyonel felt something tighten in his chest.
He agreed they lacked tools.
But not the reason.
A man who fought beside you deserved better than being left to wolves.
Still, Hendry said nothing.
Neither did Lyonel.
For now.
They returned to their horses.
Thunder stamped impatiently as Lyonel mounted again.
He took the lead this time.
The road to Harvest Hall was familiar to him.
The sun hung low as the three riders left the clearing behind.
And the dead remained where they had fallen.
They rode fast.
Faster than they had at any point since leaving Blackhaven.
No breaks. No slow travel.
The image of the dead men in the clearing sat heavy in Lyonel's mind, even if he never said it aloud.
Thunder's hooves pounded against the dirt road, sending small clouds of dust into the air. The wind rushed past Lyonel's ears as the stallion ran hard beneath him. The horse was powerful and eager, but even Thunder could not run forever.
Eventually, Lyonel began to see the walls of Harvest Hall rising in the distance.
The castle stood tall upon a hill, its stone walls thick and sturdy. It was the seat of House Selmy, one of the great Marcher houses of the Stormlands.
It was not as large as Blackhaven.
But it was still impressive.
A proper castle for a Marcher Lord.
Lyonel slowed Thunder to a trot.
The horse snorted, grateful for the slower pace. Foam clung to the edges of his mouth, and his flanks rose and fell heavily with each breath.
"Easy, boy," Lyonel murmured, patting the stallion's neck.
Beside him, Hendry slowed his own horse as well.
But ahead of them—
Hary did not.
Ser Hary Caron continued riding at full speed toward the castle gates.
Lyonel shook his head.
"Seven save us," he muttered.
Hendry chuckled quietly beside him.
"He has not changed," Hendry said.
"Not even a little."
They continued riding slowly now, letting their horses recover.
For a moment they rode in silence.
Then Lyonel glanced toward Hendry.
"What is wrong with him?" Lyonel asked finally.
Hendry sighed.
"That is a question many men have asked."
Lyonel smiled slightly.
"He fights well," Lyonel admitted.
"Very well," Hendry agreed.
"But?"
Hendry looked ahead toward Hary's distant figure.
"But he thinks that is all that matters."
They rode for a few more moments before Hendry continued.
"Hary has always believed the world owes him something."
"Why?" Lyonel asked.
Hendry shrugged.
"He is the heir to Nightsong. Son of House Caron."
He gave a small, tired smile.
"Some men grow up hearing they are special so often that they begin to believe it."
Lyonel considered that.
"And you?" Lyonel asked.
"You are a Caron as well."
Hendry laughed softly.
"I am a Storm," he said.
He paused before adding,
"And I have lost enough fights to know I am not the best swordsman in the world."
Lyonel grinned.
"That makes two of us."
Hendry glanced at him.
"You fought well back in Blackhaven."
"With you?"
"No," Hendry said.
"With Hary."
Lyonel thought about that and chuckled quietly.
"Yes I did."
By the time they reached the gates of Harvest Hall, Hary was already there.
And he was shouting.
Lyonel and Hendry exchanged a look.
Then Hendry sighed deeply.
"Of course he is."
As they approached, Lyonel could hear the argument clearly.
"I told you who I am!" Hary shouted upward.
"I am Ser Hary Caron, heir to Nightsong!"
A guard stood upon the castle wall above the gate, looking down at him with clear irritation.
"And how am I supposed to know that?" the guard replied.
"You bear no sigil of House Caron."
Hary's face reddened.
"Are you calling me a liar?"
"I am saying," the guard said calmly, "that anyone can claim to be a noble."
By now Lyonel and Hendry had reached the gate.
Lyonel spoke before Hary could explode further.
"I am Ser Lyonel Dondarrion."
He gestured to his chest.
"My tabard bears the forked lightning of House Dondarrion."
The guard leaned slightly forward.
"I am also the brother of Lord Simon of Blackhaven," Lyonel continued.
"I have met your lord many times."
The guard studied him carefully.
Then he nodded.
"I will bring Ser Brandon," the guard said.
"He will know if you speak truth."
The guard disappeared from the wall.
For a moment the three knights waited in silence.
Then Lyonel turned toward Hary.
"You should be kinder to people," Lyonel said calmly.
"It will serve you well."
Hary scoffed loudly.
"I do not need lessons in manners from you."
Lyonel only smiled faintly.
Beside him, Hendry looked like a man who wished the ground would swallow him whole.
After some minutes, footsteps sounded above the gate.
A man appeared along the wall.
He leaned forward and looked down at the riders.
His gaze moved from Hary—
To Hendry—
Then finally to Lyonel.
The man's eyes widened.
"Open the gates!" he shouted immediately.
There was the heavy clank of chains.
Then the massive wooden gates of Harvest Hall slowly creaked open.
The three riders entered the castle courtyard.
Harvest Hall was alive with activity.
Stable boys ran back and forth. Soldiers trained near the walls. Servants carried baskets of food across the yard. A group of smiths worked loudly beside a forge near the stables.
The man from the wall hurried down the steps toward them.
By the time Lyonel dismounted, the man was nearly out of breath.
His armor clanked as he approached.
"Ser Lyonel," the man said between breaths.
"Your brother sent a raven saying you might come."
Lyonel blinked in surprise.
Simon had sent a raven?
He had not expected that.
Quietly, Lyonel thanked the Seven.
That raven had saved them a great deal of trouble.
Before Lyonel could respond, Hary spoke sharply.
"Take us to your lord."
His tone was impatient.
"We are here on important matters."
The knight nodded quickly.
"Of course."
He gestured toward the stables.
"The stable boys will see to your horses."
Lyonel turned toward Thunder.
He ran a hand gently along the stallion's neck.
"You did well," he whispered.
Thunder snorted softly.
A stable boy stepped forward and took the reins.
Lyonel watched the boy lead Thunder away before turning back.
Hary and Hendry were already walking across the courtyard.
Ser Brandon waited ahead of them.
Lyonel followed.
Whatever came next would begin inside the halls of Harvest Hall.