LyonelPOV
Lyonel stood there, breathing hard, staring at the decapitated head of the Vulture King.
For a long moment, his mind refused to accept it.
The Vulture was dead.
I killed him.
The words felt unreal, as though they belonged to someone else. His hands trembled, slick with sweat and blood, his heart hammering so fiercely he thought it might burst from his chest. The Vulture King—terror of the Red Mountains, slayer of countless men—dead at his feet.
Seven above.
He had done it.
"Lyonel," a voice said. "Help me up."
The sound cut through the fog in his mind. Lyonel turned sharply.
King Jaehaerys was struggling to rise.
Lyonel rushed to him at once, slipping an arm beneath the King's shoulder and helping him to his feet. Only then did he see the blood—dark and wet—seeping from a gash in the King's right thigh, soaking into his trousers.
"My King," Lyonel said, panic creeping into his voice. "You're injured."
"I know," Jaehaerys replied evenly. "I can feel it."
He drew in a breath, then lifted two fingers to his lips and whistled—a strange, lilting tune Lyonel had never heard before. When he finished, the King fixed Lyonel with a hard, measuring look.
"Listen to me," Jaehaerys said. "You will not speak of what happened here. Not to anyone."
Lyonel frowned, confusion knotting his brow. "My King, I—"
GRAAAAAAR!
The roar shattered the night before Lyonel could finish.
The ground seemed to tremble as Vermithor descended from the sky, his vast shadow sweeping over the rocks. Heat washed over them, thick and choking, as the bronze dragon landed nearby, wings beating the air like a storm.
Jaehaerys did not flinch.
"Put Blackfyre back in its sheath," the King commanded.
Lyonel obeyed at once, carefully sliding the Valyrian blade back into its scabbard at the King's side.
His gaze drifted back to the body of the Vulture King.
Adder's Fang still lay there, dark and gleaming against the stone.
"Take it," Jaehaerys said. "I will decide the sword's fate once we return to Blackhaven."
Lyonel nodded.
Vermithor stepped closer, massive claws crunching stone beneath his weight. Lyonel's throat tightened, fear rising sharp and sudden—but Jaehaerys only smiled, resting a steadying hand on Lyonel's shoulder.
"Go," the King said. "I can stand. Get the sword."
Lyonel turned and walked back toward the corpse.
As he did, his eyes were drawn once more to the severed head. The Vulture King had been a great swordsman—better than Lyonel, if truth be told. Now he lay silent and still, his threat ended forever.
Lyonel bent and lifted Adder's Fang.
The blade was unlike anything he had ever seen. Its Valyrian steel shaped like the body of a serpent, dark and sinuous, as though alive. Even Blackfyre had not looked like this.
It was beautiful.
"Come," Jaehaerys called. "We must go."
Lyonel quickly took Adder's Fang scabbard from the Vulture King's body and put the sword into its sheath.
Lyonel turned back to him, sword in hand.
"We will ride on my dragon," the King said.
Lyonel's eyes widened.
A dragon.
The very thought made his stomach twist. He had never liked heights—never liked looking down from the towers of Blackhaven. The idea of soaring above the mountains on a beast of fire and bronze filled him with dread.
Jaehaerys saw the hesitation at once.
"Do not be afraid," the King said quietly. "I will not allow you to fall. Just hold on to me."
Lyonel swallowed hard.
Reluctantly, he nodded.
Together, they mounted Vermithor. The dragon shifted beneath their weight, muscles rolling like living stone. With a thunderous beat of his wings, Vermithor rose into the night sky.
Lyonel squeezed his eyes shut.
He did not open them once.
Simon POV:
Simon watched Emily sleep in her cradle.
The chamber was wrapped in darkness, the hour of the wolf deep upon the castle. Only a single candle burned beside the bed, its flame flickering softly and casting long shadows across the stone walls. Emily's tiny chest rose and fell in gentle rhythm, her small hands curled into loose fists.
Simon smiled.
For a moment, the weight of lordship, war, and worry faded. There was only his daughter, warm and safe.
The chamber door opened with a quiet click.
Simon turned sharply. A guard stepped inside, already drawing breath to speak, but Simon raised a finger to his lips. The guard froze.
Careful not to wake Emily, Simon rose and crossed the chamber in slow, measured steps. When he reached the door, he spoke in a low whisper.
"What is it?"
"My lord," the guard murmured, "Lord Caron's brothers, Ser Hary and Ser Hendry, have come."
Simon frowned. Surprise flickered across his face. "Where are they?"
"Outside the gates," the guard replied. "We are unsure if they speak the truth. They claim you would know them."
Simon's eyes narrowed. "They are not bearing the sigil of House Caron?"
The guard hesitated. "They are dressed like beggars, my lord."
Simon's expression hardened, irritation flaring. His voice rose despite himself. "If they're dressed like beggars, you should have told them to be gone. No noble presents himself like that."
Emily began to cry.
"Damn it," Simon muttered.
He turned at once and hurried back to the cradle. Gently, he lifted Emily into his arms, rocking her close to his chest. He hummed a soft, wordless tune, the same one he had sung to her a dozen times before. After a few moments, her cries faded into quiet hiccups, then into a bubbling giggle.
Relief loosened the tension in his shoulders.
Without looking back, Simon spoke to the guard, his tone firm and commanding. "Tell those beggars to leave. If they attempt to impersonate nobility again, I will personally see them hanged."
The guard bowed his head. "Yes, my lord."
The door closed behind him, leaving the chamber silent once more.
Simon placed Emily gently back in her cradle. She blinked up at him with bright, curious eyes. He smiled and offered her his finger. Her tiny hand wrapped around it, impossibly small and impossibly strong.
For a while, he simply stood there, letting the world shrink to the space between them.
Hendry Storm POV
Hendry and his brother waited outside the gates of Blackhaven beneath a cold, starless sky.
The great walls loomed over them, dark and unwelcoming. Hendry shifted his weight, his stomach tight with unease. Their clothes were torn and filthy from the road, more fitting for beggars than members of a noble house.
Hary paced beside him, boots grinding against the dirt. "Lord Dondarrion had better come soon," he muttered. "It was a long journey, and after those cursed bandits robbed us and killed our escort, we'll need his men to hunt them down."
Hendry nodded, though doubt gnawed at him. No lord would welcome men dressed as they were.
A voice rang out from the castle walls, loud and sharp. "Leave! Our lord will not meet with you two beggars!"
Hary stiffened. "Beggars?" he shouted back. "I am Ser Hary Caron of Nightsong! You and your lord will show me respect!"
"Leave, beggars," the guard called. "Or our lord will punish you."
Hary's face reddened with fury. "I will not leave! I am a nobleman!"
Hendry felt a knot form in his chest. He had known this would happen. No one would believe their claims while they looked like this.
"Brother," Hendry said quietly, stepping closer. "We should go and return later."
Hary rounded on him. "I will not leave, Hendry. You are not a noble like me. You do not understand what disrespect this is."
The words stung, even if Hendry had heard their like before. He looked away, jaw tightening. Hary was right in one sense—Hendry was only a bastard. But that truth did not make it hurt any less.
With an angry shout, Hary stormed to the gate and began pounding on it with his fist.
Hendry sighed and shook his head.
A moment later, something splashed down from above.
The smell hit first. Hendry recoiled, then realized what the guards had dumped. He burst into laughter before he could stop himself. Hary stood frozen, drenched in shit and furious, his glare snapping Hendry's laughter short.
"We are leaving for Nightsong," Hary said through clenched teeth. "Lord Dondarrion will answer to Olyver for this insult."
Hendry glanced back at the towering gates. "The road to Nightsong is long. We have nothing—not even weapons. We could be robbed again."
"Do you have a better plan?" Hary demanded.
Hendry hesitated. "There's an inn not far from here—the one we passed earlier. We can return there and plan our next move."
Hary considered this, then gave a stiff nod. Without another word, they turned away from Blackhaven.
They walked for a long while in silence. The castle shrank behind them until it was little more than a dark shape against the horizon.
Then the sky exploded with sound.
A thunderous roar rolled over them, followed by a violent blast of wind that nearly knocked Hendry off his feet. He staggered and looked up.
A dragon cut across the night sky.
Its vast wings blotted out the stars, its scales glinting faintly in the moonlight. Hendry's breath caught in his throat.
Beside him, Hary whispered, "Are you seeing what I'm seeing, Hendry?"
Hendry could only nod. "I am."
They stood frozen, watching as the dragon soared overhead, the air still trembling in its wake.