A seat clattered to the floor in front of Lord Aymon. Down with it went the seat’s occupant, ale sloshing from his mug. Lord Aymon jumped back, trying not to slosh red wine all over his fine white linens. The drunkard gave a toothy grin as the men who were gathered slammed their mugs on the tables all along the king’s hall. The man on the ground tried to pour the last of his ale into his mouth. Nothing came out. He dumped his cup to the ground, but the sound was drowned out amidst the chaos. His eyes fluttered shut. Serving women were ushered over to clean up the drunken man’s folly, blood included.

“So, lord Aymon, aye? I remember when you were just a piglet at your mother’s teat. Always a fussy one, you were. Crying and screaming—you were an outright horror to look upon I do remember. I wanted to gut you just to shut your yapping cries but my fair maiden at the time had to calm me,” said the drunkard. He took another rather large sip of his whisky. The drink missed most of his mouth and wettened his bush of a beard.

Lord Aymon’s eyes were still on his beard when he spoke, saying, “That is very kind of you, Lord Malarin. It will serve me well to remember such things next time you should chance to find me at my mother’s teats.” Lord Aymon had not cracked a smile. Instead, he scooted his chair in tightly to the table. The serving maids behind him begun to clean up the mess that the drunken man had made.

An apple went soaring through the air and thudded off of the side of a man’s head, dropping to the floor and splattering sticky juices. Laughter cascaded around the room like wildfire as the man who was hit held the apple in front of him, a queer smirk upon his face. Lord Aymon allowed a subtle smirk to graze his face passingly. He watched as the fool with a head the size of a boulder peered around the king’s hall proudly as if it had been his own doing that had the men wailing.

Lord Aymon glanced back towards Lord Malarin, who he discovered had continued on their conversation. He only caught the last word, “entertaining,” before popping his eyes and doing his best to seem shocked by his latest words. Lord Malarin jarred back in his seat at Lord Aymon’s reaction.

“You find it amusing, do you? Well, it sounds to me like you already know by way of her teats. If you’d like I could tell you about the time she brought me—”

Lord Aymon had risen from his seat and jammed his chair into the table. The screech of his chair had cut off Lord Malarin’s voice. The fat lord bit off a piece of boar, nibbling first at a chunk of fat that hung off the meat. He sneered, chewing obnoxiously as he watched Lord Aymon walk towards Lady Aslay.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

“I did send word that I would be here, didn’t I?” Lady Aslay turned back to her conversation with two of her friends.

Lord Aymon had filled his mouth with words but none came out as the ladies began chatting again amongst themselves. Lord Aymon stood by awkwardly, not particularly in their circle of gossip, but no less close to them than anyone else. He pretended to be interested in his empty glass when Lady Aslay grabbed his hand and began walking towards the steps, away from the king’s hall.

“Bye Aslay! Don’t have too much fun now. You sit in on the small council come morning.”

“Don’t be foolish, ladies don’t sit in on the small council,” said Aslay.

The two were out of earshot now as she pulled Lord Aymon into a corridor that was dimly lit by braziers.

“I know what you want. Not tonight.”

“What? I haven’t said anything,” Lord Aymon’s eyes were already staring upon her thin, pink lips. Her hair was up in two knotted buns and her cheeks were thin.

“You don’t need to say anything. I know you,” said Aslay. She put her fingers to his lips before he could say a word. “I’ve got something better for you.”

“Well…what is it, my lady?” asked Lord Aymon.

“Why do you still call me that?”

“Just tell—I mean, what is it, Aslay?” Lord Aymon jerked his head to remove stray hairs that had begun to tickle his eyes.

“How about I introduce you to the woman you are going to wed?” Lady Aslay suggested lightly.

“Wait, how do you know that?” said Lord Aymon.

“Is everything a surprise to you? A lord must marry someday so that he can have children who inherit his lands, fool.” Lady Aslay was cold this time.

“Aslay, you are the only one I want to wed. I have declared no other besides you,” said Lord Aymon.

“And yet you waited too long, love. I speak with my father’s whisperer. He has heard word that your family has decided you are to marry the Dalrind girl.”

Lord Aymon had his hands through his hair, distressed. He kept his voice low.

“She is only a child, still a maiden. I am a man, a man of thirty. I would have to wait years for her to bear a child.”

Lady Aslay only stood, silent. Another thunderous wave of shouts and laughter echoed from the king’s hall somewhere below them. A guard turned the corner, bringing torchlight with him and two other men.

“Lord,” said the lead guard, nodding his head. Lord Aymon said nothing. He watched as the guard turned the corner and out of view.

“I swore to my brothers that you were the only one I would ever wed, and they knew Aslay. They knew that,” said Lord Aymon.

“Apparently, he doesn’t care, Alaric. Or, perhaps you’ve lied to me.” She turned to go but Lord Aymon caught her hand as she went, and he pulled her back to him.

“If that is true, my father is likely talking with Bruce Dalrind as we speak. I mean to put a stop to this,” Lord Aymon moved to leave, but this time it was Aslay who grabbed him.

“I never meant to wed you anyways, Alaric. Our families have bad blood, this is known. It was only a matter of time. The waiting game is over.”

Lord Aymon could tell she meant to leave and be alone. He had seen that look in her eyes hundreds of times. Her eyes darted anywhere but to his own. He put his hands to her cheeks and leaned in. “Let’s have one more night. Just the two of us. You and me. That’s it.”

She was pushing away from him, but he held her firm. She finally gave in, standing on her toes so that her lips could meet his. The kiss was interrupted before he could close his eyes. Guards turned the corner and this time there were double the men. At the other end of the corridor came Ser Vratkos. He had a hawk nose and eyes beady as a rat. Small wonder they call him the Rat.

“Is this something I shouldn’t be seeing? I’m sorry, I can’t un-look, can I? That’s really too bad, because I know a wealthy lord down there who would pay a lot of coin if he were to hear of this,” said the Rat.

“And have you forgotten just how small a rat is, Ser Vratkos. Words from a Rat are worth little to nothing,” replied Lord Aymon.

“What are you going to do, Lord Aymon? Twirl your sword around and leave your guest’s halls a bloody mess? Or perhaps I can give you a moment first with your lady, and then we’ll see if you’re still up for a bit of sparring, shall I call it?”

“Leave, now.” Lord Aymon whispered into Aslay’s ear. She hesitated initially, staring at her lover’s face a while. She knew it could be the last for a while.

The guards let her through as she made her way back to the king’s hall. Lord Aymon listened for laughter but he could not make out even the faintest of noises from downstairs now. The Rat withdrew a sword from his hip. The blade rattled like a bad cough as it scraped along the scabbard. Lord Aymon remembered he had hung his sword belt along the back of his chair down at the feast.

“A fair fight, at least?” said Lord Aymon.

“A fair fight you will get. You’ve got hands, don’t you?” The Rat got low and began to circle around Lord Aymon, his eyes wild with contempt.

“Put it away, Vratkos. I will not have slaughter in my own corridors. Go see to the dungeons that our prisoners are fed. The prison rats have grown anxious without you.” The voice demanded authority and Lord Aymon knew it to be the King.

“Lord King Eyowen, pardon my lack of manners,” said the Rat, turning to Lord Aymon now, “I hope sleep comes easy to you tonight, Lord Aymon.” The Rat sheathed his sword and bowed low before his King. His guards followed him out.

"He knows he could never beat you, Alaric.” The King’s voice was rich as honey. His dark brows furrowed below snow white hair.

“I am honored by your courtesy, lord King. I have known him since I was a boy.”

“And he has idolized you ever since,” said King Eyowen.

“Come,” said the King, “Let us retire to my bedchambers and have some ale. My legs are heavy and my mind weary. The feast has ended, until tomorrow at least. Men will be drinking again come sunrise.” The King moved past Lord Aymon with his captain of the guard at his side. The rest were ushered away.

Lord Aymon began, “My men will no doubt be looking for me, shall I send a man to—”

“—they already know. I told them you’d be staying with me for a while. Their sleeping arrangements have already been made.”

“That is very kind of you, lord King,” said Lord Aymon.

The captain of the guard commanded the guard outside of the King’s bedchambers to unthatch the door. The three men entered.

It was the largest bedchamber Lord Aymon had ever seen. Although the King had taken quite a liking to Lord Alaric Aymon, he had never been invited inside his own private quarters. Lord Aymon glanced around the room, impressed.

A bed sat against the far wall, large enough for five large men to sprawl comfortably. Ornate bed curtains hung around the sides. Lord Aymon wondered if anyone was already waiting for the King inside those curtains. It is best I do not know all of the king’s secrets, that I know, thought Lord Aymon.

Another room gave way to the largest tub he had ever seen, followed by a terrace on the other side of the room that overlooked the entire citadel which was now a magnificent cluster glowing dots amongst a black sky.

The two sat upon the terrace. King Eyowen had his squire fetch them a bottle of wine.

“I had been meaning to speak with you, Lord Aymon. You must blend right in; I searched the king’s hall all night and did not spot you once.”

“Ahh, you know how it goes. You get caught up talking with one ill-tongued man and the arguments go on all night.” Lord Aymon distracted himself by filling up his cup with wine.

“You don’t strike me as the kind to entertain arguments. You are quite composed, Alaric. It is exactly how your father was, and his father before him. It is why my father’s father granted your House those lands. House Aymon has always served the crown well. Perhaps it will always stay that way.”

“It would truly be an honor, lord King.” Lord Aymon took another sip. His head swimming. I’ve already had far too much. He means to drunken me.

“I wanted to bring you some daunting news, Alaric. It’s just come out today. Not many others know. I trust you’ll be able to handle it, though. Your father has heard far worse and he never blinked an eye. Not until he blacked out from too much ale.” The King’s nostrils flared, and laughter escaped him.

“I’ve actually just heard the news myself. I will not hide my true feelings on the matter—lord King, I fear I have fallen for someone else. I do not want to marry the lady Kallee.”

“Alaric, I do not mean to talk of ladies and bedding, if that is what you are after. Perhaps, afterwards you can relieve some tension with one of my fair ladies if that is what you desire. None of them have seen a cock in their lifetime. I’m sure you’d blow them away—”

“—enough, lord King. Respectfully, lord, I have no wish to speak of women if the topic does not concern them. Please, go on,” said Lord Aymon.

“Right, Alaric, only a jest. Well, let’s get to it then.” King Eyowen’s face went dark. Lord Aymon had only ever seen that face once before, and it had not been a good omen for what was ahead. He hoped now would be different.

“Alaric,” he began, as he always did with such news, “there’s been a troubling discovery along Splitter’s River.”

“Bloodshed along Splitter’s River? There’s always been disputes along that river. One can pee from one side to the other in some places.”

“No, Lord Aymon. Far worse,” said King Eyowen. Lord Aymon steadied himself in his chair.

“Remains of rotted bones flow along those rivers, and the water runs black as the darkest night. Any who dare touch those waters see their skin melt like its wax; it is said. I am yet to see it myself, but I am hearing the same tale from dozens of messengers.”

“The Splitter’s River ends in the north…the Cartraits hold those lands. Why the concern? Most likely a feud went dark and the bones of their enemies were dumped into those waters. As for the black ooze, I know nothing of it...”

“It is not the northern end of the river that concerns. The black fire that seems to be flooding Splitter’s River drains from the south. Meaning, whatever is flaying our fishermen alive, it is coming from our neighbors on the other side of the Draining Sea.”

The King’s squire approached tentatively, trying to step onto the terrace but the captain of the guard blocked him off. King Eyowen paid it no mind.

“Well, no matter. The waters will clear up soon enough. The Draining Sea will no doubt sweep up the bones of the dead in due time,” said Lord Aymon.

“The problem is exactly that, Alaric.”

“What?” said Lord Aymon

“Those bones…they do not belong to the dead.” The King leaned in, “They’re alive.”