The whetstone lay untouched.
Thoren sat near the narrow window with a book open in his hand. The page had not changed in some time. Morning light fell across the stone and stopped short of where he sat, leaving the rest of the chamber in a softer dimness.
Behind him, the bed shifted.
Elara lay across it, the blanket caught loosely around her legs where it had been pulled and left. One arm rested beneath her head, the other draped across her side, fingers idly tracing the fold of cloth. Her dark hair spread across the pillow, half-shadowed.
She watched him for a while before speaking.
"What is it?" she said. "You've been sitting there too long. Coming back to bed, or fighting the same thoughts all morning?"
That earned a faint shift from him.
After a moment, he closed the book.
"Nothing worth winning," he said.
"That's never stopped you before."
He exhaled once, then stood and crossed the room. She caught his sleeve lightly and drew him down beside her. The kiss was brief, familiar, more grounding than anything else. He lingered a moment, then settled beside her, one arm resting across her waist.
Below, the yard carried on without them. Hammer strikes rose and fell in steady rhythm. No shouting. No disorder.
The kind of quiet that came after men had already seen enough.
"They'll have the wall standing again before midday," Elara said.
"It won't hold," Thoren replied.
She studied him for a moment.
"You're already thinking about the next one."
He didn't deny it.
"I expect someone to learn from it," he said. "That wasn't an attack."
Elara let out a quiet breath.
"A knock," she said. "Seeing if anyone answers."
Thoren only sighed.
Her fingers stilled against his arm.
"My brother will send word," Thoren said after a moment. "He always does when something touches the coast."
"Will Robnar understand it?"
"He'll understand enough to move men," Thoren said. "Whether he understands why is another matter."
"That's generous."
Thoren sighed again, softer this time.
"They'll look to him now," he said. "For answers."
"And he'll give them something that sounds like one."
"Yes."
"It wasn't always like that," Thoren said.
Elara didn't ask.
After a moment, he turned his head slightly.
"They still talk about him, you know."
Her fingers slowed against his arm.
"Do they?"
"Along the coast," he said. "In the older villages."
A pause.
"Some say he was a wizard."
"And the rest?"
"They say he wasn't a man at all."
Elara's gaze shifted slightly.
"And you?"
Thoren was quiet for a moment.
"I think our grandfather was a good man," he said at last. "A good king."
Elara watched him.
"That's all?"
"That's enough," he said. "People loved him."
"And they gave him a crown," she said. "The first one."
Thoren's gaze stayed on the window.
"Yes."
"People do strange things," he said quietly, "when they decide a man matters."
The moment held.
Then—
A knock.
Not urgent. Not hesitant.
Thoren didn't move.
"Enter."
The door opened and the maester stepped inside.
"My lord—" He slowed a fraction as he took in the room. "My lady."
Elara shifted then, not in haste, drawing the blanket up around herself as she sat. The movement was unhurried, practiced. She met the maester's gaze without discomfort.
"What is it?" Thoren asked.
"A message arrived just before dawn," the maester said. "By pigeon, out of the capital. A rider went to the king directly from Blackmere — that news travels first. Ours came after, and slower."
"Speak."
The maester unfolded the parchment.
"Lord Vellar Garisten is dead."
Elara's fingers stopped.
"How?" Thoren asked.
"No sign of violence," the maester said. "The message states he took ill."
Elara's gaze lowered, just for a moment.
"He never liked stillness," she said quietly. "Even toward the end."
A faint breath.
"My father always would."
Thoren didn't interrupt.
"And Blackmere?" he asked.
"His son has assumed command. Robert Garisten now rules the keep."
Elara's hand rested still now.
"The household has sworn to him," the maester added. "There is no mention of unrest."
Elara spoke first.
"He deserved better than quiet," she said, almost to herself.
"There should have been noise."
Thoren looked toward the window, and said nothing for a long moment.
"Yes," he said finally. "That's what troubles me."
The maester lingered by the door, uncertain whether he'd been dismissed.
"Will there be a reply, my lord?"
"Not yet," Thoren said. "Leave us."
The door closed.
For a long while neither of them spoke. Elara sat with the blanket gathered at her chest, staring at nothing in particular.
"I should go," she said finally.
Thoren didn't answer right away.
"To Blackmere."
"He's my father," she said. "Whatever this story is that they're already telling about him."
"I know."
"You don't sound like you agree."
"I didn't say that."
She turned to look at him properly.
"Then what."
Thoren was quiet a moment, choosing the words.
"Graystone was tested three nights ago," he said. "Forty men, seven boats. If it happens again before the wall's rebuilt, I need to be standing on it."
"I'm not asking you to come."
"I know that too."
Elara's jaw tightened, not quite anger.
"Then say what you mean."
"I mean I can't leave," Thoren said. "Not you going. Me staying while you go into a house that just buried its lord under a story too clean to trust."
Something in her expression eased, just slightly.
"You think it isn't safe."
"I think nothing about it is settled yet. A death with no violence, no unrest, no noise — that's not grief, Elara. That's a room that's already been arranged."
She held his gaze for a moment.
"I know what it looks like," she said. "I'm not blind to it."
"I didn't say you were."
"You didn't have to."
The silence that followed wasn't cold. It was the kind that came from two people who'd already had this argument before, in some other shape, about some other leaving.
Elara looked down at her hands.
"I still have to go," she said, quieter now. "Whatever it is. He was my father. I won't hear the rest of it secondhand, through a maester and a folded page."
Thoren studied her for a long moment.
"I know," he said again. "I'm not stopping you."
"You could try."
"I could," he said. "I won't."
She almost smiled at that, though it didn't quite reach her eyes.
"You'd rather worry from a wall you can't leave."
"I'd rather you go with an escort than none," Thoren said. "That's the whole of what I'll ask."
Elara considered that, then nodded once.
"That, I'll take."
She was quiet a moment, eyes on the window now instead of him.
"Robert will have questions for me too," she said. "Whether he means to or not."
Thoren didn't answer that one. There wasn't an answer that would help.
Outside, the hammers had not stopped.