Roslin didn't open her eyes. "I only have two jobs now," she muttered into the pillow. "One is to keep you busy... and the other is to take care of you... I think I am doing both very well."
Alaric chuckled. He pulled his tunic over his head and stood up, grabbing his heavy leather belt from a nearby chair.
"So you are just going to sleep all day?" he asked playfully, buckling the belt around his waist.
Roslin pulled the thick fur blanket up to her chin. She nodded slowly, her eyes still shut tight against the morning light bleeding through the tent.
"Yes," she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep. "After all that hard work last night... of course I am."
Alaric smiled. He walked over to the table and picked up his broadsword. He didn't say anything else to wake her. He just strapped the dark sword to his hip, pushed open the heavy canvas flap, and stepped out into the loud, busy camp to start his first day as King.
He walked through the busy camp. The morning sun was bright, reflecting off the massive green glass crater in the distance. Every time he passed a group of soldiers, they stopped what they were doing. They didn't just salute; they dropped to one knee and lowered their heads. Alaric didn't stop to acknowledge them. He just kept walking.
His destination was the center of the camp. The Tyrell men had set up a massive command pavilion overnight. Inside, they had placed a heavy, carved oak chair on a raised wooden platform. It wasn't the Iron Throne, but for today, it would have to do.
Alaric stepped inside. The pavilion was packed. Lords from the North and the Reach stood shoulder to shoulder. The second Alaric walked in, the talking completely stopped. Every single lord bowed.
Alaric walked down the center aisle. He climbed the short wooden steps and sat down in the heavy oak chair. He rested his arm on the armrest and looked at the crowd.
"My King," Mace Tyrell said, stepping forward quickly. He practically tripped over his own feet to get to the front. He gave a deep, clumsy bow. "The Reach is entirely at your service. We have secured the grain wagons. Your army will not go hungry. If you need anything—gold, silk, more men—you only need to ask."
Mace was sweating. He was trying too hard.
"Thank you, Lord Mace," Alaric said flatly.
Other lords quickly followed. A Northern captain praised how Alaric destroyed the dead dragon. A certain lord offered his castle for Alaric to use. It was endless bootlicking. They were all terrified of the man who could sit in green fire and have control of those stone gargoyles.. Alaric just nodded, letting them talk. He knew fear when he saw it.
Then, the crowd parted slightly. Prince Oberyn Martell stepped forward.
Oberyn did not look like the arrogant, angry man who had demanded Lannister blood two days ago. He stopped at the bottom of the wooden steps and gave a slow, deep, and perfect bow.
"Your Grace," Oberyn said. His voice was smooth and very polite. He kept his hands open and visible by his sides. "Congratulations on your victory. The stories of your power are clearly not just stories. Dorne respects strength, and you have shown more strength than any king before you."
Alaric leaned forward a little. "Get to the point, Prince Oberyn."
Oberyn smiled, but he kept his head down in respect. "I only ask for a small favor, Your Grace. Cersei and her children are in your dungeons. Jaime Lannister is in your chains. Dorne has a long, bloody history with the lions. Hand them over to me. Let me take them south to face Dornish justice."
The pavilion went dead quiet. The other lords watched, holding their breath.
Alaric looked at the Dornish Prince. He didn't look angry, but his eyes were hard.
"No," Alaric said.
Oberyn blinked. His polite smile slipped just a fraction. "Your Grace, they are our enemies. My sister—"
"I said no," Alaric interrupted. His voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the room like a knife. "I defeated the Lannisters. I took the city. They are my prisoners, Oberyn. I will decide their punishment, not Dorne."
Oberyn closed his mouth. He looked up at Alaric, his dark eyes searching for any sign of a joke or a weakness. He found nothing but a cold, heavy stare.
A few days ago, Oberyn would have argued. He would have put his hand on his spear and made a threat. But today, he just looked at the giant red Blood Knights standing behind Alaric's chair.
Oberyn slowly bowed his head again. "As the King commands," he said quietly. He took a step back, melting into the crowd of lords without another word.
Alaric leaned back in his wooden chair. He looked out over the nervous faces in the tent.
"Now," Alaric said, changing the subject completely. "Let's talk about clearing the ash out of the lower city."
Before he even finished the sentence, Lord Redwyne practically jumped forward.
"It is already being handled, Your Grace!" the older man said quickly, eager to please. "We sent two thousand men into the streets at first light. They are sweeping the ash into wagons and moving it outside the walls."
Another lord quickly stepped up beside him. "Yes, My King. We also set up clean water stations for the smallfolk, just as you would want."
Alaric just nodded. They were terrified, so they were working fast. It made his job easy. He didn't even have to give the orders; they were trying to guess what he wanted before he asked.
The heavy canvas flap at the back of the pavilion opened. Margaery walked in. The lords instantly stopped talking and scrambled out of her way, bowing their heads as she passed. She wore a fresh, light green dress. She walked straight down the center aisle, climbed the wooden steps, and stood right beside Alaric's chair.
She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. She looked out at the crowded room with a polite, perfect smile.
"My lords," Margaery said, her voice clear and pleasant. "You have all done excellent work this morning. But I must steal the King away. There is an urgent matter regarding the camp borders that requires his immediate attention."
The lords didn't argue. They just bowed deeply. "Of course, Your Grace," Mace Tyrell said quickly.
Alaric stood up from the heavy oak chair. He didn't say anything else to the crowd. He just walked down the wooden steps. Margaery stayed right beside him, and the sea of lords parted immediately to let them pass.
They walked out of the tent and into the bright morning sun. The air was loud with the sounds of the busy army, but they finally had some space to themselves away from the constant staring.
Alaric turned his head. He leaned down and pressed a warm kiss to her cheek.
"How did you know I was getting tired of them?" Alaric asked. A small, genuine smirk touched his lips.