Without explanation, Gideon stepped aside and gestured for the northman to enter the tent. Vighon nodded what little understanding he gleaned and ducked to walk inside the torn canvas. He crouched down by Inara’s side and grasped her hand under the blanket. She was cold. The king didn’t hesitate to remove the furs from his shoulders and place them over her.
Outside, he heard Gideon recounting events for Reyna and Nathaniel but he hardly listened. His thoughts were so consumed by his fears for Inara that he couldn’t focus on much else.
Rather than perch beside her and do naught but watch her sleep, Vighon used the rag and a small bowl of water beside her cot to begin cleaning the muck from her face. She didn’t so much as stir, despite how cold the water was.
“We should have waited,” he whispered. “We should have attacked together.” The king squeezed her hand and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. “I love you,” he professed with glassy eyes.
The northman held her hand for a few minutes more. He wanted to stay with her until she woke again, but even without a crown on his head he could still feel the weight of it. Given the significance of their defeat, Vighon made to leave and fulfil his other duties.
A light touch of snow sprinkled across his face as he met Gideon and the Galfreys again. “She’s strong,” he said reassuringly to Reyna, who looked at him with great concern. “But Gideon is right: Inara needs to rest now.”
“I’m not leaving her,” Nathaniel stated.
“Nor will I,” Vighon echoed. “The circumstances and location aren’t ideal, but I want to convene the council immediately. Right here,” he added, pointing at the space beside Athis. Gideon and Nathaniel nodded in agreement but Reyna’s gaze had drifted back to her daughter. “Reyna,” the northman said, taking her hand. Only when her eyes met his own did he speak directly to her. “I have valued your counsel for years. I need it now.”
“And you have it.” Her response was bold but her voice lacked the tone of dependability he had come to expect from her.
Vighon, instead, glanced at Nathaniel, who gave him a reassuring nod that his wife would be up to the task.
“I will summon the others,” Gideon offered.
As the old master walked away, Vighon advised the Galfreys to sit with their daughter until the council was ready. He hoped some time with her would ease their concerns but, like the northman, they wouldn’t be content until she opened her eyes.
Rounding the tent, the king looked out on the camp. He could see Kassian and many of his Keepers were already spreading out to put their magic to good use where the wounded were concerned. There were so many of them. Like the sun, Vighon’s hope was waning. A familiar face, though, brought a much-needed smile to his face.
The captain of the king’s guard, Sir Ruban Dardaris, approached with a number of soldiers at his back. Beyond them, Vighon could see a growing camp of soldiers, men gathered from around the realm, though predominantly from the south. They all bore the sigil of the flaming sword and they all bent the knee in his long shadow.
Ruban didn’t bow.
The captain gave Vighon a hard look, though the pause in his approach allowed the king a cursory inspection of the man and his forces. That was all he required to see that none had been in the recent battle. A closer scrutiny of Sir Ruban’s face, however, informed the king that his old friend wasn’t entirely glad to see him. The captain raised his arm, putting Vighon on edge - he had promised to put him on his back, after all. But then, in the blink of an eye, his demeanour changed with a broad and delighted grin breaking out across his face. Happy to be surprised, Vighon clasped his friend’s forearm and crushed him in a tight embrace.
“Forgive me,” Vighon whispered in his ear, his tone pleading.
“You do not need forgiveness for being flesh and blood like the rest of us,” Ruban replied. “I have seen the kind of king you are time and time again. I saw that in you before you were king, in fact. But the realm is not yours alone to hold up. You should have confided in me. Your fears are mine.”
“I know,” Vighon said, shutting his eyes tight.
Ruban increased the strength of his embrace. “The next time you feel the weight of it all, you come to me. If you don’t - should you falter again - I will hunt you down myself.”
Vighon smiled through the cutting guilt that stabbed at his heart. “Never again, old friend,” he promised, stepping back from the captain. “I know who I am.”
Ruban mirrored his grin. “It is good to see you,” he said earnestly. “Though the company you keep is questionable,” he added, looking over the king’s shoulder.
Vighon glanced back at Sir Borin. “It’s a long story.”
“I would hear it over a drink and a hot meal,” Ruban replied.
The northman patted his captain on the shoulder with an agreeable smile and moved past him. “Rise, all of you!” he commanded to the force beyond. “For two years you have kept the flaming sword alive with your courage! For the rest of your days I will not see you kneel to me! I would always know who you are! And there will always be a place for you at my table!” The men took the honour in their stride and cheered the name Draqaro.
Vighon turned back to his captain and placed a hand on his pauldron. “The council is convening - I want you there. Fetch Kassian too.”
Ruban’s face lit up with the contented smile of a man who was happy to have his king back. “As you command, your Grace.”
The northman stepped away and let his gaze drift over the survivors. It dawned
