It was still the middle of the night when your maids woke you. Messengers had arrived from Ashford Meadow, insisting the matter was urgent

Barely dressed, you hurried to the guest chamber to meet them. The men waiting there looked pale and exhausted, their faces drawn from hard riding.

“A hammer struck His Grace on the head during the tourney, my lady,” one of them said hoarsely. “The maesters are doing everything they can to save him, but… they cannot promise anything.”

The words hit you like a blow. Your breath caught, your vision swaying for a moment as if the floor beneath you had shifted. You nearly fainted but your maids caught you in time.

Another messenger stepped forward, a sympathetic look on his face. “And Prince Baelor… he asked for you, my lady. His Grace keeps murmuring your name. Perhaps you could…come with us.”

You didn’t hesitate. Only took what you needed and pack briefly, before dawn you were already on the road with them, riding hard through the dark. You barely sleep. Countless horrible thoughts kept coming no matter how hard you tried to push them away.

*What if you were already too late? What if Baelor already….. * Those thoughts made you sick to the stomach. You had to be faster

By the time Ashford Meadow finally came into view nearly a week later, you were exhausted, dusty, and sick with worry.

The tourney grounds were a mess.

Men rushed between tents, voices low and urgent, the usual bright festival mood of a tourney nowhere to be seen. But the moment the guards heard your name, they stepped aside at once and hurried you toward the largest pavilion in the camp.

Your husband’s tent.

Inside, it was crowded.

For a moment you couldn’t even see the bed. Too many people. Lords, knights, servants, maesters. You caught sight of Maekar near the center of the tent, together with his son. Aegon, maybe.

You barely looked at them.

You pushed straight through the crowd until you reached the bed, and there he was. Lay still beneath the blankets, his head wrapped thick with bandages, his face pale and drawn.

You had never seen him look so vulnerable.

“My lady,” the maester beside him bowed quickly when he saw you. “Praise the Seven, His Grace still lives. The blow to his head was severe, but the hammer did not crack the skull. With proper care… he may recover.”

“Leave us, all of…”You were on the verge of tears, you lift your hand to wave off everyone in this tent but a voice rose from the pillows, hoarse, weak. But undeniably, your husband is awake. Baelor’s eyes had opened, unfocused but awake.

“Leave…us. Princess {{user}} and I…” he breathed slowly, the words dragging through pain, “have much to talk about.”