Chapter 5: Shelter and Secrets
Crownlands / Kingswood / Afternoon
The shadows of the Kingswood stretched long and dark as the afternoon sun dipped lower, casting a golden hue through the trees. Lucan's breathing was labored, each rise and fall of his chest more ragged than the last. His wound throbbed with a dull, insistent pain, blood slowly seeping through the tear in his jerkin. Alys, clinging tightly to his waist as they rode, could feel his body sagging with exhaustion.
"We need to stop," Alys whispered, her voice laced with concern.
Lucan didn't respond at first, his focus locked on the winding path ahead. They had managed to put distance between themselves and Harlan's bandits, but the pursuit still haunted him. Finally, he nodded, his eyes scanning the forest for a place to rest.
Not far ahead, half-hidden by the underbrush, lay the crumbling remains of what had once been a small stone cottage. The roof had long since caved in, and vines now claimed most of the walls, but it was shelter nonetheless. With a soft nudge to Buck's sides, Lucan guided them toward it.
The moment they reached the ruins, Lucan nearly collapsed from the saddle. Alys quickly slid down and moved to help him, her hands reaching up to steady his fall. "Easy," she whispered, her face taut with worry. "You're hurt."
Lucan winced as he leaned against Buck, his hand pressing against his wounded side. "It's nothing," he muttered through gritted teeth. But the lie was weak, and they both knew it.
Alys shook her head, her jaw set with determination. "You're not invincible, Lucan. Sit down and let me help you."
Reluctantly, he allowed her to lead him into the shelter of the ruins, the stone walls offering a brief respite from the wilds of the forest. Lucan lowered himself onto a patch of dry ground, his back against the cold stone. His breathing was shallow, his skin pale beneath the grime and blood. Alys quickly fetched what she could from the saddlebags, pulling out a water flask and a scrap of cloth.
As she knelt beside him, the proximity sent a rush of heat between them, but the urgency of the moment pushed aside the unspoken tension. Gently, Alys tugged at his jerkin, revealing the wound beneath. The gash was deep, the skin around it already bruising, but it wasn't life-threatening if treated.
"This is going to hurt," she warned softly, pouring a little water over the wound to clean it.
Lucan hissed through his teeth, his hand gripping the stone beside him as the water stung the raw flesh. "You weren't lying," he managed, his voice a strained attempt at humor.
Alys shot him a brief glance, a small smile tugging at her lips. "I rarely do," she said, her tone softening as she carefully pressed the cloth against his side to stem the bleeding. Her hands moved with surprising skill, and Lucan couldn't help but wonder where she had learned such things.
For a few moments, the forest seemed to hold its breath around them. The sounds of birds and the wind rustling through the leaves faded into the background, leaving only the quiet rhythm of their breathing. Alys' touch was gentle but sure, and as she worked, Lucan's gaze lingered on her face—the delicate lines of her jaw, the soft curve of her lips. She smelled faintly of lavender, a scent that seemed out of place in the wilderness but reminded him of something… someone more refined, more distant from the dirt and blood of the road.
Alys, her focus on his wound, seemed unaware of his attention, but Lucan's heart pounded in his chest. The closeness of her, the warmth of her body so near, stirred something in him that he hadn't allowed himself to acknowledge.
"There," she said quietly, tying off the makeshift bandage. "That should hold for now. But you'll need better care once we reach King's Landing."
Lucan gave a short nod, his breath steadier now but his thoughts far from calm. "Thank you," he said, his voice low, the words carrying more weight than just gratitude for her tending to his wound.
Alys leaned back on her heels, her eyes meeting his for a moment, and something flickered between them—something more than the bond forged by shared danger. She felt it too, a pull, a spark that had been there since the firelight the night before. The tension between them grew thicker, pressing in like the walls of the ruin around them.
Her gaze lingered on his lips for a fraction of a second too long, and Lucan saw it. He felt it too.
"Alys..." he began, his voice rough.
But before he could say more, Alys leaned in, her hand gently resting on his chest. The world outside the ruin seemed to blur, the danger they had fled forgotten in the quiet moment between them. The space between their faces closed, and then, her lips were on his—soft, warm, and filled with unspoken emotion.
Lucan's breath caught in his throat as the kiss deepened. The scent of lavender filled his senses, and the warmth of her body pressed against his felt like a balm to the ache in his soul. He kissed her back, his hand slipping up to cradle the back of her neck, pulling her closer. For a moment, the pain of his wound, the peril of their flight, everything faded away, leaving only the two of them in that abandoned ruin.
But then, just as quickly, reality snapped back into focus. Lucan broke the kiss, pulling back slightly, his breath coming in shallow bursts. His hand still rested on her waist, but his expression was torn.
"Alys," he whispered, his voice heavy with regret. "We can't. You're betrothed to Edric. You're to be a queen."
Alys' eyes searched his, her breath still catching in her throat. "I know," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. "But for a moment, I just wanted to forget."
Lucan's heart ached at her words, understanding them more than he cared to admit. He wanted to forget too—forget the loneliness of the road, the weight of his existence as a wandering knight without purpose. But he couldn't.
"We can't run from what's coming," he said gently, his hand slipping away from her waist. "No matter how much we want to."
Alys closed her eyes, nodding as she pulled back, the moment broken but the connection still there. She stood and moved to the other side of the ruin, wrapping her arms around herself as the reality of her situation settled back into her bones.
Lucan watched her for a moment longer, his heart heavy. He wanted to protect her, to keep her safe, but more than that, he wanted to be the man she could turn to. But she wasn't his to keep, no matter what they had shared.
"We'll rest for a while," Lucan said, his voice steadier now. "But we need to move soon. The bandits won't stop."
Alys nodded, her back still to him, but Lucan could see the conflict in her posture. She was torn between the duty that awaited her and the feelings that had begun to take root between them.
For now, though, they both knew there was no place for those feelings. Not while danger loomed so close.
Crownlands / Kingswood / Afternoon
The afternoon sun filtered through the broken roof of the ruin, casting warm golden light across the stone floor where Lucan sat against the wall, his hand resting over his bandaged side. Nearby, Buck grazed quietly just outside the ruin, his soft snorts the only sound breaking the heavy silence between Lucan and Alys.
Alys sat on a crumbling stone ledge, her back straight but her gaze distant as she stared at nothing in particular, lost in her thoughts. The warmth of the sun did little to ease the cold knot of anxiety that had settled in her chest. She pulled her knees to her chest, resting her chin on them as the weight of her responsibilities pressed down on her.
"I've been running all my life," Alys said quietly, breaking the silence. Her voice trembled with emotion, though she tried to keep it steady. "Running toward something I never really wanted."
Lucan, leaning back with his arms crossed, looked at her, waiting. He could feel the tension in her, the unspoken fears that had been bubbling beneath the surface since they fled into the forest.
Alys let out a soft, shaky breath. "I always thought… marriage would be something else. That I'd choose who to spend my life with. But in the end, it's not about choice, is it? Not for people like me." She paused, her eyes flickering toward Lucan. "It's about duty."
Lucan remained silent, watching her closely. He knew all too well the pull of duty, how it shaped lives, dictated choices. And yet, seeing Alys—a woman who was supposed to be the future queen of Westeros—sitting there, vulnerable and afraid, made him realize just how deeply that burden weighed on her.
"I don't know what to expect," she continued, her voice soft. "Edric… he's kind. We had a connection once, before all of this. Before he became king. But now? Now I'm just another piece on the board, moved wherever the great lords see fit."
She laughed bitterly, though there was no humor in the sound. "A pawn in their games. That's all I am."
Lucan's chest tightened at her words. He had never seen her like this before, stripped of the regal airs and expectations, speaking plainly about her fears. It struck something deep within him, a part of him that had always resisted being tied down by duty, by expectations. But for Alys, there was no escaping it.
Her life had already been mapped out, and no matter how fast she ran, the path led to one place—the throne, and a marriage to a man who was no longer just Edric Baratheon, but the king.
"It's like I don't even belong to myself anymore," Alys whispered, her voice barely audible. She wrapped her arms tighter around her legs, her body tense as if she were trying to hold herself together. "I belong to the crown now. To Westeros. And every step I take brings me closer to something I'm not sure I can handle."
Lucan's heart ached for her, but he stayed quiet. He knew she wasn't looking for answers, and even if she were, he didn't have any to give. The road ahead of her was full of choices she didn't make, and there was nothing he could do to change that.
"Lucan," Alys said softly, turning her gaze to him. Her eyes, wide and filled with a mix of vulnerability and strength, held his. "Have you ever felt like that? Like your life was no longer your own?"
Lucan's breath hitched, her question striking closer to home than he would have liked. He had spent years wandering the roads of Westeros, avoiding ties, avoiding purpose. There had been moments where he felt free—like the world was wide and open, and he could carve his own path through it. But there had also been moments, like now, where he felt like he was drifting, purposeless, a ghost moving through the motions of life without truly belonging anywhere.
He nodded slowly, his voice low. "I have."
Alys studied him for a moment, as if searching his face for answers she couldn't find within herself. "How do you deal with it?" she asked.
Lucan exhaled, glancing out at the forest beyond the ruined walls. "I keep moving," he said simply. "I don't know if there's an answer to feeling like that. But for me, it's always been easier to keep going, to not look back."
Alys looked away, her lips pressing into a thin line. "But what if you can't keep moving? What if there's no escaping it?"
Lucan met her gaze again, and for the first time, he felt the full weight of her situation. She wasn't like him—she couldn't just walk away from her responsibilities, from the expectations that had been placed on her.
"I don't know, Alys," he admitted, his voice quiet but steady. "I don't know how to carry the weight of a crown. But I do know that you're stronger than you think. And when the time comes, you'll find a way to bear it."
Alys blinked, surprised by his words. For a moment, the vulnerability in her eyes softened, replaced by something else—something like hope. She gave him a small, sad smile and nodded.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Lucan didn't reply. Instead, he watched her in silence as the weight of the world settled back around them. They sat there, side by side in the ruins, knowing that no matter what comfort they found in each other, the road ahead was filled with danger, uncertainty, and choices that neither of them could avoid.
But for now, in that fleeting moment, they shared the quiet understanding of two people who knew the world had more power over them than they would ever have over it.