Adventure of King Hammon

By the time the rain thickens, the study door is shut, the shutters latched, and the castle settles into night. Wind still worrys the stone, but it no longer feels sharp enough to pry the keep open.

King Hammon finishes his bathing ritual, steam clinging to his shoulders as he dries and dresses in his wildlands robes. The last warmth of the water fades into the cold hush of the room.

Getrin lingers near the window with his hands folded behind his back, listening to the rain and stealing glances toward the distant flashes over Morrili. His soldiers keep to the corridor beyond, speaking in low, disciplined murmurs.

Rovan answers with a quiet report from the doorway, then leaves Hammon the silence he needs. The thunder weakens at last, and only the heavy rain remains, steady as a drumbeat over the roof.

King Hammon goes to bed while the castle closes itself down around him. In the dark, the window keeps its soft rhythm of rain, and Getrin's shadow stays with the horizon a little longer, as if waiting for morning to explain itself.

Getrin inclines his head at once, the caution in his shoulders easing into discipline.

Rovan answers with a short nod, already turning his attention toward the door and the sleeping castle beyond it.

The study grows quieter, the rain a steady soft stitch against the panes, and the storm feels far enough away to be only weather.

King Hammon settles toward bed while Getrin remains by the window, no longer probing, only waiting out the night.

The lamp burns low. King Hammon lets his breathing slow with the room, and the study keeps his caution for him.

He sleeps lightly, not sunk, not restless, just aware. The rain thins against the shutters, and each creak of old stone reaches him cleanly.

By the window, Getrin remains still, hands folded, gaze on the dark glass. He no longer searches the coast, only keeps faith with morning.

Rovan’s boots fade beyond the door. The watch takes over outside, and the study settles into a guarded hush.

For a few calm breaths, the storm feels distant enough to be only weather, and King Hammon’s caution rests easy beside sleep.

Hours pass in scraps of waking and sinking. King Hammon’s rest stays light, and each time he stirs, the room is still enough to answer him with silence.

He opens his eyes to the thin lamp glow and the dark window, the hour settled cleanly on him without alarm.

Getrin has not moved from the window, but his head turns a fraction, attentive now, as if he has been waiting for this exact breath of the night.

Behind the shutters, rain brushes the stone in a soft, steady hiss. The study remains secure, but the darkness outside feels a little nearer than it did before sleep.

Getrin lets the shuttered darkness go at once. He draws back from the glass, careful and unhurried, making no show of reluctance.

The lamp gives a small, steady halo over the study. Rain ticks softly at the shutters, and the deeper night beyond them stays sealed away.

Getrin gathers himself for the door, then pauses with a sidelong glance toward King Hammon, waiting for dismissal.

Later, when the study has gone still, King Hammon rises and crosses to the door. The corridor beyond is dark and orderly, with no sign of lingering footsteps.

A faint draft carries the rain-scent in from the hall, then dies. The castle keeps its own quiet breath.

At the far end of the passage, a shuttered lamp marks the guest way. It throws a thin bar of gold across the floor outside the room assigned to Getrin.

The door stands shut. No voices, no movement, only the soft persistence of rain beyond the stone.

King Hammon pauses, listening once more. The quiet holds, and the guest quarter remains sealed and undisturbed.