The new King of Lost-hope has many labours, and is long setting his halls to rights. But when, at last, all is orderly, he makes his way through the dark valley to a sunken tavern. He drinks hot chocolate, and thinks of what he once was, and what he still is, and what he might so easily have been.
A la Recherche du Temples Perdu. Possibly the same pub as in your ficlet two comments below?