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A/n: Episode 5 was fake guys, trust me.
One moment the courtyard is warm stone and laughter drifting from the hall.
The next , thunder cracks the sky in half.Rain pours like a curtain of silver.
You gasp, lifting your skirts as you try to hurry across the open yard, shoes slipping on wet stone, hair plastering to your cheeks.
âSeven save meââYour foot slides.Youâre already falling, body pitching forward as your eyes slid shut out of nerves expecting to hit the sharp stone when strong arms catch you.
He doesnât hesitate, not even a breath.One arm hooks beneath your knees, the other around your back, lifting you effortlessly against his chest as rain soaks his cloak within seconds.
âBaelor....!â you protest softly, clutching his tunic.
âYouâll slip again,â he says firmly, voice calm despite the storm raging around you.âAnd I wonât allow that.â
Thunder rumbles overhead.
His cloak comes around you completely, shielding you from wind and rain, the fabric heavy and warm and smelling faintly of leather and steel.
Your cheek presses against his chest.You can hear his heartbeat as warmth creeps up your neck. It is fast, steady and you can't help but wonder if it is just for you.
âEveryone will see,â you whisper.
âI donât care,â he answers immediately.He strides through the downpour like the rain is nothing, boots splashing through shallow puddles, holding you as though you weigh nothing at all.
When you shiver, his grip tightens.âYouâre cold.â
His jaw sets, not in anger, but in determination, like warming you has just become his greatest duty.
Inside the keep, servants scatter in surprise as the soaked prince carries you straight toward the hearth.
He kneels carefully, lowering you onto a bench near the roaring fire.
Then without asking he removes your wet shoes, large hands warm against your chilled ankles and gentle, he's so gentle and careful.
âBaelor,â you murmur, embarrassed.
âYou would do the same for me,â he says quietly.
He rubs warmth back into your hands between his palms, thumbs brushing slow circles across your knuckles.
Your breath stutters, your eyes lowered. "You do not have to do this my Lord."
Rain drips from his hair, down the silver strands that had formed, down his forehead.
His cloak is soaked, his tunic clings to his chest and yet all his focus is on you.
âAre you hurt?â he asks softly.
âI was scared,â you admit.
His eyes soften instantly.Something protective flares there not princely, not knightly.
âIâve got you,â he says quietly.âI always will.â
The words settle deep in your chest.The fire crackles.
The storm continues to roar outside.
But here... in front of him, the world feels small and safe.
When your hands finally warm, he doesnât let go right away.
Your fingers remain tangled together.
Rainwater drips from his lashes as he looks at you like something precious.
âI thoughtâŚâ he hesitates, breath shaky, âI thought I was too late.â
Your heart twists.âYou werenât and if you were it's okay...it was just a silly stone.â
His thumb strokes over your knuckles again â slower now.âI donât know what I would do if anything happened to you,â he admits.
The prince who never fears battle....Is afraid of losing you.So softly, you whisper, âYou wonât.â
His gaze lifts to yours.âI swear on my sword, my name, and every vow Iâve ever taken,â Baelor murmurs,âno storm, no blade, no fate will take you from me.â
Your breath catches.âBaelorâŚâ
He leans in just slightly, enough for your foreheads to touch.Safe.
âI will carry you through every storm,â he promises quietly.âEven the ones that arenât made of rain.â
Inside, something changes forever.
And from that day on, whenever clouds gather, Baelor is already by your side.
janainaart
stormborns
germansingergirl
jbbartram-illu
kianamaiart
izzy806
snowghoul
