#sunsetelm

Baelor had lost track of time. He finally came to, in some way — a buzzing insect, a bird calling from the far - off Bay, or perhaps the slight shift of Dunk's head in his lap. The knight was large enough to kneel beside the royal heir's chair and rest quite comfortably on Baelor's thighs. Were he able to feel the younger man's weight, Baelor may not have been as fine with it. His lips twisted up into a bit of a smile with that irony as he looked down. A hand rose, decorated in ruby - embedded rings, and tentatively touched Dunk's hair.

His man, his loyal knight of many years now, perhaps the last individual who still believed in the strength of Baelor the Broken — and his in a far more intimate sense than his family may have liked to think ( for those who still spared him a thought, anyway ). His relationship with Dunk had bloomed with the help of this private garden, whose confinement and attachment to his chambers kept them hidden. Baelor knew its construction following his injury was not out of his blood's interests in his health. It was to keep him removed. That such a green, sweet jail - yard had given him the hedge knight settled in his familiar position was yet another one of those ironies that Baelor enjoyed so.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the young elm tree ( he insisted on having planted here ) dance in the wind. — and maybe, just maybe, his next breath was easier.

a kiss on the forehead as the other sleeps . [ b/c it'd be dunk's luck to do this Right As Baelor Finally Wakes Up, right :( ]

Those first days after the fight were full of maesters — the best that the Targaryens had with them. Dreamwine was poured into Baelor's throat in droves in an effort to keep him under whlie the severity of his injuries was assessed. Quickly, it was realized that the prince's legs were no longer of use, failing to respond to any stimuli. There was hope, luckily, for his torso and arms ; they were slow but capable. Murmurs went through the throng of healers, sworn to secrecy upon pain of death in the dragons' jaws.

Baelor's scaled flesh and unusual stamina had saved him. Where a normal man should have been felled, the only egg - bearing heir to the great line of dragon - kin was saved. The fine scales beneath his hair, which trailed down the back of his neck, were bloody but sure.

He would live, they said. Somehow, he would live.

In the midst of this, there was Dunk. Limping to stand outside of the prince's door and then gradually welcomed in by Maeker as well as Egg. A determined protector of Baelor, who he had sworn himself to. His vow was a publicly - made one that could not be disputed, and so it was upheld by Baelor's blood.

Two weeks passed, a blur of nothing and everything. Baelor clung to life. Drugged, bathed, force - fed bone broth and water, and changed in a cycle that seemed impossible to break. Dunk remained, keeping watch over the royal while he went through this great fight.

When Baelor truly woke, his eyes felt as though they were full of sand. He was aware that his body ached, though he was not sure why. Baelor felt something soft on his brow, something he couldn't quite identify — but that new sensation gave him a point to finally crawl out of the darkness toward. A shaking hand rose, weakly gripping Dunk's shirt, and Baelor drew a deep breath into his thinned chest.

Baelor groaned. It took all of his will to look at Dunk and several minutes for the knight's name to come to him. He did not know why Dunk was so close or what the feeling on his forehead that roused him had been. All he was aware of was that Dunk was there.

❝Ser ?❞ he rasped, brows coming together.

She wants to say the first thing that the stars keep screaming to her:  until it's over.  Auryn doubts that will be any more useful to the knight than another gentle kind of lie. Her eyes are the most honest part of her, risen to meet his with a soft sort of mixture between pity and belief. A doomed hope twinkles there and no matter how kind she means to be, it does not replace the reality of truth.

       ❝ You know it for yourself, don't you, ser?   - I could not bear to tell you something your heart will know as false. ❞   Because it would be no mercy to either of them. Should Auryn ever even forget, the guilt will remain in her heart, as it always has with everything before.   ❝ Fate,  though unkind,  can be kind of funny...  can't it? ❞   Despite there being no humor to her voice in saying so.

↪ PRE-ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP MEME / accepting.

i mean .

[ invite ]  dunk inviting baelor to sit on their lap . [ phm!au w/ baelor getting used to his wacko human limbs / fingies / etc ]

This body was new. Awkward, gangly, and lacking the grace of his other forms. Baelor grumbled at its limited sight ( how did anyone work with such restricted vision ? ), which only added to the feeling of being caged in his mind. He would grow accustomed to it, he supposed — it wasn't unlike when he was young and disliked changing his size. The alien lifted his fingers as he moved toward Dunk, clad in thin clothing the engineer scrounged up from the belongings of his dead crewmates, and wiggled them. This distraction caused him to lose awareness of his feet, however, and he stubbed his toe on the edge of the ball that he often rolled around Dunk's ship in.

Baelor growled at the pain, spreading like a sting from a hostile plant on Valyria his creator used to warn him to avoid as a newly - hatched thing. He fumbled away from the ball, wincing at his sore foot and the scratching in his throat. All of his vocalizations were too harsh on it.

Dunk's laughter was kind and perhaps the first soothing noise to reach Baelor's human ears. His head turned to look at the engineer, eyes glowing. The gestures from Dunk's hands indicated a sort of come here, if Baelor's knowledge from the human films Dunk had shown him was correct. Baelor trilled softly and stumbled his way closer. He lowered himself to sit on Dunk's lap, facing toward him. Dunk was warm, but Baelor was warmer still.

With heavy breathing that resembled his true self's huffing, Baelor pressed a palm to Dunk's chest. It was light at first — and then the alien smacked it, and smacked harder, like a baby learning how to move its joints. That, too, produced a gradual sting that Baelor seemed to dislike. His tongue swiped over his lips, and he croaked out something behind those ( terrible, terrible ) flat teeth.

❝Itchy,❞ Baelor complained, pulling his fingers back to tug at the shirt draped over him. The alien's inflection mimicked the translator Dunk had built, as though Baelor were trying to make himself sound like the synthetic voice programmed to it. Over time, maybe, he would become more natural sounding.

They'd traveled four days north from Moat Cailin before bandits overtook them. There was no time to know if the attack had been sudden or if any of their own men had been silently slaughtered in the dark beforehand. Sansa only knew there was shouting, bolting upright as the wall of their tent came crashing down and Lord Baelish hurried her out and into the bitter cold. In the dark of the evening she saw figures struggling, far more than the half dozen that had accompanied them from the Vale. She shrieked as someone ripped her from her custodian and flung her across a saddle, taking off into the blackness. It felt like both forever and mere moments before she hit the hard ground, dazed and unable to adjust her vision. She heard a horse cry out, heard stomping, grunts and more thrashing, then a large, looming silhouette had approached her, sword in tow....

That had been hours ago, though the grey, stormy sky makes exact time of day impossible to tell. If any path lay nearby it was masked in white, wind whistling and shrieking through the gaps in the wood around them. Sansa sits with her back to the corner, for what protection it's worth, and clutches her cloak around her, thankful as she shivers to have had it close enough at hand in the night to grab upon retreat. Her eyes fall to the man tending his horse at the other end of the barn, watching his movements, gauging for signs of aggression. He hasn't harmed her yet, hasn't even said a cross word in her direction, but brutal experience has taught her harsh lessons, made her wary of any and everyone.