Where am I?..

His crusted eyes opened difficultly to look upon a stone ceiling. A soft crackling could be heard to his left, and he could feel the warmth radiating from it. His mouth was painfully dry, and as he went to brace himself to sit up, the most horrible pain shot through his arm. He cried out as he collapsed back to the bed, his breathing quickening as an unbearable throbbing set in.

Suddenly the door to the chamber opened as an older gentleman entered, two younger ladies trailing him. One of the girls held a wooden tray adorned with all manner of tiny bowls, bottles, and linen cloth. The man was dressed in dark grey robes with silver filigree, and a beautiful silver chain hung from the side of his waist.

“Easy, my boy,” his old voice was comforting, smooth and warm like a cup of tea with honey. “You’re all right. Let me take a look at you.”

The young lady whose hands were free approached his bedside and carefully pulled the thick blanket down to his waist. He had been dressed in loose linens and deprived of a shirt. As he glanced over at his right arm, dread washed over him. The entire upper half had been thickly wrapped in linen bandages, the white having turned a muted copper color from all the dried blood.

“Here, drink this. It will help with the pain.”

A small bottle was presented to him, and he drank it without a second thought.

“Water. Do you have water?” he croaked.

The other girl quickly switched his empty bottle for a cup. He chugged it down.

“I need to check your wound. This may hurt, but I promise no damage will be done,” the old man explained.

Catching his breath, he nodded in permission. Slowly and meticulously, the linen was unwound. He winced as it unstuck from the wound, but the discomfort was bearable. As the final wrap was removed, hazy green eyes caught a glimpse of the damage that had been done. Quickly averting his gaze, he couldn’t fight the tightness closing up his throat. He could see them all, staring at it, at him. The pathetic sympathy in their eyes. He bit down on his tongue hard enough to bleed, fighting back tears.

“Lilian will clean the wound for you.”

The girl to his left where his gaze had gone now came around the bed, and soon after, he felt a hot, wet cloth ever so gently drag across the skin of his arm in a wide circle. The old man came closer now, staring intently at his disfigurement.

“The stitches have held properly, which is great news. There does not appear to be any redness about the area, nor any rot taking hold.”

A hand was placed on his forehead.

“You do not feel overly warm, do you?”

He shook his head numbly.

“Good. Mary will redress it after the medicines have been applied. It is not infected, and we certainly want to keep it that way–”

“Is my ankle broken?” he asked lowly, his voice hoarse and tired.

“I do not believe so. While you were asleep, I tested its movement. Nothing seems to be out of place, but it is severely sprained. I leeched it to remove the stagnant blood; it should help with the swelling. Did you attempt to walk on it?”

“I had to.”

“I see. Well, do try to stay off of it for a good while. There are crutches by the bed for when you must arise, but that arm may not be able to tolerate it very well. If you need to use the chamberpot, my assistants can help you so you do not reinjure anything–”

“So now I need help taking a piss?” he grumbled angrily.

The man sighed and looked at him gently. “My boy, you were gravely injured. There is no shame in being careful with your recovery. You will not need this help for long.”

He winced slightly as Mary began spreading a salve across the injury, and he couldn’t help finally looking at it. The gouge went around the entire outside half of his arm. He could tell by the thickness of the stitches that it had been rather wide as well. As the girl began to spread the ointment out further, his brow furrowed. He couldn’t feel it as she touched the lateral part of his arm below the wound, closer to his forearm.

“I… I can’t feel that,” he pointed out.

“Depending on the type of injury, say a deep slash of a sword, sometimes things buried deep within our flesh can be injured as well. The sensation may yet come back; it is not impossible–”

“But what about moving it?” he asked as panic began welling inside his chest.

“From what the other men told me of what happened, that is nothing to worry about. After the injury, you were able to lift a rather heavy weapon. Now your strength may be altered, but I have no fear of you losing the ability to move the arm,” the man explained reassuringly.

A million thoughts raced through his head as he stared at the stitches, but one overpowered the rest.

“Where is Prince Aryn?”

“I believe he is still asleep. I can fetch him for you, if–”

“Yes. Please,” he added quickly.

The older man nodded and stepped out of the room with Lilian, leaving him with the other assistant, Mary. He watched cautiously as she gently began to rewrap the arm. His green eyes darted back down as she looked up, accidentally making eye contact.

She smiled softly. “I heard you killed the boar.”

“It was luck,” he murmured dismissively.

“Well, luck or not, I suppose I shall be the first to properly thank you. Us servants here at the castle would be heartbroken if His Highness had been killed. He is very kind to us you see,”she explained tenderly.

“I’m not surprised,” he added, a small smile briefly twitching at the corner of his lips. “He does have a rather kind soul.”

“So you are the Prince’s friend?” she questioned casually.

She glanced back up at him briefly before continuing to wrap the linen around his lower bicep.

“He accidentally broke into the tavern I work at,” he explained cheekily.

She giggled softly, a shy smile spreading across her face. Even though he didn’t fancy women, it was easy to admit she was beautiful. Her hair was a cool light brown, as well as her eyes, and the shape of her face was soft with high cheekbones. She possessed an aura of warmth and comfort about her; it was possible it was just part of her job, but it was hard to completely fake such a thing.

“That does sound like him. He is quite a… unique individual, in the best ways of course.”

“I’m lucky to call him my friend,” he concluded.

“What is your name?” she prompted.

“Percy.”

“I’m Mary, but you probably gathered that from Maester Byron,” she introduced.

“He seems kind, and quite knowledgeable,” he continued.

“Oh, he is. One of the smartest people I’ve ever met. And very compassionate. He treats Lilian and I very well, like equals. As equal as men and women can be, anyway. Not many women are assistants to maesters in Westgarde.”

“Well you must be very smart too then,” he pointed out with a small smile.

She blushed softly and looked back towards her work. Although he was not purposefully making it his intention, he could tell what was happening, what with the way her brown eyes kept subtly migrating towards his bare torso.

“I know a few things, I suppose. I used to live in a little village close to the border. When the war started, I didn’t have much of a choice but to learn how to comfort dying men, or on the off chance keep them from dying. I’ve seen wounds far more ghastly than yours, Percy. You’re a strong young man. I have every confidence you’ll recover well.”

“Another scar, another story, right?” he jested, attempting to lighten the mood. Mostly it was an attempt for himself.

She chuckled lightly. “Scars are a good thing. They mean you survived.”

He watched patiently as she grabbed a small bottle and paintbrush from the tray. Removing the lid, she dipped the brush in and carefully began applying its contents to the outside of his bandages. The final piece came to lay over the liquid, and she delicately ran her hand along the cloth to smooth it out the rest of the way.

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“Maester Byron taught us that securing bandages with glue is much more effective and safe than just tying it. You won’t cut off any circulation or impede the healing process,” she explained as she placed the tools back on the tray.

“Thank you,” he cut in. “For helping me. You three saved my life. And my arm. And my ankle.”

A warm smile spread across her face. “There’s no need to thank us. It was the least we could do for what you did.”

He started slightly as a knock sounded on the door.

“Come in,” Mary called brightly.

The door opened, and immediately his eyes began to sting. He bit down on his tongue once again in an attempt to control himself as Aryn hurried into the room. Mary shot to her feet and curtsied low.

“Your Highness.”

“Mary stand up, you know me better than that,” he ordered as he fell to his knees beside the bed.

His ashen hair was disheveled, and he was still dressed in his nightclothes. “Is he taken care of?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Good. Thank you. Give us a moment, please.”

She nodded and gathered up her supplies, quickly exiting the room. He couldn’t help but clock the subtle look in her eyes before she closed the door.

With just the two of them in the room, he let himself feel. Tears welled in his eyes as his throat began to close up, and he moved his good arm to take Aryn’s hand. Soft fingers worriedly brushed curls from his forehead.

“How are you feeling?” the prince asked, emotion warping his voice.

“I’m all right. Are you okay–”

“Percy I am so sorry,” he whispered as he squeezed his hand tightly.

He watched as tears tumbled from his blue eyes. It ripped his heart out.

“Aryn none of this was your fault–”

“I shouldn’t have asked you to come,” he cried quietly, his gaze fixating on the bandages. “I was so goddamn selfish. You do everything for me, everything. And just because I didn’t want to be alone, now you’re lying here in this bed–”

“Stop.”

Their eyes suddenly met at his forceful word. He clenched his jaw in an attempt to settle himself.

“I chose to do those things for you. Nobody put a knife to my throat and told me to be there. I chose to come. Just like I chose to stay with you that very first night and hold you, care for you. I chose to finally be my real self with you, to finally be happy. I chose you. And I chose to fight, to damn my body and make it to that crossbow because I knew…”

He let out a trembling breath as a stream of tears trailed down his cheek. “I knew that I would never be able to live with myself if I didn’t try to save the young man that I love.”

Soft hands slowly came to cup his face, and he squeezed his eyes shut as the prince’s thumb gently wiped his tears away. He heard shifting in front of him before their lips pressed together. His left hand reached up and tangled inside feathery locks of ashen hair, and he could feel Aryn’s mouth tremble as they kissed.

“Look at me,” he whispered.

They both proceeded to open their eyes, foreheads pressed tightly together as Aryn stood over him.

“I love you.”

“Percy–”

“I love you more than I have ever loved anything in this world,” he whispered against his lips.

Their breaths mingled as Aryn sighed sharply, and the prince lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed beside him. Soft fingertips trailed down his neck to his chest, setting his skin on fire.

“I don’t expect you to return that sentiment–”

A thumb came to rest over his lips, silencing him. He lifted his gaze and spotted the intensity in Aryn’s eyes as the prince stared at him with incredulity.

“Do you not understand how terribly I yearn for you? Whenever I am near you, it feels as if there is this… inescapable force, pulling me to you. There is a voice within me that only calls your name. You make my soul feel light again. I burn for you, Percy. I have never known happiness such as this.”

His chest thumped wildly as their lips brushed one another’s, unbearable longing welling up inside his heart. It was difficult to describe exactly what he was feeling at that moment. All of the moments they had shared together came rushing back, pieces of intimacy and joy flashing in his mind, and there was this vulnerability, almost akin to fear, that blanketed them.

“Promise me…”

“Promise what?” he breathed.

Aryn’s thumb brushed along his bottom lip as his delicate hands cradled his face.

“Promise you’ll always be mine. Promise that I will always have you.”

“I’m yours, Percy. Utterly and completely yours. Always.”

He could hold back no longer as he crashed his lips into Aryn’s. The fire beside them crackled and popped as the prince pulled the blanket down onto his legs and climbed on top of him. They were both dressed thinly, and it wasn’t until Aryn trailed his hands about his bare torso that he realized just how horribly he had missed the prince’s touch. Even after one day, his body ached for it; he wished to never go without it. God how he wished every day could be like this, that they could be here together always.

His lips found their way to Aryn’s jaw, then slowly and gently peppered kisses along his neck. Fingers tangled in his curly hair as the sound of their breathing created a whispered symphony. He found his hand sliding its way beneath the prince’s shirt, feeling the smooth skin along his back, but it wasn’t enough. Instead he grasped the hem and began to tug it upward.

“You need to rest,” Aryn protested, although the tone of his voice did not match the message being portrayed.

“What I need is you,” he argued as the shirt came sliding off and onto the floor.

“Someone might hear–”

“I don’t care.”

Diffuse, dark bruises covered the skin over his ribs, and he could feel his own chest tightening up as his good hand gently came to rest on the left side of his ribcage. With a featherlight touch, his fingertips skimmed over the bruises. A different set of fingers gently lifted his chin.

“It will heal,” he murmured, leaning down and pressing soft lips to his own.

“I’m sorry I didn’t shoot it sooner.”

“Oh yes, shame on you. It wasn’t as if you were actively dying.”

He chuckled airily as he felt Aryn grin against his mouth. “Sit up on your knees.”

The prince pulled back to give him a curious look, that of which he responded to with an insistent one. Hesitantly, Aryn rose from his lap and balanced himself, a hand instinctively running through his thick brown curls as the other stabilized on the wall. He let his good hand migrate to the prince’s lower back. Pulling him close, his lips dragged across his bruised skin.

“I need to talk to you about something,” Aryn breathed.

His voice stirred something deep within his stomach, but he forced himself to pull back and look up at his face. “What is it?”

“So I spoke with my father,” he began, soothingly rubbing a knuckle up and down his sternum as he sat back onto his lap. “And you have a seat on his council, if you wish it.”

His mind went blank.

“What?” was all he could think of to say.

Aryn patiently brushed a curl from his forehead. “You are to serve as a liaison for the commonwealth. Communicate the needs of the people to the Crown and act as a diplomat between it and its citizens.”

“How did this happen?” he asked disbelievingly.

“We had a conversation last night, during which I informed him that I would be quite dead if it had not been for you. We came to the conclusion that it would be a mutually beneficial opportunity.”

“Aryn I cannot serve on the King’s council; only those of noble birth–”

“Or those who are promoted in station for a tremendous deed done for the Crown. Such as saving the royal prince’s life.”

He sighed sharply as his brow furrowed. “And what of my family?”

“Well, as per custom, you will be moved to a residence within the inner circle. They are welcome to join you, but with the smithy, I assume they would prefer to remain where they are. You will be paid a stipend fortnightly, like the rest of the council members, to do with as you wish.”

Realization struck him.

“So, I will be close to you?”

Aryn’s hands came to hold his face. “We can be near each other every single day if we wish. Father has made you my responsibility while at court. It would not seem terribly strange for us to meet frequently.”

His heart leapt.

“Aryn this is… you didn’t have to do this for me.”

“But I wanted to. For you, for us. And on top of that, for the people of Westgarde. Think of the change we can make, Percy. You’ll be making history, breaking down walls. And I’ll be right there next to you as you do it.”

His blue eyes shone with a passion he had not yet seen before, and it stirred something within his soul. This was the boy he fell in love with, the boy he knew was hidden somewhere beneath that shell of self-doubt. He had seen something in his eyes when they had met. Something unique and beautiful and extraordinary that he longed so desperately to be part of.

“Of course I’ll do it.”

A beaming smile quickly lit up Aryn’s face as he let out a breath, and a firm kiss was pressed to his cheek. “Thank you.”

He tucked a stray piece of ashen hair behind his ear, unable to fight the soft grin that was beginning to spread on his own face. As he took him in, he couldn’t help the frustration that he started to feel. Emerald eyes darted about the various features he had come to know like the back of his hand. His mind wandered to scenarios not yet undertaken.

“What?” the prince asked shyly.

He shook his head. “I just wish I weren’t stuck to this bed, that’s all.”

Aryn trailed his fingers along his right shoulder, his gaze following his hand. A light blush arose on his cheeks as he slid his good hand up the prince’s thigh.

“We both need to heal. And once you’re strong enough to move into your new place, I can be there. To take care of you.”

Fingertips now traced along his hip, inward. His breathing was sharp as Aryn brushed his lips against his, and he thanked God for loose linen pants.

They both jumped as knuckles tapped on the door, gazes immediately whipping towards the dark oak.

“Your Highness, the King has summoned you,” a familiar female voice said from behind the wood.

“Thank you, Mary, I’ll be there in a moment,” he called back.

He had to stifle a laugh at the sudden change of tone in the prince’s voice, and as the young man glanced back at him, the back of a hand came to gently swat him on the chest. An apologetic, longing look entered his blue eyes before their lips touched once again.

“I’ll come check in on you,” he promised tenderly.

“Could you do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

A soft smile irresistibly bloomed on his face. “Would you be able to grab my sketchbook from the house? If I don’t have something to preoccupy my time, I fear I’ll go quite insane.”

“Of course. I’ll bring it to you by this evening.”

“Thank you, love.”

Another kiss was placed on his tan cheek before the prince carefully slid off his lap. He gathered his loose shirt from the floor and haphazardly tossed it on as he made his way towards the door.

“Percy?”

He glanced up expectantly, smoothing the blanket out on his legs. An intimateness had entered Aryn’s eyes, and as he reached for the door handle, Percy noticed his chest heave subtly with a breath.

“I love you, too.”