“We should find you a maester.” Beric suggested, watching with a worried, helpless expression as Thoros was being sick at the mouth of the brotherhood’s cave.
Dawn was near, and the darkened sky was just beginning to brighten with warm shades of pink and orange. It would have been a lovely morn if Thoros wasn’t feeling so horrid.
What worried Beric more than anything was that this was just one day of four that his lover had been violently ill upon the dawn’s rising, and he didn’t seem to be getting any better with time.
“I don’t need a maester to tell me what I already know.” The red priest coughed and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. “It will pass, Beric.”
“You haven’t been well for some time now...” The Lightning lord sighed, waiting behind his beloved with a torch in his hand to give them a bit of light for the walk back to their hideout. “Theres a village nearby. I think it would be best if we stopped there for help.”
“You do like to nag me, don’t you?” Thoros growled, standing up shakily and spitting at the ground to flush the taste of bile from his mouth.
“Perhaps I simply care for your well being, my lovely.” Beric frowned, watching his lover with anxious eyes.
“I’m fine!” Thoros snapped. He was slow to anger most of the time, but lately that lazy temper had learned to quicken its strikes. That worried Beric as well.
“You call this fine?” The brotherhood’s captain huffed in frustration. “Throwing up your dinner all over the forest floor? Maybe once would be acceptable but this has gone on for far too long!”
“Morning sickness does tend to run a longer course than an evening of too much wine...” Thoros muttered, resting a hand briefly at his belly and turning to retreat back into the hidden depths of their cozy little cavern.
Beric’s breath caught in his throat and he was more than certain he felt his heart cease to beat for a moment or two.
“Thoros that can’t be...”
“It is.” Thoros sighed as Beric began to trail slowly behind him, the light of the torch he held giving them a path to follow. “Don’t you know that’s what happens when two people go at it as many times as we have? And with no moon tea at hand? We should have been more careful, I suppose.”
“Are you unhappy with this?” Beric managed to ask, the words sticking in his throat on the way out.
“Not unhappy...” Thoros sighed, stopping in the middle of the path and turning to face his lover. “Frightened.”
“Aye,” Beric agreed. This was unexpected to say the least.
What were they to do now? The brotherhood were all wanted criminals, facing execution for their crimes against the crown! A pack of outlaws was no place for a child, and a drunken Myrish priest and an undead Westerosi nobleman did not make the most suitable set of parents.
“I could send Anguy to the village just West of here.” Beric offered, his eyes meeting those of his distressed paramour. “I’m sure there will be someone that can brew you a pot of moon tea to stop this.”
Thoros bit his lip and his gaze fell the flame gnawing at Beric’s torch.
“I don’t believe it should be stopped, dear.” He said after awhile. “It would be a welcome relief, believe you me...but...The flames don’t seem to agree.”
Beric didn’t argue. He trusted Thoros, and he trusted what the Red God revealed to him in the fire.
“We could always return to my Keep at Blackhaven.” He suggested then. “There are men who are loyal to my family still. They’ll protect us from the Lannisters.”
Thoros turned again and bent slowly to settle down again into his bedroll.
“We’ll talk more about this later.” He promised Beric, who lit up their small fire before putting out the torch and joining his red priest beneath the blankets.
“Of course.” He nodded, shifting to find whatever comfort he could on the hard ground and draping an arm gently over his lover. “You need to rest now.”