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Summary
"you wouldn't dare."
davos was laughing, mania in his voice as he stepped into the blade. aeron pulled it back, then stiffened. he could not withdraw, not in front of the squires, but davos was only coming closer- his tongue running maliciously over his teeth.
aeron remembered how that tongue felt on his neck, on his stomach, everywhere else, trying not to let his eyes linger as he lifted his sword once more. the weight was a bit too much, but he would have felt a fool telling the armorer that. he was a knight of house bracken, his sword made for killing blackwoods, and one stood right at the end of his blade.
