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Summary
Dunk keeps his hand where it is, broad palm cupping the side of Aerion’s jaw, feeling the faint tremor that runs through the prince each time he draws breath. The tremor does not quite fade, though Aerion has stopped hissing for the moment, and Dunk realizes after a time that the man beneath his hand is watching him with the wary attention of a creature that hasn’t decided whether the touch means comfort or restraint.
“Well now,” Dunk murmurs at last, tilting the prince’s head this way and that as if he were judging the soundness of a horse’s teeth. “You’ve made a right mess of yourself, haven’t you?”or; aerion drinks wildfire, the strange liquid burning his mouth and leaving an odd wound behind, he survives and dunk goes see him