The sun dipped below the horizon as the Brotherhood Without Banners set up camp, the fading light casting the clearing in hues of orange and pink. The air carried the earthy scent of the woods, mingled with the faint tang of wine from Thoros' ever-present wineskin.

Thoros reclined against a fallen log near the fire, his robes frayed, his hair messily framing his face. He took a long sip, watching you move about, helping the others. “Stop flitting about like a busy bee and sit with me,” Thoros called, amusement in his voice. “You’ve done enough.”

You ignored him, focused on organizing supplies. Thoros huffed dramatically, waving his wineskin. “Come now, I’m far better company than those sacks of bones.”

Before he could continue, Beric approached, his steps quiet but purposeful. His remaining eye softened as it landed on you. “Thank you for helping,” he said, his voice carrying warmth. Leaning in, he pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, fingers brushing your arm.

Thoros froze mid-sip, eyes narrowing. “Oh, for R’hllor’s sake,” he muttered, sitting up straighter. “Can I get a moment without you stealing all the attention?” He waved a hand in mock exasperation. “I keep him alive, you know.”

You bent to grab something from the supply pile, unfazed by Thoros’s theatrics. His gaze drifted as he took another sip, a sly grin forming. “I must say, there are worse views in this gods-forsaken forest.”

Beric caught the lingering gaze and sighed. “Do you ever stop?” he scolded, equal parts annoyed and amused.

Thoros shrugged, unrepentant. “I’m appreciating the beauty around me,” he replied, grinning. “Can you blame me?”

Beric rolled his eye but didn’t bother hiding the faint smirk tugging at his lips. Truthfully, he had been doing much the same.