Flightless Bird
{‹†« I »†›}
He didn't expect much when he was hired, as suggested by an acquaince of his, to care for a young girl in a madhouse who heard voices inside her head telling her what to do.
He expected an unstable-looking girl, rambling about nonsense more often than not.
He expected to see eyes devoid of understanding and full of madness.
He expected screams and struggles, every waking moment, resistance to intake the medications, and the proper assistance to deal with such rants.
Those were the kind of things he had been prepared and thoroughly trained for.
But no kind of training would be enough to soften the surprise of what he did find.
The only thing he didn't expect to find.
It was a composed young lady, lovely and proper in every single way possible, sitting beside the balcony where he was sent to after asking for her whereabouts.
Long hair cascading down her back like molten gold, fair skin sprinkled with a few light freckles about her cheeks, and those eyes. Pure, deep blue that seemed to gaze into his very soul, and understand his deepest thoughts. The most just image of purity and innocence, such she was, as she gazed at the newcomer, namely him, like an adventurous little creature.
However, and though this did little to mar her ethereal beauty, she looked so thin and weak. Her breathing soft and shallow, and her legs unmoving, as she made her way towards him, bound to a pristine white wheelchair.
And when she opened her mouth to greet him, a voice clear as bells and befitting of an unearthly being stole the air from his lungs.
"May I help you?" She asked, curious as a little bird, tilting her head in such fashion as she gazed up at him from her perch in the wheelchair that was a little too big for her petite frame.
He decided then and there, that the girl his eyes saw was in no possible way his patient, and that maybe she was there because of a physical injury or from another ward, seeing as she seemed absolutely rational and polite, and the girl he was looking for was actually elsewhere making trouble; but the thought was cruelly proved wrong as he took in the sight of the white robes she wore and the white plaster bracelet enclosing her slender wrist, listing all of the basic information about her, her lodging in the Londinium Clinic, inside the Sanatorium ward, and the name of her nurse: Florence Nightingale.
Further clued by the drugs listed in smaller font, clearly part of her prescription.
And of course, his biggest clue were the words stamped on bigger, bolder font; her name.
Jeanne d'Arc.
It was certainly a big scandal in the prime of it's time; A young French girl from the outskirts insisting that she had to meet the royal family of her homeland no matter what, and then taken into custody as soon as she admitted to hearing and following the orders of voices on her head that told her what she had to do and say.
And the biggest part of it all, the fact that turned the whole affair into a worldwide polemic— before such a risky confession was issued, which was probably ordered by her "voices", the royal family had been convinced to hear her out.
After the news started losing relevance, she was transferred from Asylum to Asylum until she ended up in England, for further "care", together with the nurse that had been assigned to her when she resided briefly in another sanatorium.
After a moment, he snapped out of his daze, nodding "Yes, miss. My name is Arthur Pendragon. You are Ms. Jeanne D'Arc, right? I've been assigned to take care of your rehabilitation procedures."
Again she tilted her head cutely to the side, like a small bird. A small, flightless bird "Rehabilitation? From what?"
Arthur bit his lip softly, internally berating himself for his loose tongue; Of course she wouldn't know about that. "I've been informed that some of your medications are to be changed from your prescription in the next few weeks, so you'll be needing someone to help you through the process of assimilation."
The girl nodded mutely, staring forward in a daze. However, she shook out of her stupor soon, looking to him with a weak smile that made his heart both constrict and skip a beat at the same time.
"I understand"
{‹†« II »†›}
"Excuse me, Monsieur Pendragon, I have a question. Do you believe in our Lord?"
Arthur swallowed heavily, choosing to keep silent at her question. These were the kind of matters Nurse Florence had warned him about.
Her problems all seemed to be connected with the Catholic religion and faith in general somehow, so the professional suggested he paved carefully around the subject, avoiding it when possible, and ignoring it when it did turn up in conversation. Otherwise, he could potentially trigger a bad, and possibly dangerous reaction from the girl, as was the case in any remotely similar patients.
Noticing he didn't answer, her soft smile turned somewhat sour, and her stare became slightly dazed "Because, I do..."
He couldn't resist himself, as he found his voice, only to croak out a question, one he hadn't quite wanted to pronounce aloud though the doubt was present "Why?"
Her sour smile widened slightly, and she closed her eyes, allowing her pale lashes to flutter down softly until they nearly tickled the freckled skin of her cheeks. "Because I can hear them, you know?" Her brow frowned lightly, as did his in turn, and her voice cracked slightly as she finished her words "The voices of His favored."
And as much as it broke his heart to even think of it, he made a mental note to talk about that matter to her nurse.
{‹†« III »†›}
One day, he couldn't resist his aching curiosity when he stared at the beautiful doll-like patient he was assigned to, as she breathed in the fresh air of the sanatorium gardens in perfect peace.
A beautiful haven surrounded by flowerbeds and some bushes, completely empty aside from the two of them.
"Hey, Jeanne" He mumbled softly, feeling like he was somehow defiling such a calm sanctuary by speaking up. He knew she heard him, however, as she turned her head in his direction, gazing at him with her glassy blue eyes; Those mysterious eyes that both captivated him and frightened him from the very first moment their eyes met.
She smiled softly at him, turning around completely in his direction "What is it, Arthur?" He frowned slightly, and concern danced in her eyes as she noticed the troubled expression of her usually gentle caretaker "Did something happen?"
"Why did you do it?" He asked in a soft, shaky voice, refusing to look directly into her eyes, which softened considerably at his tone "Why did you reveal your voices?"
Her smile turned a little nostalgic as she mused briefly "Some things just shouldn't be kept secret. That's what Saint Catherine told me"
He nodded solemnly, choosing to change the subject out of respect for her belief "Then, why didn't you pretend they were disappearing?"
She narrowed her eyes, and he could see the question was maybe a bit too invasive "Because it would be like betraying myself, Arthur. Lying isn't something I like to do" Her bothered expression slowly melted into a pained one. Arthur silently wished that she didn't have to suffer so much to manage to make that expression "And no matter how many medicines they prescribed to me," She explained waving the wrist that held her plaster bracelet with a dry look "No matter which doctors or nurses insisted that my condition required further attention, no matter how... Weak they made me in their attempts of ridding me of these voices," Her voice broke, as she waved a hand towards her legs, which he learned, hadn't had the strength to walk for the last two years or so "No matter what the professionals tried, they still remain with me. That is why I'm sure they aren't what the doctors and Mrs. Nightingale say they are"
Arthur sighed, approaching the girl with cautious steps and gazing resolutely at her with his verdant green eyes "I believe you"
She seemed genuinely startled, maybe even slightly scared for him "Arthur, you..."
He then offered her his kindest smile yet "I believe in you, that's why, I'm sure you'll overcome this"
Those were the words he had been more thankful for in his life, since they gifted him with the most dazzling smile he had ever received from his charge. Accompanying the gesture, were words muttered with absolute gratefulness as tears slid down her eyes, glistening in the soft light of the morning sun as they clung to her lashes "Thank you..."
Sometimes the best things in life are the least expected.
If you'd asked Arthur Pendragon about his expectations for the future, a couple of yesrs prior he would have ranted on about completing his studies, becoming independent and maybe marrying his best friend.
But as fate would have it, the most important thing in his life was sitting right in front of him: His beautiful flightless bird; His fallen angel.
Hello! Lavender here!
This is the first story I've posted in this site in ages (Although, yes, I used to do that all the time a couple of years ago), and I would like to thank anyone who took the time to read this small drabble that just wouldn't leave my head.
I invite you to go ahead and write your thoughts down in the review section, if you think it was sweet, depressing, awesome, the worst thing you've ever read or if you're a grammar nazi and noticed I missed a comma. I'm also open to maybe kind of get a continuation? Or maybe a couple of side-stories and drabbles? Anyhow, this was just my brain hatching a tiny idea that I would have loved to expand more, but couldn't because of my other big projects on the works.
That would be all for now, and I suppose I'll read you (whoever you are), later.