Bethany/Nathaniel

Someone taking care of the other after being injured

I'm an idiot, Bethany thinks, gingerly testing her weight on her ankle. She grits her teeth against the pain and does her best to hide her uneven gait, chastising herself with every step. Only she could fight off darkspawn, bandits, and wild animals without a scratch, and then injure herself tripping over a tree root.

"Are you all right, Bethany?" Nathaniel, of course, has noticed.

He's the only one who still calls her by her full name. She's only been with the Wardens a few weeks, but among the others, familiarity and practicality has already shortened it to the unmusical grunt of "Beth". Nathaniel, on the other hand, still gives her all three syllables, as though it's worth taking the time.

"I'm fine," Bethany replies. She won't be the one to hold them up. Her inexperience makes her self-conscious enough without adding stupid mistakes.

"You're limping."

"I turned my ankle. It's nothing."

"That doesn't look like nothing. Can't you-" He waves his hand in the air in the universal gesture for magic.

"I was never very good at healing," she admits. It's true, mostly. Her father taught her the basics, but her skills had always run more towards fire and ice.

He nods. "Sit. Let me see."

She drops to the ground with an inelegant thump. He crouches next to her and examines her foot, prodding it with sure fingers.

"I can't tell," he mutters. "Boot's in the way..."

"Perhaps if you took it off," she says. It comes out a bit more suggestively than she intended, but she can't bring herself to regret it.

He looks up, eyebrow raised. She looks back at him with wide, guileless eyes.

"How do you do that?" he asks, a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. Small as it is, it makes him look much less intimidating.

Bethany can't help but smile back. "What?"

"Look so innocent. Do you practice?"

"Is it working?"

"Maybe." He carefully unlaces her boot, and if he's taking more time than strictly necessary, she's not about to argue. The scrape of the stiff leather makes her ankle throb, but that stops mattering when his fingers replace it. His hands probe gently at the sore spots, and watching the play of muscles in his shoulders as he bends over her, with the feel of his skin gliding over hers, is certainly the most effective distraction anyone could devise.

"I don't think it's broken," he says, pulling her out of her reverie. "Can you walk if you lean on me?"

She nods. Making the long trek back to the Keep in his arms...she's pretty sure she can handle that.

"Let's not waste any more time, then," he says, but his eyes are full of promise.