Primrose sits up, gasping for breath. Slowly regaining her composure in the dark room, she notes that in her panicky attempts to escape her nightmares, she's managed to knock all the pillows off her bed. Easing her way to the floor to collect them, she notices a strange powdery substance dusting the pillows' surface. She gathers a bit between her fingertips, rubbing it back and forth and studying it closely. "Sleeping dust," she murmurs. "Thanks ever so much, Alfyn, for the assist." She sighs softly, knowing the apothecary meant well, but wishing he hadn't tried to force the rest on her. One more thing for her to watch out for.
Carefully keeping them away from her face, she removes the pillowcovers and tosses them onto a chair. Eyeing the pile critically, she shuffles over to the washbasin and thoroughly rinses her hands, splashing her face liberally with the cool water. Her sleep-fogged brain clears almost immediately and she continues her ablutions, running a comb through her long auburn hair and humming softly to herself. A cursory search of the room yields no clothing save for the oversized linen shirt she's wearing, and she idly wonders who undressed her and where her street clothes were. Alas. For all her earlier bravado, she was definitely not feeling up to the task of leaving anyway, so the shirt would have to do for now.
She settles herself at the table and begins to pick at the plate of fruit that Ophilia set out for her when there is a soft knock at the door. Without hesitation she calls out, "Come in, Sir Olberic."
The tall knight enters the room with a bemused expression on his handsome face. "How did you know, m'Lady? Am I that predictable?"
She leans back, chuckling softly. "No, my dear, you're just that polite. No one else bothers to knock anymore." She smiles up at him and gestures towards the other chair. "Please. Join me."
"I...thank you." He settles himself in the chair and produces the flagon of mead. "Care for a drink?"
"You have no idea." She reaches for the flagon and takes a long pull, enjoying the familiar burn at the back of her throat. "Not bad. Not quite the top shelf of my father's cellars, as they were, but not bad."
Olberic smiles at her. "I should apologize for how I left earlier..."
"No, please. I was wrong to be so forward. I shouldn't have-"
He frowns at her. "Pray do not apologize, Lady Primrose, and I beg of you, let me finish."
The dancer settles back in her chair, idly picking at a loose thread hanging from the sleeve of her borrowed shirt.
Clearing his throat, the knight begins again. "I truly must apologize for leaving you earlier, m'Lady. You were distressed and asking for my help, and I fear I misread things and ran like a coward. It is truly not in my nature to do such a thing when a friend is in need, and I beg your forgiveness, though I hardly deserve it."
Primrose runs her eyes over the warrior, carefully choosing her words. "There is nothing at all to forgive, Sir Olberic. I'm quite sure you read me correctly earlier, and I most definitely should apologize to you. I was terribly forward and it appears that my timing and intentions were...off." She glances down at her hands, lacing her fingers together. "I shouldn't have made you uncomfortable. 'Distressed', as you call it, is rather an understatement. I truly hope you'll forgive my...momentary lapse in judgement. You're a better man than I deserve and I am grateful to call you my friend, truly."
Olberic rises and paces towards the window. "You are entirely too hard on yourself, m'Lady. 'Deserve'? Faugh. You are a gentle, kind soul who has been thrust into tragedy who did what was required in order to survive, and I am not nearly as good as you seem to think I am, though I appreciate your favorable opinion. Brand above knows that I have many failings. I would prefer to not have to add hurting you to that tally. As to the rest, your timing may not have been ideal, but..." He pauses, turning to regard her.
The dancer tilts her head up, gazing at him through her thick lashes.
"I did not process it at the time, heat of the moment and all that, but it nearly shattered me to see you lying there, bleeding out. Had that craven not fled when he did, I'm certain I would have cut him in two." The knight turns away again, staring out the window into the night. Primrose leans forward, watching him intently. "It was all I could do not to chase him down. I cannot guarantee my restraint should I see him again." He bows his head momentarily. "Seeing you there, not knowing if you were alive or...Even now, knowing you are alright, I cannot bear to think about what could have happened. I carried you back here praying to the Twelve with every breath, desperately hoping to save you, and never in my wildest dreams did I dare to imagine that you would ever look upon me the way you did today. Lady Prim-"
He turns back to face her and suddenly she was there. She reaches for him tentatively and he steps forward, gathering her into his arms. "Olberic?" she murmurs, staring into his eyes.
"Yes, m'Lady?"
"Stop talking and kiss me."
"Yes, m'Lady." He bends his head and claims her lips and she melts into him, her hands sliding up his back so her fingers can entwine themselves in his thick black hair. He pulls her closer, deepening the kiss, his hands dropping to her waist to hold her tightly against him. After a moment they come up for air, both breathing raggedly, searching each other's eyes. At some unspoken signal they close the space between them once more. Olberic slides one hand down to grip the back of Primrose's thigh and she doesn't hesitate to hook her leg around the knight's waist. He repeats the gesture with his other hand, readjusting his grip to lift her up and turns, pressing her back against the wall.
Primrose gasps suddenly, her breath leaving her in a hiss as the change in position sends a jolt of pain stabbing through her midsection. Olberic pulls back immediately, his steely grey eyes studying her face anxiously. "What is it? Did I harm you?"
The dancer tilts her head back to rest against the wall behind her. Olberic relaxes his hold on her waist and she tightens her legs in response, not wanting to let go of him quite yet. "Primrose?"
"I'm fine. Really. I think..." She looks down, feeling a spreading warmth on her abdomen that was quite different than the fire uncoiling deep within her belly just a moment ago. "I think my stitches came loose. Alfyn is going to kill me."
"I would dearly love to see him try," the knight rumbles.
Primrose laughs in spite of herself and swats at the big man's shoulder. "Come, put me down before you tear me in half, you monster. I need to change these bandages before I ruin this shirt."
He brushes the top of her forehead with his lips and releases her, setting her carefully on the ground. He shifts his weight and watches her cross the room to dig through the discarded supplies from earlier that evening. "That was mine, you know. The shirt."
She glances back over her shoulder at him, smiling archly. "Do you want it back?"
"Perhaps later. In truth, it looks far, far better on you."
Well then! Shall we end it here, or smut it up? Don't forget to review, and thanks for reading!