He's been here a few days now, yet to find his father or the other Narnians, but just being here in case something happens makes him feel a little better
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It is the hum that warns her, barely in time-- but in time enough.
As she comes around the corner, headed slowly from Antigone's room to her own, the bloodstained white cloak writhes into the green kirtle once more, and her form blurs as she appears again to the outward eye as the tall, almost-fey figure of Anghared.
This evening, however, she is not as fair as when last seen. One hand and part of her arm is marked with the red of a burn, and she is limping slightly, her other hand pressed to her side.
Blue eyes are cast down towards the floor, as she slowly makes her way along the corridor-- she does not appear to notice him.
He lets out a startled cry as he sees her, going to her side immediately, reaching to support her without touching her side where she seems to be injured.
"My Lady, what happened?" he asks, settling his cloak about her shoulders. Burns and injuries can cause shock, and warmth is good for shock, he knows that much.
"Shh, easy," he murmurs, opening the door to his room and gently guiding her inside, closing the door behind them and sitting her on the bed. "You're safe now, I promise."
She bites her lip as she lowers herself to a seat -- perhaps that is the reason for the small wound visible there-- and her eyes are wide when she looks up at him.
He tucks the cloak a little more around her, smiling reassuringly.
"I won't let them hurt you, my Lady."
In a drawer of the desk lie his healing equipment. No magical healer, he, but one skilled enough, with gentle hands and calming voice, to bind and tend wounds. He takes soothing salve and clean gauze from the drawer, a soft cloth and a bowl of warm water from the bathroom, and goes to kneel by the bed, gently taking hold of her injured arm above the burn and beginning to clean and salve the burn carefully.
It is a valuable promise indeed-- especially to one such as she.
Anghared smiles shyly at him, and sits still while he tends her arm. The burns are red, with blisters in places, but there is no sign of anything worse.
"Thank you," she says, and the simple words in the soft musical voice are gentle and sweet.
He finishes wrapping her arm and hand after soothing the burns with healing salve, then dampens the corner of the cloth with the warm water and begins gently dabbing at the blood on her lip.
"Are you injured besides your arm and hand, my Lady?"
He goes slightly red, looking down for a moment, busying himself with neatening the healing equipment.
"It would be best if I cleaned it, to prevent infection. I mean no disrespect, my Lady, not to you, not ever. If I lend you a pair of breeches and a tunic, I'll be able to clean it without forcing you to expose more of yourself than absolutely necessary. They'll be overlarge on you, but they should serve until your gown is cleaned."
Inwardly, the Rider is thinking furiously. She has expended a great deal of power this evening, and to lay aside anything further, such as her cloak-turned-kirtle--
Softly, she says aloud,
"My lord Rilian, I believe you; but truly it is not as bad as all that. If you would lend me of the salve, and the space of the bathing-chamber to withdraw to, I can tend myself."
Rilian busies himself tidying up the rest of the healing equipment, returning it to the drawer, and then gets the teapot and cups he keeps on one shelf, setting a tin kettle over the fireplace to heat the water.
It's a nice enough room, although a touch impersonal; some books, his sword and three daggers, boots leaning against the end of the bed, parchment and ink and quill; these things serve to lend it some familiarity, some semblance of a home away from home. There are two comfortable armchairs by the window, and he sets the tea things on the table between them.
As she comes around the corner, headed slowly from Antigone's room to her own, the bloodstained white cloak writhes into the green kirtle once more, and her form blurs as she appears again to the outward eye as the tall, almost-fey figure of Anghared.
This evening, however, she is not as fair as when last seen. One hand and part of her arm is marked with the red of a burn, and she is limping slightly, her other hand pressed to her side.
Blue eyes are cast down towards the floor, as she slowly makes her way along the corridor-- she does not appear to notice him.
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"My Lady, what happened?" he asks, settling his cloak about her shoulders. Burns and injuries can cause shock, and warmth is good for shock, he knows that much.
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"My lord Rilian-- I did not see you--"
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He guides her towards his room as he speaks, one arm carefully around her shoulders to keep her steady.
"Come, I've got healing equipment in my quarters -- may I tend to your hurts?"
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Anghared allows herself to be drawn along the passageway without resistance.
"My lord is kind to offer."
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"Truly?"
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"I won't let them hurt you, my Lady."
In a drawer of the desk lie his healing equipment. No magical healer, he, but one skilled enough, with gentle hands and calming voice, to bind and tend wounds. He takes soothing salve and clean gauze from the drawer, a soft cloth and a bowl of warm water from the bathroom, and goes to kneel by the bed, gently taking hold of her injured arm above the burn and beginning to clean and salve the burn carefully.
Reply
Anghared smiles shyly at him, and sits still while he tends her arm. The burns are red, with blisters in places, but there is no sign of anything worse.
"Thank you," she says, and the simple words in the soft musical voice are gentle and sweet.
Reply
"Are you injured besides your arm and hand, my Lady?"
Reply
Her hand goes to her side, however, where a stain of washed-out crimson is faintly visible.
Reply
"It would be best if I cleaned it, to prevent infection. I mean no disrespect, my Lady, not to you, not ever. If I lend you a pair of breeches and a tunic, I'll be able to clean it without forcing you to expose more of yourself than absolutely necessary. They'll be overlarge on you, but they should serve until your gown is cleaned."
Reply
Inwardly, the Rider is thinking furiously. She has expended a great deal of power this evening, and to lay aside anything further, such as her cloak-turned-kirtle--
Softly, she says aloud,
"My lord Rilian, I believe you; but truly it is not as bad as all that. If you would lend me of the salve, and the space of the bathing-chamber to withdraw to, I can tend myself."
Reply
"Of course, my Lady."
The salve, a clean cloth and some gauze are easily bundled together, and he helps her stand, moving back so as not to crowd her.
"I'll get some tea ready, if you like."
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"I would like that very much indeed."
Her limp is very slight as she moves across the room. The door to the bathroom closes behind her with a quiet 'click.'
Reply
It's a nice enough room, although a touch impersonal; some books, his sword and three daggers, boots leaning against the end of the bed, parchment and ink and quill; these things serve to lend it some familiarity, some semblance of a home away from home. There are two comfortable armchairs by the window, and he sets the tea things on the table between them.
Reply
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