Attack of a Magical Creature (Lancelot and Caitrin

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Lancelot did wonder what this woman thought of him. Although, she did break an occasional joke, at his expense, she appeared to regard him in a dispassionate, businesslike manner. Although she seemed to want to safeguard his well-being it did not seem to be anything personal. So much the better he thought to himself. It was likely that once he was well enough to travel it would be in his best interest to go his own way, alone. It was not in his interest, nomadic fighter that he was, to develop any complicating entanglements. He doubted that it would be in her interest to get involved with someone who was just going to disappear down the highway either.

She was attractive, that was for sure. However, he was sure that she had someone, or a whole group of someones, probably nobles, who were in pursuit of her attentions. That was the way it was wasn’t it? The good ones were always taken. And even if she was not attached to someone, she would not be interested in someone with as few prospects as he, a nomadic warrior. She was probably the daughter of a noble, he thought, and that was who she would be destined for, a noble. She had been kind to him thus far, he thought, saving his life, actually. He had no idea how he would repay her. She was probably the sort who would refuse any attempts to show his appreciation too, he expected.

He could tell, himself, that he had improved, in that he could speak more clearly now, and his head had clear slightly. The effect was both an improved ability to see what she was doing, as well as respond to her verbal jousts, he hoped, or at least try too. “I guess that men try to do it as effectively as they can. Do you find it to be effective, or is it a waste of effort I my part?,” he asked, coloring again slightly. He did find her to be quite fetching, but he figured that she would be well beyond his reach, even if they had been introduced in more normal circumstances. There attention had now shifted to what she was preparing for his treatment. She had, of course already explained what it was made from, but when he brought up Gaius, and the difference between science versus magic, he noticed a long hesitation on her part. Did it mean that she was simply uncomfortable with a discussion of magic, especially Uther’s realm, or did it mean that she was of magic like Lancelot’s friend Merlin was? It was an interesting question. Her answer, when it finally came, he found was quite defensive. “Well, of course, I would be surprised if it was of magic, especially in Uther’s realm where magic is punishable by death. However, I would imagine that you would make a most beautiful and attractive witch,” he said, smiling slightly. “Oh? …. And who passed these methods down to you. Is it possible that they were a witch or wizard, without your knowledge?”

She went further into her explanation of her treatment of it. However, he found what she was doing so much composed of common sense, that he wondered whether she was just trying to divert the subject at hand. He did find the smile that she gave, both kind and effective, whether it was simply a diversion meant for him. “Yes, I understand how dangerous infection is. I have seen it on the battlefield before.” He found her banter about his shirt to be somewhat amusing, as well as the redness of her cheeks at his response. “Well yes, I would expect that it would have to be bandaged at some point. Hmmm …. I think its more important to know what you actually meant, don’t you think. After all, when a man is being tended to by such a pretty nurse, many different thoughts may run through his head,” he winked. “Its up to you, though, to set him straight, don’t you think,” he deadpanned.

[Caitrin de Archer]

Caitrin was surprised at how calmly she was taking the situation. She had never been one to panic but this was new territory for her. She had never been thrown into a situation like this, and was glad at least that Lancelot had a good sense of humour on him. She was glad now that she had come across him because it had given her a chance to use some of her old remedies which had been lying unused in the back of her mind.

The treatment seemed to be doing something because Lancelot was sounding a lot more perkier and she could only assume that it was because of the treatment because he hadn’t rested yet. Later she would instruct her servants to close the shutters around the room so that Lancelot could get some sleep. Through all her teachings Caitrin had always been reminded that a good nights sleep also helped to fight the infection. For now, however, Lancelot seemed intent on speaking to her, and she could hardly complain.

She looked up at him as she went to answer his question. He was handsome, there was no denying that. And in their exchanges Caitrin knew that he had a good heart, but she couldn’t see herself falling for someone like Lancelot. Then again, Caitrin couldn’t see herself falling for anyone. However, playful flirting and banter was nothing to be denied, “As long as appearance is completed alongside a good wit and sense of humour, it is very effective.” She gave him a small wink. Caitrin liked to think herself unusual in her taste in men, she didn’t want a man because he had great hair, or he’d killed the most men in the kingdom. She wanted someone who could challenge her, and who would understand her.

They were back on the topic of magic and to say Caitrin felt uncomfortable was an understatement. She knew magic was punishable by death, as Lancelot kindly reminded her. It had been one of the reasons she had been so against her move to Camelot, after all, magic was not banned in Merica even though her father disapproved of it. Then again her father disapproved of most things. Although Caitrin knew she did not have a strong amount of magic, it was still there, and she had heard all about the Great Purge and it terrified her to think that Uther murdered all those people for just suspecting they had sorcery; even the children. She knew she had fallen quiet, but her magic had always been a special part of her life and she didn’t enjoy the fact that now she felt she had to hide her gifts. She smiled at his compliment, no matter how kind a heart she believed Lancelot had she was never going to reveal her gifts to anyone, at least not while she was in Camelot. “I would like to think that I was beautiful and attractive, without possessing magic.” Caitrin was falling back onto her confidence and gave Lancelot a small smile, “After all, magic is banned in Camelot.” There was bitterness in her voice and she didn’t care if it came through because she had always hated the fact she could not use her gifts whilst she was in Camelot.

She bit her lip at his question. She knew that Helgund possessed magic, because she made no secret of it. Helgund’s magic had been a lot stronger than hers. She had once created shapes in the fire to amuse Caitrin as a child. She had given Caitrin so much that in her adulthood she felt humbled to Helgund’s memory. She looked up at Lancelot, unsure of how to answer him, “Even if she did, she lived in Mercia, and Uther’s rule does not extend to there.” She sounded angry and defensive. She was doing a poor job at convincing anyone that she didn’t have magic.

She looked back to Lancelot and picked up on his gentle flirtation. She had encountered men like this before but Lancelot merely seemed interested in her intentions and how far he could go like that. She placed one hand on her hip, “Well I do not have half naked men in my house all the time,” She pointed out, “But perhaps I am enjoying it.” She waved a finger in front of his face, “For now at least.” She stretched her arm across his body to reach for the bandages by his side and began to unravel the bandages, ready to fix his shoulder.

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Lancelot thought that merely the change from the motion of the back of the horse to this more tranquil environment was a marked improvement. He was already feeling better and at least his head was beginning to clear a bit. He had to admit that riding on his horse, pressed up against her was not the worst of experiences, at least from his perspective. She probably had not even given it a thought, other than that was what she had to do to get him the care he needed.

At the beginning, even after she had arrived, he had not thought his odds of survival were not promising, and he figured, as he had undoubtedly drifted in and out, was probably not the best of patients. However, he was now here, which was a testament he figured to her determination. By what he could remember, of how she was dressed, she appeared to be noble Lancelot told himself, but she was different. There were few good Samaritans, noble or common. That she had been there was a lifesaver for him.

As his vision and mind had now cleared he saw that there was a bit of light in the rooms and could see that he was alone with the woman that had saved him. He was feeling drowsy now …. He did wonder whether she had given him something to encourage it …. But her presence was enough of an incentive to ward off sleep. And the best way to keep sleep at bay was both to talk and to think. Her quick verbal volleys help him keep alert as well. He reached out and lightly took her soft hand in his rougher one and asked, in a slightly joking manner, “and how do you find my appearance and wit? Is it effective or does it need some improvement.” Lancelot had no doubt that his humour was need of improvement so he didn’t ask, as he let her hand go and waited for her reply, which he expected would make fun of him in some manner.

He had seen her wink, but he was unsure how to take it. Although it was possible that his family may have been of noble blood in a far-off land, he was not considered to be noble here. Undoubtedly he thought she had or was likely to be betrothed to another noble, and the best he could ask for was a friendship. He understood that, especially here in Britain, that marriage was often a way to seal alliances between noble houses. She seemed to be one who would accept such a situation, if it was to the benefit to others. The only thing was that he had noted a certain independence in her character. Without it he doubted if she, as a noble, would have bothered to bring him here. In any case, he had diverted her to the subject of magic versus healing. He rarely talked of magic, just accepting its existence, mainly because, being so close to Camelot, he didn’t want something to slip out about Merlin and his magic. He had expected her to spout the local noble line about how evil magic was, but curiously, she seemed to be a bit tongue-tied on the subject, which he thought was unusual for her, and he looked at her somewhat curiously, waiting for a customary response from her. She did give him a smile, which he was quite satisfied with, if she did not care to talk about the subject, it was fine with him.

Finally, though, she did speak. “I would like to think that I was beautiful and attractive, without possessing magic …. After all, magic is banned in Camelot.” However, he noticed a definite change in tone as she ended. “I’ll assume that you aren’t bewitching me, and say that you are as beautiful as I’ve seen, milady,” nodding his head and closing his eyes temporarily. “I may be mistaken, but it seems that you may not be entirely pleased with the present attitude toward magic, or are you being sarcastic and saying that it is not being opposed forcefully enough?,” he asked. He noticed, though, that she had not answered his other comments yet, and was biting her lip as if pondering if she should say more. “Hmmmm …. Your answer does not sound that you are too confident that ‘she’ was not a practitioner of …. what is it they used to call it …. the old religion?” He watched her carefully to see if her body language betrayed any thoughts.

Her body language was not exactly what Lancelot expected, as she chose to respond to something he had said earlier. However, she definitely showed some body language as she put her hand on her hip as she responded. “Hmmmm …..,” he said. “Half-naked in your house all of the time. Does that mean that they are fully naked all of the time, or more likely, only half-naked some of the time?,” he asked with just the hint of a smile, trying to appear serious when he was not. She did say, though, he noted that she was enjoying it for now. “And what might make you enjoy it for longer?” And as she stretched across his body to dress his shoulder he brushed his lips across her face. “Like that, perhaps?,” he asked.

[Caitrin de Archer]

Caitrin was now wondering if she should fetch Lancelot a sleeping draught at some point during the night. After all, the wound would still be hurting him but if he slept then it would at least dull the pain. It would also allow him time to recover as she supposed as he was a knight he would be restless to recover, they always were. He would want to be up and about and protecting people before he had even tended to himself. Even though Caitrin admired that trait in him, and many knights like him, it wasn’t going to help him recover.

She sighed, now satisfied with her level of healing. Aside from keeping his fluids up, keeping the wound clean and slipping him the odd sleeping draught he was out of her hands now. She was sure that the wound wasn’t magical because Lancelot would be getting worse, not better if it was the case. The wound had not been that deep and she was sure he would survive it, but as she said, it was now out of her hands.

Caitrin was about to turn back to her herbs as Lancelot took her hand. It would be an important, and sweet gesture if she was like any other woman at court. As it was, although no man usually dared lay a finger upon her after a few exchanges with her she appreciated the gesture and let him take her hand. After all, he was not being rash and he was taking things slowly. She wasn’t sure she had many feelings for him apart from initial attraction, and that could only be a good thing. She had never been particularly fond of Knights, they were always too busy running about being chivalrous and acting sweet for her liking. Although she was sure she liked Lancelot in some way, she was not sure she could take those feelings much further. “You need to sharpen your wit.” She answered honestly. She assumed that Lancelot was older than her and she hoped that her wit was in better order at the same age than his was, “But as you can change that it is not a problem. Your looks, fortunately are fine, as you cannot change those.” It had been a slightly jokey answer and it lifted the mood a little bit. She took her hand back from him gently and set back to her work, giving him a small smile.

Caitrin often found it hard to conceal her true feelings about magic. She had practised it since she was a young girl, and had been brought up to believe she was special. The kings attitude to magic was the only thing which made Caitrin uncomfortable with living in Camelot. Even though she still practised magic she knew of the risk to herself. Caitrin watched Lancelot carefully, just what was he trying to imply? “I believe the King does what he thinks is best for the kingdom.” She said dryly, but she was sure Lancelot suspected something, “But I don’t think I am bewitching you, at least, that was not my intention.” She flickered her eyes up to him as she said it. It was true, she hadn’t meant to do anything, she never did but men often told her she had done something to enchant them. She still maintained that it was the hair.

Again she was fiercely defensive of Helgund. She knew she had been a practitioner of the old religion but why would that matter to Lancelot so much? She was dead anyway so what did it matter what she had done during her life. Caitrin shrugged, “She could have been. But she lived in Mercia where magic is not banned, as I already pointed out.” She hoped Lancelot would pick up on the anger in her voice and not pursue the topic further. Helgund had been the closest person to her in her childhood and she would not have her memory rubbished by this knight.

Caitrin chuckled at his comment, perhaps she had been too quick to rubbish his wit and she grinned at him, “I doubt my Uncle would approve if I had my wishes. Alas, they all remain fully clothed.” She let a small ripple of laughter erupt from her lips as she reached for the bandages for Lancelot’s shoulder. Caitrin became quickly aware of Lancelot’s lips on her skin and she blinked, not really sure what to make of his action. She looked round to him as he spoke and wasn’t quite sure how to react. Her hands were at the bandages and she grasped them and then she brought her body back so she was sitting at his side, holding the bandages. She breathed out slowly, looking back at his wound and then back to his face, “Something like that,” She said quietly and gave Lancelot a soft smile.

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Lancelot wondered how long he would have to stay where he was, first of all in this bed, but confined within this residence as well. He hoped that he would be well enough after some sleep overnight that he would be able to leave in the morning. There was nothing here, he thought, besides the girl who had saved his life, to hold him here. However, he owed her a lot. What could he ever do to repay the kindness that she had shown him? He had not a clue …. That was going to take some thought. He did not particularly like the idea of being beholden to another, especially to the weaker sex, he thought.

She had drawn close to him to tend to him after the others had vacated the room. She was still exchanging some teasing banter with him, he saw. She had given him some water and would probably e doing something with his wounds, he thought. The water she had given him …. there was something different about it. It left some type of an aftertaste. Had she put something in it, he wondered. He had been feeling more alert, but now, it was as if he was feeling slightly drunk, and his eyes were feeling a good bit heavier. He thought that he was improving enough for him to leave shortly, but now …. now all he wanted to do was rest here. He would just close his eyes for a moment, he thought to himself. No! He wanted to stay awake. He wanted to know everything she was doing. He still had questions about her healing methods.

Despite his drowsiness he had reached out for her hand, and actually latched on to it momentarily. He had wondered, from the latter part of their journey, whether she had any feelings for him. Was this the reason that she had helped him, he questioned himself. He had to reach out and see what her reaction was. He was not looking for any female companionship. After all, he was a nomadic fighter. Such a person would have nothing to offer a noble or a daughter of a noble, he considered. He had asked her what he needed to improve about himself, if anything. His wit? He knew that he not the most sociable of creatures, but if he was not already laying down and unable to get up he would have responded to such an insult. “Hmmm, I had not idea that I was so slow and dim of thought. I suppose that I should have spent more time in learning some proper speech, and less on sword-craft,” he said withdrawing his hand slowly. It was obvious that she had no interest in him other than as an acquaintance. “Ah, now that presupposes that I would want to change now doesn’t it,” he replied somewhat sarcastically. “I have got on well enough for some 20 plus years. I doubt if a change in wit will serve me any better in the taverns I visit or the battlefields I will fight on.”

He smiled thinly at her next remark. “That is a good thing, since I expect my looks are what they, and will only deteriorate with age,” he chuckled. He saw, as further indication of her lack of interest, her definite withdrawal of her hand and a shift of attention back to his bandages. Even though she was paying attention to his wounds she was more than able to discuss the subject that had been brought up, which was magic. “Best for the kingdom? ….. Uther? He does what he does out of fear I think, fear of what he can’t control. If there’s one thing that I understand about the King of Camelot it is his need to be in control of everyone and everything,” he said with a sharp edge to his voice. That, of course, had everything to do with Uther and little to do with whether magic was good or not. He still wondered what her views were on magic, despite the joking remark she made about not bewitching him. And the one that had apparently taught her about the healing arts ….. it almost sounded like she was saying that they was more likely than not a person with magical knowledge. She was definitely defensive about it, and she was not one who would take a challenge to what she had said very kindly, so Lancelot just dropped it.

At least, in his comment about half-naked men and their likelihood to be at this place she had found it somewhat humorous. It was a small accomplishment he thought. She had even laughed out loud. Given her comments, though, he wondered exactly what kind of man that her uncle was. Her laughter ended quite suddenly when she reached across him to attend to a shoulder bandage, and his lips had brushed across her face. He saw by the look on her face that she was a bit surprised, if not shocked. She did answer his question, although not too strongly, and she did have a little bit of a smile on her face. However, he knew that it was likely that she had no strong feelings for him and that he had overstepped. “My apologies, milady, for going too far. Hopefully, after a good night’s sleep I will be well enough to take my leave of you and the excellent care that you have given. I’m not sure how to repay you for your kindness …… will forever be in your debt ….,” as he began to drift off.

[Caitrin de Archer]

Caitrin handed Lancelot a small goblet in which she had put a small amount of herb oil which would induce a deep sleep. It would only keep him under for the night, but it was enough to make sure he got a good night’s sleep in. The effects would not be felt straight away but she knew that it would not be long now; it never was. She watched him carefully, always interested to see exactly how her methods were working. She felt his hand suddenly come over hers and looked down at the hand and then back to him, rewarding him with a small smile. It was a welcomed gesture whatever its intentions were and she squeezed his hand softly.

Caitrin had not meant her words about his wit too harshly and she had expected him to take it as a joke. However, as with most knights, a wounded pride was all it took for them to be incredibly defensive and hide behind their words. She didn’t become flustered at his words but shrugged softly, “As a member of the fairer sex I have little else to occupy myself than to practise my wit.” She often despised of being of the fairer sex. Somehow the world was less interesting and less accessible. The world expected her to grow beautiful, marry and produce as many children as she could. It wasn’t exactly the life Caitrin pictured for herself, she wanted more than knowing any husband she took on expected a child on her every year. “It might not, but wit is always the best sense of humour.” She said softly, “And at any rate, you could beat me in a swordfight and I could beat you in a battle of wits. What a pair we make.”

She shrugged at his comment, about looks deteriorate with age. “That is something everyone has to go through.” She pointed out, “And your looks have not yet deteriorated, so you have nothing to worry about.” A smile sealed her comment and she looked back to her herbs and bandages, busying herself as she listened to Lancelot speak.

Caitrin couldn’t hide her confusion at Lancelot’s reply to her. The way he spoke about Uther suggested that he sympathised with magic and it was obviously something Caitrin could relate to. She didn’t have much sympathy for Uther, but she had sympathy for others of her kind, the ones who were hunted and put to death for their gifts. It made her sick every time she thought about anything to do with Uther Pendragon and magic. “Perhaps one day things will change.” She said hopefully. She wanted her friend Arthur to have a softer view towards magic and allow her people to come out of hiding so that Camelot could have peace. “Who knows what the next ruler’s view towards sorcerers will be.”

Caitrin, through her relative silence at Lancelot’s words began to bandage up his shoulder. She placed a small dressing on the actual wound and used a wide bandage to hold the dressing in place. This was the more medicine bit of her methods, she wasn’t sure how much magic or hearsay was used in her herbal methods but they had never failed her in the past and she wasn’t going to let them fail her now. She tied off the bandages and ran her hand over her handiwork. Lancelot’s warm body was radiating from underneath the light bandage and she quickly raised her hand and gave him a reassuring smile, “I’ve done all I can now, and I am sure it is enough.” She stroked the bandage again, “You will be fine.”

Lancelot cut across his own actions by first apologising and then she sensed he was drifting off. That wasn’t a bad thing, and it could only be her remedy working. She brushed her hands on the side of her dress and gave a satisfied smile. Lancelot was drifting off which meant the sleeping draught she had given him was working its magic. She held up her hand in a small scould and raised her eye brows at Lancelot. Did he honestly think he would be able to ride off in good health by the morning? If anything the shoulder would hurt more as the infection was sought off. No, he would be here for a while yet. “You will not be going anywhere until I am satisfied that you are well recovered.” She was determined that Lancelot would not harm himself further through his own stupidity and rashness. She didn’t say anything at his latter comments about thanking her, because they were mingled by sleep and he wouldn’t hear her reply anyway. He was drifting off so she thought she better take her leave and just let him sleep, it was the only thing for it. It was the only thing for it. She gathered her herbs and bandages and got up and faced him on the bed. She bit her lip nervously and fell into a curtsey, I will see you in the morning.”

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Lancelot barely remembered the drink that he had been given. He had thought that it was simply water, or perhaps a little wine or other beverage to relax him, but it had a strange, unfamiliar taste to him. It did not feel like it was encouraging normal sleep, but felt like a comforting blanket that surrounded him, pressing him down, preventing him from movement. It did not happen suddenly, though, but seemed to be something that slowly took control of his senses. He remembered her, standing there, smiling, with the goblet in her hand, as if she knew something that he did not. His vision suddenly became slightly hazy, although he was only a touch sleepy, and he asked, “what exactly was in that drink.”

He had been glad to see her smile, and was mildly surprised at her response. He had thought that by reaching out he might have crossed a line with her. She seemed to be so independent, and so …. confusing. She obviously had a big heart. As an apparent noble she had taken time and effort to stop by him on the roadside, as a good Samaritan would, to not only see how he was, but to try and treat him and his substantial wounds as well. However, on the other hand, was her mouth. She had tried to help him, yes, but she had verbally jousted with him about his lack of wit. “Well then, you have put your practice of wit to good effect. I doubt, though, that it is just due to your being female. I know that my education is lacking, and that my social skills, especially with the spoken word are not well-developed. Some might say that I am a bit slow or dense. However, my wits were not developed for the right turn of phrase, but for making the right decision in battle at the right time.”

He considered that, as strange as it might seem, that this might just be her way. This might be just the way that, over the years, that she interacted with people close to her. This teasing way that she had was not meant to be critical, maybe. But it was tough for this Knight, who was used to taking things so literally to adjust to, especially in his present condition. He smiled, then, despite his ever more sleepy state, and said, “well …. if it is the better part of humor, I will leave it to you to sort out. And in my present state I think that you could take me with both sword and word.”

He smiled as well when she said that he did not have to be concerned about his looks deteriorating, yet. “I thank you for that. I am not in a lot of places on the roadside where I have the opportunity to keep up with my appearance.” He did not think that his appearance was all that great, anyway, and as long as she was letting him talk he shifted the conversation to one that had arisen when she had been preparing his treatments, magic. And whenever magic was talked about in these parts, Uther’s name generally came up as well. He could not help but see that his words about magic, and it not being inherently good or evil, were not what she expected. Unusually for her, she seemed to be at a loss for words. Even in his ever more sleepy state he could see her hesitation, and he went on to imply that he didn’t think that much of Uther’s long term crusade against it. “Yes, Perhaps it will change, and I wonder if Arthur is the man to change it.”

Lancelot, now, was feeling the major effects of the sleeping draught, and was able to communicate with some effort. He knew that she was re-bandaging him, and speaking to him that she had done all that she could, and that the healing was now up to him. She seemed to think that he would be ok. “Th ….. thank …. y …. you ….. for all you have done,” and he fell into a deep sleep. He did not here, at least consciously her response about his words of getting up the next day and leaving. Her words indicated that it was going to be her decision when he would be allowed to leave, and she, right now, thought that that was some distance away. It was clear that sometime in the process of recovery, maybe even the next day that the irresistible force was going to run up against the immovable object. Given his present condition she would likely have the advantage.

The sleeping draught had now taken its full effect and brought on a deep sleep, so that there was no way that he could hear or see her good-bye. By its very nature the sleeping draught took away a lot of his natural inhibitions. Lancelot did not think he dreamt much normally. Actually, he did dream, he just didn’t remember them, and they weren’t very vivid. Since the sleeping draught eliminated his natural inhibitions, his dreams became nightmares as they caused him to both re-live major events he had already been through, as well as blur the line between reality and the un-real. He re-lived the wiping out of his village, as well as his battle with the Gryphon. He endured a conflict with a Wilderin when was trying to rescue Gwen with Arthur that he had survived, but he also dreamt of a duel that he had with Arthur over the affections of Gwen, where each gave the other a mortal wound, that Lancelot thought was real. From this dream he awoke in cold sweat, yelling out …. “NOOOOOOOOOOO! …..”

[Caitrin de Archer]

OOC I just jumped to when Cait wakes up, I figured that would be easier

Caitrin had slept soundly all night. Her Uncle had got home not long after she had left Lancelot to his slumber. She had explained to him what was going on of course, but she hadn’t told him who Lancelot would. She knew that Rouland would be ignorant to Lancelot’s past in Camelot but she wanted to make sure that there was no possibility her Uncle knew exactly who they were housing under their roof. He hadn’t been happy that she had already housed the man without his permission but she explained his position and that she had to nurse him and set him in slumber if he had any hope of recovery. He still hadn’t been happy about it but the sweet nectar of wine had helped to soften his tune and he had decided not to care about the man and entrust him to his niece’s care.

“I don’t want him here for too long Caitrin.” Her Uncle warned her, “As soon as he is able he must go.” Caitrin nodded quickly,

“That might not be for some time yet Uncle.” She explained confidently and crossed the room towards him, “The wound is deep and leaving now would only damage it further.” Her Uncle’s mouth twitched but he nodded at her then waved her away with a swish of his hand. She curtseyed and left her Uncle to collect his thoughts.

She hadn’t taken much time in getting ready for bed. She had put her hair in a loose plait so that it could be easily moulded in the morning, she had changed into her chemise and blown her bedside candle out. That was before she had been torn from her sleep in the early hours of the morning.

Caitrin heard a shout and shot up quickly. From childhood Caitrin had always been weary of noises in the night, living under such dangerous conditions as the ones her father put their family in constantly Helgund had taught Caitrin to keep a constant watch. Caitrin couldn’t see anyone in her room, but the shout had been so loud it had seemed as if it had happened right next to her bedside. She whispered, ‘Ignius’, and her bedside candle lit up and she revelead then that she was quite alone in her room.
There was silence and she called out, “Hello?” There was no reply so she quickly shifted herself out of bed. She pulled a shawl around her shoulders and slipped on some of her pumps. Grabbing the candlelight she ran out of her room, realising then that the shout could only have come from one other room in her house,

“Gods teeth Caitrin!” Her Uncle had obviously been woken by the shout again. He looked dazed and ran a hand over his face, “It’s only just dawn!” the corners of Caitrin’s mouth twitched and she muttered an apology at him,

“I’ll see to him presently Uncle.” She went to go away but then looked back at him, “Go back to bed.” Rouland didn’t have the energy to argue so he quickly closed his door and left Caitrin quite alone in the corridor. She bit her lip and continued down to the room Lancelot was housed in, she was sure it had been him who had shouted, and she now hoped that he had only shouted because of some nightmare or some such, rather than a physical attack on his being.

Caitrin opened the door to Lancelot’s chambers and poked her head in, the man was sat upright and was heavily breathing so her thoughts, that it had been Lancelot who had shouted out, had been correct. She was sure the sleeping draught would have knocked him out until past dawn but perhaps he had resisted the lasting effects of it. However, that hardly mattered now.

She brushed over to Lancelot’s bedside, setting down the candle as one hand went to keep the shawl around her shoulders. It was hardly a warm night and the room wasn’t as warm as some of the others in the house. Caitrin wasn’t really sure what to do for a moment, she hadn’t really come across men screaming in the night before,

“Are you alright?” She asked softly, still standing beside him rather uselessly.

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[Deleted]

Lancelot thought that it had been years since he had had such a bad night of sleep. He had no idea, as he came out of his sleep yelling, drenched in sweat, whether he had been sleeping for 5 minutes or for 5 hours. He knew that it had to be closer to the latter than the former, just from all of the nightmares he had experienced. There were 4 or 5 that he could clearly remember, so there could have been several more. He had heard somewhere that you didn’t remember most of the dreams you had had. But why had he remembered all of these then, and why had they been so vivid and graphic and deadly. It had not taken him too long to come up with an answer to that question. They all had some basis or connection to real event in his own life, and that in itself, was scary.

He sat up in his bed, shook his head, and half-whispered, ”and what the bloody hell was that all about?” That had to be the most wicked series of dreams he could ever have remembered having.

“That seals it …. no matter what she does or says, she’s never going to get me to take one of those sleeping draughts ever again.” They were obviously just too dangerous. That was the only explanation wasn’t it, or could there have been some enchantment when he got clawed by the beast, he wondered.

The thing was that there was an element of truth in each of those nightmares …. sometimes mostly truth. He had just buried the memories deep …. Except that last one. He had never fought Arthur over Gwen and would never, would he? He had given up any claim to Gwen’s affection when he had left the camp after her rescue.

This did not mean …. deep down …. that he still had feelings for her or the desire to win her affections back, did it? He hoped not. Lancelot had come to the conclusion that the best way for him to follow a knightly path was to focus on that alone, without other distractions. The noblewoman here was quite pretty, but he knew that he shouldn’t allow such a person to be a distraction. Besides, she was probably not the noble-in-charge here. How would they feel about his uninvited presence he wondered. No, it would be best if he was able to take his leave as soon as possible.

However, did these nightmares and the cold sweat he had awoken into mean that he had acquired a fever? Illness would be the only thing that might prevent his departure. He would have to feign that he was rapidly recovering at the very least.

Now that he was fully awake, he could feel the full pain of his wound. Also, he knew that he had yelled out loud when he had awakened. He wondered how far the sound had traveled, and hoped that the sound had not knocked anyone from their sleep. He strained his hearing to try and see if he could here any sounds of movement.

He heard some sounds out in what he considered was the hallway that sounded like voices. There was not a knock on the door, but instead the door opened steadily, and he saw what looked to be Caitrin. It was difficult to tell, though, since the only light that he could see was shining from the hallway behind her, making her look almost supernatural.

He could tell by the look on her face, that he could make out, that she was at least somewhat concerned. For the first time, though, he took note that he was still breathing hard, and he made a concerted effort to get it under control. He expected it was from the fear that had been generated by his nightmares. Once he realized this he cursed himself silently, since fear would not be considered one of the knightly virtues.

He saw that she hurried over to his bedside, undoubtedly to get a better read on his condition. He was no longer sleepy in the least, and was now quite aware of his somewhat undressed condition, tried to cover up with a sheet and a light blanket. “Alright? I doubt alright would be to a fitting answer to what I have gone through physically, and now in my sleep. However, I expect I will survive it. I think, though, that everyone will sleep better the sooner you get me out of here.”

[Caitrin de Archer]

Caitrin had to admit that she had not been roused from her bed because of screaming once since she had been in Camelot until now. It was of course nothing to be ashamed of, Caitrin could not imagine the horrors that one had to face with being a knight. Perhaps the sleeping draught had not been the right thing to do, it induced a deep sleep which sometimes caused memories to stir, even ones that had been forgotten. Helgund had warned her of that many years ago and she’d been a fool to forget it, but she’d never had a problem with it before when she had treated the people who worked her Uncle’s lands.

Caitrin knew how nightmares could affect the living mind. She had suffered dreadfully with them when she had arrived in Camelot, they always involved her being hunted down for her sorcery, and always ended the same way; with fire. She shuddered and brushed the memories gladly away. She was in her third year of residence in Camelot and hahd still not been caught, there was nothing to worry about. She moved closer to Lancelot and looked over him, did he have a fever? His face had broken out into a sweat and his chest was rapidly moving up and down. She had to squint her eyes to see anything against the single candle light she had brought in with her. What she wouldn’t give to just light them all within the blink of an eye, but in front of a knight it wasn’t going to happen. She moved away from Lancelot and lit the two nearest candles to his bed so that she was given a bit more light to look over the situation.

She was sure now that Lancelot’s dressing would need changing, had she missed some sign of infection? Her mouth twitched, no she had been certain she sufficiently cleaned out the wound. Perhaps the sweat was a result of the nightmares? She sat down on the bed, so she was next to him and looked over his sweat drenched face. She placed a hand on his forehead; he had a slight temperature but it wasn’t as bad as she had first suspected. It was nothing rest would not sort, she was sure of that.

Caitrin didn’t smile at his words, she didn’t want him to feel like he was a burden to her or her family. Her Uncle was just moody with everyone, it was his way after all. She didn’t reply to his comments about not being alright but did address the latter part of his speech, “It is nearly dawn anyway.” She said softly, “My Uncle will be rising soon, and so would I, think nothing of it, you are our guest until I say you are alright to leave.” She was being fully serious now, if Lancelot thought he was being brave or daring by running off whilst he was still injured he would only be harming himself. “Give me a moment.” She commanded of him and sharply left the room. The corridor was now empty as her Uncle had gone back to bed, she was glad, she didn’t care for his moods at any hour of the day but especially not in the early hours of the morning.

She quickly got some new bandages from her stores and then ran downstairs and got a goblet of water. It was actual water this time and not a sleeping draught, no she’d now learnt better than to use it on Lancelot. Entering his room again she set the goblet on his bedside, “Drink that, it’ll calm you.” She quickly added, “It’s just water, I promise.” Her mouth now twitched as she held the bandages and looked over the man, “I’ll have to redress your wounds, are you ok with that?”

[Deleted]

Lancelot had never had dreams or nightmares or flashbacks of events like he had just experienced. He did not know if it was an after-effect of the wounds that the beast had given him, or some medication that she had given him or a mixture of the two. It was not possible that what she had given him was enchanted in some way was it? He shook off the thought almost immediately. The girl had done much to help him, and in fact, if it wasn’t for her it was likely that he would have bled out on the spot, and not survived. It wasn’t a heavily traveled area, and it had been late enough in the day where he might not have been found until the next day. She would not have done anything on purpose that would have caused him discomfort, he thought.

Lancelot thought he had heard the door to the room open, and there did seem to be a little light in the doorway, but he could not be sure. He was concentrating on regaining control of himself and his thoughts. He had wondered initially what that screaming was that he had heard originally. It had sounded like a man’s voice he had thought initially. It occurred to him that the voice sounded strangely familiar, and then he realized it was his voice. When he had figured out it was himself who was yelling out, obviously in fright, Lancelot was greatly embarrassed and humbled. Was that any way for someone who professed to live by the Knightly Code to to act? It was humiliating to say the least. He focused on keeping his mouth shut and any sound to a minimum, as he sensed both the moistness of his skin, and the shivering of his body, He did not know if the sweating was from fear or not, but he struggled mightily to stop any outward display of fear, either from perspiration, shivering or sound, as he sensed someone holding a single candle moving across the room.

It was taking him quite a bit of effort for him to regain control of his body, but as the person approached, holding the candle, he managed to stop shivering and made no sound. He sensed that they were bending over his body, as if they were inspecting his condition. Finally, he felt the bed seem to stir as someone at down on it. He assumed that it was the woman, the person who had rescued and treated him, especially when he felt her hand on his sweaty forehead. The light for her candle was quite dim, so it was only now, when she was a foot or two away, that he was able to recognize it was her.

Her hand did feel comforting on his forehead, he had to admit. It felt dry and cool. He wondered if it felt good because it was a feminine touch or maybe it was simply because he had a fever of some sort. Whatever the case was he felt that he should go as soon as he could. He was becoming a problem to have around he was sure. Had he heard her right …. that he could not go until she permitted it? “Does he think of me as a ….. guest? Am I your prisoner then? A guest, I would think, decides on his own when he is to leave, unless they displease their host and are thrown out. Are you sure that your uncle is not displeased? In my experience most who get woken up in the middle of the night are not …. pleased.” She seemed to be used to giving commands and he was not unfamiliar with being ordered about, so he responded with a “yes milady.” He watched as her striking image faded into the darkness and he heard the door open and close.

He was not sure how much time had passed, but he thought it had been only a few minutes. He heard the door open again, and saw it was her as she approached the bed. The difference this time was that she did not stop to look at him, but appeared to be carrying something. He saw her set a goblet down next to him at his bedside. “What is it ….. water …. very well.” He did trust her, but as he took the goblet he sniffed at the liquid surface, noted that it had no odor. First he took a sip, seeing that it appeared to be water, then took a longer drink. He heard her next question, thought for a second, and said, “yeah …. yes …. I suppose it has to be done.” He really expected that he was not in a position to argue, and he decided to wait and see if she had any comment or news about when he would be able to leave and what say he would have in it.

[Caitrin de Archer]

Caitrin was slightly worried about Lancelot’s temperature, of course it was nothing to be overtly concerned about because she was sure she could bring it down. She would not take any action to do that though until the shock of his dreams passed him. Caitrin could relate to that, it didn’t matter how strong, or how much of a brave face you put on in your waking life, your mind still knew your deepest and darkest fears, and it knew when there was something wrong and usually exploited it. Caitrin’s most vivid nightmares involved her being burned for her sorcery, or sometimes she had nightmares about being married off to some brute of a man. Both reflected her waking fears, but Caitrin had always tried to ignore them and just live her life as she intended to.

Lancelot was still breathing heavily so the shock of waking up mustn’t have passed yet. She wondered what he had been dreaming about which could be so bad it would turn a knight into this. Then again, Caitrin had no idea what he had seen. She remembered some of the tales her fathers mercenaries used to tell her, of men crying out in the middle of a battle, half dead already. She’d felt sick everytime they’d told her a different story, but her father had always ignored her plans to leave, as of course he had enjoyed the stories.

She found herself giving Lancelot a small giggle at his words; her prisoner? Oh that was a first. She’d never been accused of keeping a man prisoner before, then again she’d never been in this situation before. She just didn’t want Lancelot to go running off at first light and risk making the wound even worse than it already was. She furrowed her eyes at him, still standing in front of him with her candle in hand, “You are my guest, not my Uncle’s so it is not his place to judge.” She gave another short laugh as she began to address his accusation of her keeping him prisoner, “None of my other guests have accused me of keeping them prisoner!” She laughed but then considered Lancelot, “But if its easier to think of yourself as my prisoner, then I’ll have to agree; you are.”

She noted his caution at the water she had given him. She was deciding in her head to never tempt him in with sleeping draughts again. They wouldn’t need one now anyway, the first night was almost over and that one was always the worst. She breathed in slowly and nodded as he gave her permission to change his wounds, in fairness she probably would have done it if he’d have given her his permission or not because he was right, it did need doing.

Caitrin sat herself down beside Lancelot and drew her legs onto the bed, it gave her more stability if anything else to sit in this position. He had not put his shirt back on the night before which was now turning out to be of great convenience as it meant she could redress his wounds quickly. She began to take the bandages off his wound, becoming more tender with her touch as she neared the site of the injury. As she took the last bandage off she inspected the wound quietly for a few moments. She moved around Lancelot to grab her candle and held it close to the wound. She could see slight signs of infection, but that was to be expected, after all Lancelot could have been sat in the forest for a while so the infection had been allowed to flourish. However, it was small and not life threatening so she was satisfied with her work. She still had her hebrs she had used earlier by the bedside so she reached down for the cloth she had used to clean out his wound before and began to dab it softly, “You have a few signs of infection.” She said calmly, still dabbing into the wound, “But I believe it is not life threatening, you have little to concern you if you will but rest for a few days.”

As well as enjoying Lancelot’s company, Caitrin didn’t want him to run off and just injure himself straight away, that would do him absolutely no good at all. She then placed a hand on his shoulder with the bandage underneath. His skin felt warm but she tried to ignore that as she started to redress his wound again. She was just to the side of him and managed to give him a small sort of smile, “Is it really so bad, being my ‘prisoner’” She jested, watching where she was placing the dressing to ensure it covered his wound perfectly.

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[Deleted]

As Caitrin pulled her hand away from his forehead, and looked at it, apparently deep in thought, Lancelot wondered what she was considering. “Is there anything wrong …. anything I should know?,“ he asked. His fighting skill, in the past, had generally meant that he inflicted injuries and was not on the receiving end. Also, he was not normally laid low by illness very often, which was something that he generally attributed to being toughened by his nomadic life, living out in the elements. So being feverish was not something that he was used to. Whether sick or not, though, he was glad to have company right now, since he did not want to sleep and have his nightmares recur. He would much rather stay awake and suffer fatigue than experience the fear that those nightmares had put him through.

As soon as he had seen it was her he had tried to gain control of himself. He did not want her to see him in a state where he was weak and not in control of himself. He took some deep breaths and tried to think some tranquil thoughts, which helped, but did not completely calm him immediately. He hoped that she did not see how uncomfortable he was with her seeing him this way, since the last thing he wanted her to see was him acting in a way that was not Knightly. He had been conditioned to believe that he should act without fear, in every situation, even in situations that put his life at risk.

He had tried to divert himself and her by responding to her comments. When she giggled at his words he wasn’t sure what to think …. Was she making fun of him? “I am your guest? But doesn’t your uncle have the last word here given his elder status?” He listened to her laugh again and it seemed as if she was making fun of him. “I have taken care of myself, by myself, since I was fourteen. I think that other than yourself or my uncle I have always been the best judge of what is best for me, and I see no reason to change now. Why, have you made a habit of keeping other ‘guests’ against their will. …. as I thought …. a prisoner …. And how do you propose to keep me here then?” He knew that at this moment he was in no condition to take his leave, but he would not willingly leave himself in another’s power without a struggle …. even someone like her.

He noted as she gave him the liquid to drink that she was eyeing him carefully. Was it because she wanted to see if he would willingly take the water that was offered? Or was she waiting to see if he was gullible to take some potion that was going to affect his mind, like whatever she had given him before had affected him. Was she a sorceress that was giving magical potions, he wondered. He believed that the magic itself was neither good or evil, but he had surmised long ago that its practitioners could be.

She had saved his life, though, he considered. He would not agree to be a willing prisoner, but he did believe that she had cared for his well-being … so far. He gave his grudging permission to have her change his bandages. He knew it had to be done, and as much as he tried not to admit it, he didn’t mind her caring for him. He just could not stand her lording it over him …. almost daring him … that she was the one in control and not him.

He thought she would dress his wounds and change his bandages as she had done before. He really was not prepared for her to sit down on the bed next to him ….. and be as physically close to him as she was, especially given the fact that his shirt had been taken off. The truth of the matter, he guessed was that the slashes from the creature had pretty much shredded it to the point of being unusable anyway. He noticed, surprisingly, that her touch was not as rough as it had been before, and was even tender in comparison. He noticed very little pain as she went about her work, even though she indicated that there was some infection that was present. “That is good, then, isn’t it. Does it mean that I will be able to get up and leave in a day or two?,” he asked, hopefully. He noticed that she applied some of the same medications to the wound that she had before. “A few days? Surely it is not so bad that it will take that long to recover from, is it?,” he asked, wondering if she really was trying to make him well enough that she could send him on his way. Or was she trying to keep him here as long as she could, he wondered.

As he had before he wondered exactly what she was thinking more than he listened to her words. He also noticed that she had moved from the tender touch that she had used on his wound to a soft touch on his rounded shoulder after the bandage was re-applied. Even through the bandage he could feel the comforting coolness of her hand. He had assumed before that the sensation was due to the fever he was carrying, but now he wasn’t quite as sure. As he heard her question he was not sure it was totally a jest, and therefore didn’t know quite how to answer it. “Umm …. I suppose its not so bad …. as long as you treat your prisoners well. But I swore not to be vulnerable to any man again since my village was destroyed long ago. To be vulnerable is to be weak and weakness is not a knightly virtue, and a prisoner, by its very definition, is someone who is too weak to be free …. aren’t they?,” he asked as she covered his wound once more.

[Caitrin de Archer]

At Lancelot’s question Caitrin shook her head. A temperature that was slightly above average was normal, if not expected for someone who had gone through such a trauma as Lancelot had experienced. She gave him a soft reassuring smile to cement her shake of the head, and then furthered it with words, “No, your temperature is raised but that is to be expected.” She gave a faint laugh, “I would probably be more worried if your temperature was completely normal.” Of course she was joking, but she had expected him to have a bit of a fever. If he could have got to him quicker then of course the threat of any infection or illness could have been stopped; but she had not and they both now had to deal with the consequences of a delayed treatment.

Caitrin had not really seen a man in this sort of form before. She’d seen plenty of soldiers in all sorts of conditions, but she had never been this involved in one. There had been many men who her father had employed who had been treated at their house after large battles. One man had been crying out all night, and she hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep. That was probably the closest she had ever got to anything like this before. She didn’t think any less of Lancelot for the condition he was in, as he was a knight and she’d been around in Camelot enough to know that Knight’s valued their reputation above most things.

Lancelot obviously did not know her at all if he believed that her Uncle had the last say in whatever she did. True, in some things she did listen and obey him because at the end of the day she was under his control; legally. However, when she knew she could get her own way with something she often pushed it until she did. “He will present no problems to your being here if I say you are my guest.” She pointed out, as she was sure as long as Lancelot did not get in Lord Rouland’s direct way then he would be perfectly welcome in the house for as long as he needed to be. Caitrin smiled at his later words, about how she intended to keep him as her prisoner, “Perhaps I will use my womanly ways to keep you in your bed.” She softly teased, because she had no intention of letting Lancelot run off and injure himself further; she would feel too guilty if he did that.

His words pressed with her, and showed her his reasons for wanting to be off quickly. Fourteen was no age to be looking after ones self. She gave him a soft sort of smile and set to her work. She knew it had been hard enough practically raising herself from the age of twelve when her nurse, Helgund, had died. She’d been too old to be given a new nurse, and the family hadn’t bothered with tutors or anything like that, and in such a large household she’d been left to her own devises most of the time. “It must have been hard, raising yourself.” She asked him quietly, her eyes focussed on him.

She couldn’t help their close proximity, how else was she supposed to focus on her work? She found their bodies quite close as she changed the bandage and began placing the other one on his wound. She could only see the side of his face as she was facing him side on. She managed a smile at his words, “Am I really that bad you want to get away as quickly as possible?” She didn’t think her nursing was that bad? Her tableside manner certainly needed some work but that was it really wasn’t that bad was it? Plus, she was helping him recover, and wanting to leave every two moments was hardly showing gratitude really.

As he spoke about his village her heart lurched in the same way it did whenever she heard about the Great Purge. She couldn’t ever imagine being turned out of her home because it had been destroyed. She put a hand on his shoulder, she wasn’t even sure why she had done it. Perhaps to try and give him some comfort? "I'm sorry." She said quietly because that was the only thing she could think of saying.“I do not think you are weak.” She assured him, “You will make yourself weak if you leave, you need to learn patience and just wait until you are fully rested.”

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[Deleted]

Lancelot, at first, didn't know whether to believe her or not. She had obviously given him something that had not agreed with him, that had already caused him a restless night. She had save his life already, he granted her that, and had given him water just now. At least he was pretty sure that it was water. However, a fever was, well, a fever, and how could that be called anything but bad. After all he assumed that the fever had brought on the sweats that he had woke up with, hadn't it? She smiled at him, which probably perturbed him even more, and then said something that he just had to question. "Expected? ..... Expected ..... Just when is a fever the expected result of anything that is good?," he asked.

And the she laughed ... she laughed and said if he didn't have a fever that wouldn't be normal. "But isn't that what you want .... no fever?" The laughing off of it was what really bothered him. A sick patient, especially a fighting Knight, who wants to be out of the bed yesterday, who still wasn't happy when Cait said that she would decide when and if he was going to be allowed to leave, was not one to joke with. He simply did not understand this treatment, and was ready, once more, to get up pout of the bed and leave. To that end he through back the covers on his bed and started to sit up.

He was not even sure how much experience this young girl, probably younger than he was had with these types of cased. What guarantee did he have that this was going to turn out for the better? He had probably treated more battlefield injuries than she had, he told himself. "Exactly how many wounds have you treated from the attack of an enchanted beast before, anyway?" He wondered exactly what kind of hands he had entrusted himself into. He naturally assumed that her uncle was in charge here, and her comments notwithstanding, not her. To his surprise, she responded to his questioning comments about who really ran things around this place. "You mean to say he will ask no questions at all? Such as who I am, who I serve .... nothing like that?."

"Why is that sufficient," he said as he narrowed his eyes while looking at her. Just who did this woman think she was? Just as he had said, he was basically a prisoner in everything but name. And then there was that smile and little laugh again, as if she had a secret or a private joke that nobody else was privy to. "Will Lord Rouland never even come to inquire what is going on in his own house?" As Lancelot tried to sit up,he responded to her little quip that, "it will take stouter restraints than your womanly ways to keep me in this bed. What are you prepared to do?." he asked as he continued to struggle, mostly against the weakness of his own strength. The fever may have been low, but it and his other symptoms had sapped much of his strength.

He saw that his words of his past apparently did have an effect on her, as he saw her facial expression change somewhat. He collapsed back in his bed, as he, for the moment, gave up his attempt to rise from hi bed. She did not say anything, but gave him one of those small smiles that he had grown used to, and then was about her work. He was well aware of the strains and dangers he had gone through after leaving his old destroyed village. He wondered if life had always been easy here. "You talk much of your uncle. Where are your parents and the rest of your family, " he inquired. "Yes ..... yes it was hard, but that was life. I just had fewer people who could watch over me ..... I had none in fact. Life had been hard enough before they were wiped out. Now, it had changed to move forward or die," and he saw that she was looking at him. She was probably feeling sorry for him, he thought, and he just hated when people felt that way.

Lancelot had more experience with swords than he had with women, and he was not used to be this close with one, pretty or not, and given his state of dress he felt somewhat uncomfortable. However, she had work to do in changing his bandages, so he just stared straight ahead as she did her work on his shoulder. "Huh ....um ..... no ...um .... you are not bad at all. You are very good .... I think .... in fact. I just feel that I should be doing something useful and I expect that you would rather be doing something more useful than tending me. You are as pretty of a nurse as I've ever seen. I expect that you would want to have better company than me as well."

Cait was full of surprises. You almost never knew when she was joking and when she was serious. Suddenly, though, he felt the comfortable feeling of her hand on the un-bandaged part of his shoulder and he turned his head to look her in the face. "You have nothing to feel sorry about, it was not something that anybody could have stopped," he said as he imagined she was talking about the attack on his village those many years ago. "Your hand, though, is appreciated," he said with a smile. "You always bring it back to that don't you. Its almost as if you don't want me to leave. Exactly how long do you want and expect me to stay?"

[Caitrin de Archer]

Caitrin’s little jests about the fever were not met well and she flinched at his words. Did he not know she was not being serious? She didn’t reply to his comments about the fever, because she believed that she had hit a nerve so she wanted to stay well back from that. She therefore just continued her work, occasionally looking up at Lancelot through the candlelight.

In her whole life Caitrin had not treated as many men as she perhaps would have liked to. She had helped to treat the occasional case at home, but that had only ever been a minor cases and she had usually only been caring for them until a physician could be found. In Camelot however she had often treated minor cases in her village. “I have treated many cases in my time, though I cannot honestly say how many were magical.”

Caitrin knew her Uncle would probably question her about Lancelot over breakfast, but as long as Lancelot did not become an inconvenience to her Uncle then he would not care how long the man stayed. Her Uncle had a very set routine, and as long as that was left undisturbed he would not be bothered. “He may ask me about you over meal times, but he will not barge in here and question you himself personally.” Was her short reply and she gave him a satisfied sort of smile. “He will not mind what is going on as long as we stay out of his way.” Was her honest and truthful reply.

How would she use her womanly ways? Well that was a question and a half wasn’t it. She was already quite close to Lancelot so she inched her head closer to his, her hand finding the exposed skin on his shoulder once more and she smiled up at him. “Well if I told you it would ruin the surprise wouldn’t it?” She ran her fingers down the exposed skin of his arm, watching it and then casting her eyes back up to him; she knew how to play a man, sometimes they were too easy.

Lancelot finally lay back on the bed, and Caitrin watched him for a few moments as she was glad he wasn’t about to just get up and rush out on her. She had finished wrapping his shoulder anyway so she set the rest of the bandages on the floor and turned back to her guest. He was lying down as he spoke, so she shuffled and lay down on her front, parallel to him and rested her head in her hands as he asked about her family. Now that was a story and a half to tell, “My family have never lived here; I came from Mercia. I am the ward of my Uncle.” She shrugged and turned over onto her back, she didn’t mind sharing this with Lancelot, he seemed like he would understand in a way, “My mother died five years ago, my father tried to rush me into marriage, and when that didn’t work he sent me here.” She sat up and gestured all around her. She remembered how angry she had been at the thought of being packed off to Camelot, but in truth she was happier here than she ever had been in Merica.

Caitrin was now starting to understand why Lancelot was in such a hurry to leave her company. It wasn’t so much as an insult to her, but he had obviously been taking care of himself for so long it felt rather alien to have someone command him about and tend to him. She would however, look after him for as long as was needed and make sure he was well tended before he set out again. She wanted to ask him more about his life, but she supposed that would be rude, and she might even upset him so she gave him a sad sort of smile and listened to his next words carefully.

She gave a wide smile as he began to redeem himself, telling her that she was indeed a pretty nurse. She hadn’t heard that before, she had heard she was pretty, and beautiful, but never had she been called a pretty nurse. Caitrin rather enjoyed the tag line he had given her. She knew already that he would want to be out and about again, doing whatever it was that knights did, but she just didn’t want him to injure himself even more. “How can I have something better to do than tend a patient who is so complimentary.” Her eyes raised to linger on his skin for a moment before raising them to his eyes, “I promise I will do everything I can to get you up and about as quickly as possible.” And she meant it, if being up quickly was what he wanted then of course she would accommodate him.

As he thanked her for her gesture, of placing the hand on his shoulder, she ran her thumb gently against the warmth of his skin. She just wanted to be of some comfort at least to Lancelot before he rushed off again. She raised one eye brow at his words but smiled anyway, “It is true I get lonely here, but should your fever not increase I expect you to stay no longer than two nights.” Now that was the honest truth. The next day would be spent trying to regain his strength by possibly resting, and the day after that he would most likely be up and about and restless; after all he did not have a serious fever.

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Lancelot realized that she had just been trying to help him through this entire process. Undoubtedly her little attempts at humor were just meant to put him at ease. She obviously had given him something that had not agreed with him, causing him to have those unusual nightmares. Even though he was technically no longer a Knight, he was committed to act in a knightly manner, so he needed to stay calm and collected as she did her work.

“Forgive you milady, if I sounded either unappreciative or questioning of your experience. My shortness with you is undoubtedly a result of both my injuries and nightmares I just experienced. You have already said that you doubted whether my injuries were enchanted ones, despite the nature of the beast that attacked me. So, whether you have experience with magical cases probably is not very important.” After all, it was not like she was a sorceress herself. How likely was that?

He still did question what her uncle was going to say about this situation. He found it difficult to believe and understand that with his elder status in his own house that he would give his niece equal status and authority, especially with her being a woman. Surely, even if he agreed with her decision to take in a wounded man, there would be some time limit for his generosity. “That is good. He will probably be satisfied with being informed of the situation, then. You are fortunate, I think, to have such an understanding uncle. In his place I think I would take a more direct and personal interest to someone who is in my house.” He saw she gave it with a smile. He wondered if it was real or just an attempt to put him at ease.

Was her comment about her womanly ways something he should take literally, he wondered, or was she just joking once more? “Is it going to be a pleasant surprise or an un-pleasant surprise, milady. I assure, you, that it will not be necessary. Since I know that you only have my best interests at heart, and that my quickest path back to full health is to follow your …. directions ….you can rest assured that I will do what I am told. One thing Knights are good is following orders.” He felt strangely uncomfortable as she ran her fingers along his exposed skin.

As he said that he slumped back into his bed, both because he was too weak to do anything else right now, and because he knew that was what she wanted him to do. He saw her give an evaluating look, probably, he thought, to make sure he was really going to stay where he was at, recuperating in bed. She had finished running her fingers down his arm, to his relief, and had finished with the bandage. What was she doing now? She had set the bandages that she had left, and was now laying down next to him, telling him her story. Why couldn’t she do that from a chair? There was a time when he would have been attracted by such a move. However, it would not be knightly to think that he could take advantage of his healer, and besides he had lost his heart to someone else long ago. He did his best to concentrate on the story that she told. “Mercia, you say. Now that is interesting. Mercia has not been on good terms with Camelot and Uther in the past, has it? A ward you say …. You seem to be treated well and have more autonomy than many I have seen. Oh ….. I’m sorry about both your mother and what your father tried to do …. although arranged marriages are quite common. I think you were a bit too strong-willed for him, eh.”

He sensed that her relations had been quite tense with her father and that she had been shipped off to her uncle because her father did not feel he could control her. Undoubtedly the uncle had known what he was getting and just to avoid problems probably gave her a wide berth. He saw that she responded well to her reaction to his comments about her appearance. Well, it was obvious. It wasn’t like it was news to her and it didn’t mean that his words would lead anywhere. They were just compliments. He was in a vulnerable position, but he felt safe that she was more interested in being independent than any man. It was good to see her smile, though. Seeing it, however, made him wonder how Gwen was doing …. more likely better with Arthur than she would ever have been with him.

He did think that she must have better things to do than tend him. “I would imagine that you have a whole list of things you would rather be doing, milady. Thank you, milady, your efforts to return me to health and my feet are appreciated.” He saw her eyes linger on him, but thought she was just seeing how he was doing. He noticed, though, her run her thumb across his skin in response to his thanks. Yes, it must get lonely, he thought. “Perhaps you should think about spending more time at court in Camelot. I am sure you would get some much-deserved attention there. Two more nights? Two more nights in bed. Oh well, if it has to be, I might as well accept it.” He thought to himself, though, that surely he would be able to sneak out well before then and remove the burden from her. “By the way, how is my horse, and where is he being kept?”