Seize Upon The Moment

[Arthur Pendragon]

Arthur wasn't sure what was happening. He was lying on the ground, his back against it, as his eyes were growing heavier. He was staring up at the clear sky, trying to force his gaze to remain focused and alert . . . but he felt himself fading. The recent events were a blur to him. He remembered riding on his horse -- who was probably long gone by now. Then, he recalled seeing a group of men harassing a young woman, and despite being outnumbered, he knew he had to intervene. They may have had the advantage of numbers, but he had the advantage of skills. He managed to kill most of them in the midst of the chaotic battle that had ensued. But . . . that was not before one of them had gotten the better of him. The blade had slashed his side and while at the time he had forced himself to remain stable on his feet, when the fight was over . . . he collapsed.

The loss of blood felt as if it was draining the very life out of him. His hand clutched where the wound was. Clearly, those bandits had not recognized him. And why would they? He was dressed in his regular hunting attire; consisting of dark pants and boots, a blue shirt and a dark brown leather vest. His crossbow was with his horse and he had only his sword as a weapon -- which he had used to defend the young woman. Now . . . he was at a loss for his next course of action. He could just lay here and let himself slowly fade away. Or, he could try to get to his feet and find a way back to the city. The latter seemed so impossible, considering there was too much distance between his current location and the city. Which was why he needed his horse, yet it was long gone by now. Plus, he knew he would not be able to make it with the amount of blood he was losing. He didn't know who was around him or what was happening.

He just tried to focus on taking deep breaths, which were growing more and more strained with each passing moment. He finally closed his eyes, not dramatic enough to believe that he was dying . . . but he would be lying if he said that the odds were not in his favor right now. The odds of someone coming to help find him. The odds of him somehow miraculously getting back to the city. The odds of any more bandits not coming back to finish him off. He was trying to focus on breathing, fighting to remain alive. Yet it felt like a losing battle as he felt the life slowly leaving his body . . . the severity of the wound too strong for him to have any hopes of surviving with immediate help. If this was how things would end, then at least it was a somewhat honorable death. At least whoever the woman was, was safe and away from the harm that the bandits were planning to inflict on her. With that assurance and comfort in mind . . . he could easily die in peace . . . if that was what it came to.

_{Setting: The woods of Camelot
Time of Day: Afternoon
Timeline: Season 1 sometime
Tag: Sinnihte}

[Sinnihte]

Bending at the knee, the druid paused in her trek to examine the small, leafy plant growing at the base of an ancient tree. Running a finger along its leaves, a small smile pulled at the corner of her lips; feverfew. Murmuring a soft prayer of thanks to the Old Gods, she grasped the small plant at its base, pulling gently until the roots gave way, freeing it from the ground, and brushing off the extra earth that clung there, before slipping it into a pouch in her satchel. One could never have too many useful herbs, especially those that could aid in tending wounds, or curing sickness. After all, there were some things that were better left to nature, as opposed to magic. At least according to some of the elder druids. In her opinion, though, there was no better time to use magic than when someone required healing -- how terrible it would be to allow a life to slip through your grasp playing with science when the problem could be fixed in other ways?

Pursing her lips, the druid, shook her head, scanning the forest floor for other useful herbs, as they did tend to grow together. The thundering of hooves coming her way startled the girl from her thoughts, sending her scrambling to her feet and away from the worn path, pressing her back snug against a tree, trying to think of a spell to hide her from view, but coming up with none, mind gripped by fear. If it was a knight from Camelot, she would likely be rounded up and executed...though perhaps a bandit would be worse. Holding her breath, her eyes widened as she saw the horse pass, fully saddled and bridled, but without a rider. Brow furrowing in confusion, she pulled the hood of her cloak up, tugging the fabric tight around her shoulders, making sure to cover the mark that identified her as one of the druids, before making her way down the path the unmanned horse had fled from. As she walked the sounds of steel clashing against steel assaulted her ears, as well as several pained cries, all of them distinctly male, a few of which were followed by muffled thuds, presumably of bodies falling to the forest floor. Shuddering at the thought, Sinnihte shook her head, clamping down on her lower lip with her teeth to keep from crying out as two men ran past her through the trees, not paying her any mind as they made their escape.

Their garb would suggest that they were bandits, clothed as simply as they were, in sparse leather armor, adopting the colours of the forest so as to remain unseen. Swallowing her fear, the druid walked tentatively in the direction they had come from, praying they had met another mortal being, rather than a beast who could be waiting for further victims to prey upon. Passing through the trees into a small clearing, she could see her prayer was answered, though she was now wishing it had not been. A young man lay on the ground, clothed quite simply, though the bold blue of his shirt hinted that he was at least of some status, though the fabric was stained dark with blood. Fear all but forgotten, she rushed to the man's side, dropping to her knees beside him, eyes travelling the length of his body swiftly. He was young, no older than her, with rather handsome, defined features. Though that wasn't what concerned her at the moment; beneath the male's hand lay a deep wound, though luckily -- if you could call that luck -- it was the only one he possessed. Dropping the hood of her cloak, exposing her face clearly, she drew her fingers softly across his forehead, brushing away some of the golden hair that was matted to his brow with sweat. His skin was clammy, and cooler than it should have been to the touch.

By the rise and fall of his chest, it was evident that the male was still alive, thank the gods, but Sinnihte could imagine that every breath must have been pained. Against her better judgement, she covered his hand with her own, gently urging it aside, so she could get a better look at the gash. "Shh," she murmured, stroking his forehead once more with her free hand, attempting to soothe him, as she wracked her mind for an appropriate spell. The virtues of medicine be damned -- by the time she could prepare a poultice and bandage his wound, it was likely the boy would have already died. Gently moving the male's hand to rest across his chest, rather than at his side, she murmured a quick spell to sever the ties holding his vest together, pulling that aside, before finding the hem of his shirt, pulling it upwards, exposing his abdomen, and giving her a clearer view of the wound.

"Þurhhæle dolgbenn," she voiced softly, using words of the old language, gritting her teeth as it failed to work the first time. "Þurhhæle dolgbenn," she repeated, placing her hand over the open wound, continuing to repeat the healing spell, determined to continue until it took effect.

[Arthur Pendragon]

In all the darkness there seemed to be some light. Or, perhaps comfort was the more appropriate word. Just when he was fading, he felt someone stroke his forehead back which gave him a most comforting feel. Almost, nurturing really as a gentle hand brushed back his hair. He wanted to open his eyes to see who it was, but felt his eyelids were too heavy to do so. He was trying to stead his breathing, letting the calming aura surrounding her take an effect on him. Which, it did. It was the only thing that assured him from thinking that the bandits had returned. The gentle way her hand moved across his forehead, tending to him, as she did the same by slowly removing his hand from where it rested over his wound. He did not protest. He wasn't even sure he was fully conscious; he felt as if he was slipping in between darkness and consciousness. He heard faint foreign words being spoken, that sounded far more distant than they actually were. Despite her close proximity, it felt as if they were being softly spoken from several paces away from him.

He didn't know what was going on. He didn't even have the mental capacity to process that this could be magic. That she could be claiming his life when he was already so vulnerable. His face involuntarily twitched as thoughts of what she was doing to him entered his mind . . . and he knew he was slipping further and further away from death. Farther away from the darkness that threatened to consume him. What . . . was she doing? Was it really magic? Were his ears playing tricks on him? What . . . he found his eyes very slowly opening. It started with a slight flicker of them slightly opening before he closed them. As if he taking time to compose himself and gain the strength to properly open his eyes. He tried again. This time, they stayed open for a longer period of time, though his blinks were long and drawn out. His vision was unfocused, unclear. He only saw a figure hovering over him. Judging from the blurry outline, he could somehow make out that it was a woman. The hair that framed her face suggested as much. Before her soft features came slowly into view. Soft and fair features and . . . was that concern? It was still too difficult to tell.

"What . . . " Happened. Though his voice was groggy and weak; hoarse from his near death experience. It was not his first and he doubted it would be his last. But he wanted to know how he had escaped this one. To what -- or who -- he owed his life to. He tried to sit up a bit and felt his head throbbing, as if someone was repeatedly beating it with the hilt of a sword. The sudden movement caused everything to spin around him, though he fought to at least raise the upper half of his body so he could find the source of his now declining pain. He looked at his expose skin, seeing a mark there. He turned to look at her, as she was still not fully clear in his hazy vision. He slightly squinted as his eyes continued to adjust to the brightness they were suddenly struck with after seeing only black for so long. "What happened?" He tried to ask again, though his voice held the same weakness; the volume hardly above a low deep register. His mind was trying to process the events . . . but confusion seemed to prevail for the time being.

[Sinnihte]

Relief washed over her features as the male before her stirred, though his features still appeared pained. Despite that, it seemed he was becoming progressively more aware of himself and his surroundings, and Sinnihte allowed a small smile to grace her lips as she shifted her dark gaze to the wound, watching as it slowly knit itself closed, stopping the flow of blood. Her eyes shone amber as she repeated the spell again, urging the stranger through the healing process, and back towards the light of day. Brushing slender fingers across his brow once more, the druid was powerless to help the sigh of relief that escaped her when she saw the boy's eyelids flicker, allowing her a glimpse of sea-blue eyes, before falling immediately shut. "Thank the gods," she breathed, grateful that he was regaining consciousness.

Relief turned to worry, however, when he spoke, voice strained and barely audible, speech failing him halfway through his question. Brow furrowing in concern, she placed a gentle staying hand at his shoulder as he tried to sit up, bidding him lie still. "You shouldn't try to move yet," she murmured, touch lingering, as she attempted to ease him back down to a lying position. "Shh," she shushed him, anticipating he would attempt to ask again, shaking her head, sending dark locks of hair spilling forward into her vision. "You must rest," she demanded gently, removing her cloak, against her better judgment, and folding it up, placing it under the wounded male's head to provide him some comfort while he continued to heal. The gesture left her in a simple gown, bare of sleeves, exposing the symbol at her clavicle that marked her as one of the Druids.

She couldn't help a slight cringe at the weakness his voice betrayed. Despite the fact that he was very clearly on the mend, it pained her to know that she had not been able to assuage his suffering entirely. The fact that he would, in fact, live, though, provided her with some solace. "You were badly wounded," she explained, gesturing to the now-almost fully healed wound at his side in response to the roughly spoken question. "It would appear it was an attack by bandits," her voice was low and gentle, as she attempted to both answer his questions, and soothe his pain. Hopefully his strength would begin to return to him soon, though she doubted it would be an instantaneous recovery, given the amount of blood he had lost before she had been able to heal him. There were some things the body had to work through on its own; blood loss among them.

Catching her lower lip between her teeth, the druid's dark gaze rested upon the male's face, taking account of his features. This man could very easily be the death of her, were he to hold her actions against her. Judging by their current location, she felt it was safe to assume that he was from Camelot, or a noble from one of the outlying villages and estates. No doubt he would be eager to uphold the laws set forth by the king of the land...though she could only hope that the fact that she had only used her magic to preserve his life would count for something. Breath hitching slightly as the thought crossed her mind, she forced a soft smile onto her features. "Though you will surely make a full recovery," she assured the male, resisting the urge to lay a hand aside his cheek, smile growing as she saw a bit of flush returning to them. "You should have the strength to return home within the hour," she predicted, giving him a small nod, as if agreeing with her own statement.

Though she refused to state it outright, Sinnihte was sure that it was more than evident that it was her magic that had aided his recovery. After all, given the severity of his wound, the male would have been unlikely to survive on his own. Taking a deep breath, and exhaling in a soft sigh, she allowed her gaze to wander across his features briefly. She would readily admit, he was quite handsome, with his strong, defined features, and golden hair that was quite a rarity in this land, complimented by bright sapphire eyes. Perhaps, if he was to be the last thing she saw, it wouldn't be such a bad thing.

[Arthur Pendragon]

Hearing her voice filled with so much relief . . . Arthur wasn't sure what to make of it. Did he know this woman? Or was her expressed relief merely out of a general compassion she felt for others? The more he awoke from his unconscious state, the more he was beginning to believe the latter . . . for the more unfamiliar she became to him. Yet, there was an undeniable aura of warmth surrounding her. Something very nurturing that helped Arthur relax and ease himself, even in the company of a complete stranger. Part of it was because she was a woman. But the other part of it was a certain comforting nature that seemed to exude from her. One that made her brushing his hair back feel more relaxing than something that should cause him to raise his guard. Perhaps it was naive of him. Or perhaps his judgment was correct. Either way, he knew he would not moving fully out of sight from her for at least a few more moments. When he felt her hand gently cease his attempt to sit up, he complied. Another rarity for Arthur.

Had anyone else told him not to do something, or even shushed him, he would have remained stubborn and argued. Asserting his assumed authority to do whatever he wanted. But not this time. For he knew she was right. He felt himself lacking the strength to fully move and with the soft urge in her tone . . . he found it difficult to outright refuse -- although it was technically for his own benefit. He moved a bit more back to his initial position, but shifted his arms a bit so that the upper half of his body was slightly propped up by his elbows. Wordlessly he looked around, his silent compliance indication that he would be here for a little while longer . . . at least. He knew he should say something to further display his acceptance of her logic, yet confusion still clouded him. It seemed that words were not even necessary for she continued to aid him. He watched her as she removed her cloak. He wanted to protest, and tell her that she would be cold . . . but once again, words failed him. Instead, he just let himself lie fully back, his head now propped up on her bunched up cloak.

A kind act . . . one that he would not take for granted. She could have easily left him for dead here. "Thank you," he said, his voice low but gaining more strength, and filled with sincerity. Regardless of his status, he did not expect people to aid him, just because. He wasn't even sure if she recognized him and that only made him more appreciative of her actions. As well as made her more caring for she did it not for reward . . . but out of the kindness of her heart. His own thoughts distracted him right away from the mark on her now exposed skin. Instead, he just looked at the sky, briefly closing his eyes as he took a deep breath while listening to her answer to his question. Wounded. Bandits. Ah yes! Bandits! Glimpses of battle rushed through his mind in fragmented bits, enough to remember the basic gist of it. That he had intervened a bandit attack on a young woman. Was it this young woman before him? "There was a young woman," he began to say, as a way of trying to determine whether she was the young woman or not.

He found more relief when she said that he would make a full recovery. How? He did not yet know. He was just focusing on regaining his strength before he flooded her with questions. "I don't remember a great deal after that." Including where exactly he had been struck, for the pain was leaving his body at a miraculously fast rate. What herbs had she used to heal him? He would have to make a mental note to ask that and check if Gaius had them. For Arthur had suffered many injuries in the past . . . never had the pain been alleviated so quickly and efficiently. He turned his head toward her, opening his eyes. This time, his vision was clear as he gazed at her. "To whom do I owe me life to?" He asked her. A way of trying to determine the name of the woman who had saved him when he would have otherwise died. He would not take this for granted. He would need to properly reward her. But for now, he asked for her name while looking at her. With his eyes focused, he was able to properly see the sight of her. This time, it was far easier to notice her beauty.

The soft features that he had hardly been able to recognize before, looked more evident now. Arthur was a prince, and the women he sought company with were often those of either equal status or at least of nobility. That did not mean that the woman before him was not alluring in her own way. He was a man after all. Not one who was immune to the beauty of the fairer sex. He would not deny that the contrast between her fair light skin and her dark features of her eyes and hair made her hold such an exquisite and graceful appearance. So much so that Arthur found himself entranced, just staring at her softly and intently for several long moments. Fully appreciationg her radiance. How delirious was he? Somewhere in his trance, his eyes that had been lingering on her face for far too long, glanced along her bare shoulders . . . gazing over the skin that was marked. It was enough to break him out of his soft, almost longing gaze, and raised curiosity and . . . suspicion within him. While his features only very slightly hardened, not too much but enough to show that he was no longer admiring her beauty.

Instead, he felt questions raise in his mind about that symbol. He could have sworn he had seen it before. He just . . . didn't know where. He slightly raised his head, this time determined to deny her objections. "Who are you?" He asked, holding a bit more skepticism in his tone this time. It clear that the recognition would soon come . . . that he would soon put all the pieces together, but until then, he would have to rely on her answers. His eyes broke from the marking to the still healing wound. Where was the scar? Were was the blood -- apart from the dried stain on his clothing. Could it be, what he feared. His eyes slightly widened, realization ever so slowly sinking into him. And with this realization, he found himself very slightly shifting away from her, out of fear of who she may be: a practitioner of magic. "What have you done?" He further inquired, his distrust for those using magic making him suddenly doubt all her intentions. Had she cursed him?! Surely she had not just saved him . . . what . . . was she doing?

[Sinnihte]

The corners of her lips quirked upwards into the beginnings of a smile as the boy -- for he wasn't quite a man yet, she had decided, in the ample time she'd had to observe him -- relaxed, stilling his attempts to sit upright. Too much movement would place unnecessary strain on the still-healing skin at his abdomen, and that was the last thing that the Druid wanted. After all, were he to unwittingly re-open the wound, it was far from likely that she would be presented with another opportunity to heal him. Were he anything like his countrymen, now that he was conscious and aware, he'd not allow Sinnihte anywhere near him, once he realized what she had done.

The tension she held from worry over the blonde began to visibly dissipate as he allowed her to nudge him gently back into his laying position, head now resting on the fabric of her shed cloak, which she hoped would provide him some comfort. Exhaling in a drawn out sigh, she found her eyes wandering the male's features once more, mind wandering until a low voice brought her dark eyes snapping upwards to meet his considerably lighter gaze. Teeth tugging lightly at her own lower lip, the druid allowed her eyes to fall closed for only the briefest of moments as she bowed her head, nodding in acknowledgement. His voice was already beginning to grow stronger, which elicited a smile from the fair skinned woman. "I am only grateful to have found you in time to see to your wound," she responded in the same subdued tone she had used before.

As she spoke once more, explaining what had befallen the boy to the best of her ability, Sinnihte could see his mind working, likely struggling to piece together the information she was giving him, and reconcile it with what he could remember. She couldn't imagine that it was a pleasant experience... At the mention of a young woman, she paused, brow knitting in confusion. Wracking her own mind now, the druid shook her head, dropping her gaze to her lap. "I'm sorry," she spoke at length, fingers finding a stray thread in the fabric of her dress, playing with it idly. "I saw no one but the bandits and you." However, the fact that the young woman in question hadn't been in the company of the bandits she had seen fleeing could only be considered a good sign, right? It would likely mean she had managed to elude their grasp. Chancing to look back up at the blonde, she couldn't help but be slightly awestruck. He had risked himself, putting his life on the line to protect a young woman from those bandits. By the way he spoke, she could only assume that he wasn't familiar with the woman... Shaking her head, she murmured in hushed tones, expressing her wonder, "you risked your life for her..."

When the male asked who it was he owed his life to, she cocked her head to the side, a few stray hairs falling forward into her line of vision. Squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, she made a split second decision. "My name is Sinnihte," the druid responded softly, hopeful that her name wouldn't be recognized as a word in the Old Language, and rather just explained away as a unique name. Though she wasn't particularly optimistic, considering all the pieces that would reveal her for who she really was were falling into place. After she spoke, the conversation lulled, lapsing into a heavy silence. She could feel the heat of a blush rising to her cheeks as the blonde kept his gaze on her, almost studying her...though the slightly far away look in his sapphire eyes betrayed the fact that there was something more to it. Suddenly finding it a bit difficult to swallow, she let out her breath in a shaky exhale, reaching a hand out with the intention of trailing her fingers across his forehead once more. She froze mid-action, however, as she caught the subtle shift in his expression. That, coupled with the fact that his gaze had dropped from her face to her collarbone led her to assume he had finally noticed her brand. The triskelion that marked her as one of the druids.

Her hand trembled slightly as it hovered above her lap, part of her still yearning to reach out and resume her soft motions, against her better judgement. Her heart beat had accelerated as his gaze lingered on the mark, hand dropping back to her lap, and her dark gaze following suit. As he sat up, Sinnihte found herself biting down on the inside of her cheek to keep from pleading with him to lie still. His gaze betrayed his new found suspicion of her, even as his eyes lingered on the interlocking spirals. The druid remained silent as he questioned who she was, unsure of what to say. Keeping her gaze down, she brought a hand up to trace the dark lines of the tattoo that could quite possibly cost her life to be forfeit.

Catching his subtle movement, the turning of his questioning gaze downwards, towards himself rather than her was all the motivation Sinnihte needed to raise her chin, ready and willing to meet his gaze once more, despite the pounding of her heart and trembling of her limbs. If he was to be her death, then she would face it with grace, despite her fear. To have saved his life was more than worth the cost of hers.

She could practically see the male's thoughts racing as all the pieces finally came together in his mind, as they were bound to. A soft melancholy smile worked its way onto her features, and she exhaled sharply in a soundless, humorless laugh as his eyes widened and he cringed away from her. At his next question, she fixed her gaze upon his before responding. "I did what was necessary. Had I not happened upon you, you wouldn't still draw breath." Her voice was soft but firm, resolve apparent through her tone. She had done nothing wrong, and would not allow him to believe that she had by acting guilty. A moment passed, and then, barely audiable, she spoke once more. "I couldn't stand idle and watch you die..."