The Hunter and the Hunted (Oliver/Yassia)

[Oliver Strathmore of Mercia]

The last thing Oliver expected from the young woman was to tell him exactly what her foreign cuss words meant. He had already pegged her as some sort of wildling, just going about her own business, looking after her own self, and not really caring about what other people want or think. And yet, she had went on to not only translate but also explain, rather lengthily in fact, word after every word. She was destroying every stereotyping that Oliver had labeled each and every nomad. It was obvious he knew little to nothing about them.

Curse the stars. She told him about the custom “where she came from,” making it sound like she wasn’t from anywhere in Albion. Curse you, hunstman. Ahh, there’s the well-directed curse aimed at nobody else but him. Rot in hell. Yes, just as he thought. She had indeed curse him to hell. She continued to explain her side, rather defensively, and Oliver surprisingly was still as attentive as he had been.

“Maleeixo les estrelles…” he repeated the words, loving the feel of them rolling against his tongue. “When something goes wrong…” He committed that one to memory, looking forward to finding the right opportunity to use it. He had dismissed foreign language from his lessons, telling his father that his brother, the Crown Prince of Mercia, needed it more than he does. Now, however, he inwardly regretted that decision. Learning foreign languages sound like fun. Maybe when he returned to Mercia, he would start picking up the foreign languages books again. “Thank you,” he told her. “And there really is no need for you to apologize. You wouldn’t have cursed me to hell if I hadn’t shot you in the first place.”

She directed them to where the comfrey was, and Oliver easily found it. She had all her herbs arranged in neat little pouches inside her bag. To some people, this may not be much, but to Oliver this spoke volumes. She was a wanderer who wanted order in her life. Huh! She must believe in the adage that goes, “A place for everything and everything in its place.” And he admired that. While not a stickler for rules, Oliver too want order in his own personal dealings. He wanted everything to be in their proper place, to be prepared well and completely. It was another thing that he didn’t expect from nomadic people. He had expected them to be all messy, everything in topsy-turvy. He was proven wrong yet again.

As Oliver took out the pouch that she was referring, too, something clicked quite belatedly inside his head. “You’re a healer!” he exclaimed, chuckling at his late realization. Other than the screaming and the cursing, it was no wonder she acted so calm and composed in spite everything. She knew how this works, she had done it before. And she was much to patient to guide someone as unskilled as he was through the whole procedure. She was a healer, and she was a teacher, too. What luck!

He eagerly handed her the whiskey when she asked for it, and then also took a sip after she did. Knowing that he was going to be dressing the wound now, he realized they needed to get the fabric of the clothes over her shoulder out of the way. As she was surrounded by men, Oliver thought it best to get rid of the rest for the mean time. He turned to his friends and asked them to move the dead body of the cockatrice ways off so as not to attract other predators to them. If they were going to be staying there for a while, it was best to keep the area clear and safe anyway. “Scout around and secure this area,” he told them, and all four immediately went to work, leaving Oliver with the young herb woman.

“We may have to tear your clothes off…around the wound, or at least move them out of the way so I can clean the wound properly,” Oliver told her in his most serious, no-nonsense tone, hoping he didn't sound like some pervert egging a woman to take all her clothes off and show him some flesh.

[Yassia Dyfrène de Ailantha]

Yassia would have really not expected this man to be so interested in curses in a different language. Was he only being polite, keeping her talking to check if she was truly alright after what they both had just been through? Or was he genuinely interested in such things? And if yes what kind of man did that make him then? Did it even matter? She noticed with amusement how he repeated her words, as if trying to memorize them. He spoke them very well, with an accent of course, lacking the trill Yassia’s people inflicted to consonants, but it was nevertheless quite good!
”Not bad for a freshman in that language”, she lauded him with a wink. “May it come in useful someday.”

Finding it rather nice that he took part of the blame – she knew some people who wouldn’t have, truly! – Yassia gave a little breathy chuckle that sent her wincing once again. Laughing was a bad idea apparently, at least right now.
”Well, my fault to run straight into you as well. Should have chosen another path than coming between arrow and prey. But I guess that’s life… who knows what use it might have in the future?”
Basically though, Yassia did think the path of her stars might have become a bit rattled and confused. Too much bad things had happened to her that didn’t turn out to be useful in any way. It was as if like they had lost the concept of her life and now tried to improvise… and were thoroughly bad at it! Maleeixo les estrelles indeed!

She watched him search for the comfrey and indeed he did not have much trouble finding it after her directions and pointers. The hide of a marten wasn’t that big after all. It might look weird dangling from her waist like a freshly shot piece of prey, but it surely held its perks as well. For one, the hide was sure to not let in much water and so her herbs had survived even her shipwreck without mouldering away. As he held the little pouch and examined it, she saw his gaze flicker to her then to the pouch and back, and suddenly something seemed to dawn on him. His exclamation almost made her chuckle again, but she bit it back for her wound’s sake. Had she felt less rattled, she might have mustered up a sassy and teasing remark like: ‘now you get it!!’, but in all honesty Yassia didn’t feel up to it right now, even though a mischievous glittering lit up her eyes as she spoke.
”Indeed I am. I’ve been trained for years by my mother. Though I never had to treat myself with battle wounds before.”

The worst concerning pain might be over, but other than that Yassia knew a few ordeals were still to come. And one of them was the actual dressing of the wound, which, to make it work properly, had to be preceded by an Undressing of herself. Luckily only partly this time, but it was still so very unseemly. Why did she always have to happen on men when she was in need of help? Was that another way of the stars to mock her? The man – she didn’t even know his name yet, she realized suddenly – had ordered his men away, and then addressed the precarious topic. Despite her firmness just a minute before, Yassia’s heart now started to flutter like the wings of a caged bird. Why had he sent his men away? Was it because he wanted to at least diminish the shame for her, not being looked at by too many eyes or did he have… other motives?
Well, once again she had to rely on someone to be honorable, even though she had not crossed path with too many honorable men before on her journey. But there simply was no other way.

”Sh-sure”, she murmured, slightly avoiding his gaze. Had her voice been a little slurred already? Oh dear… that couldn’t end well. But then she surprisingly also was past caring for that. “I best should sit up for that, yes? Help me up?” she asked, biting her lips in preparation. Would she be able to keep her upper body upright by herself or would he have to steady her? And she could not risk the fabric of her dress being even more torn, she only had this one. That lead to another, very precarious conclusion.
”If… if you undo the lacing at the back a little, it’ll be easier to clear away from my shoulder…”

[Oliver Strathmore of Mercia]

Was she mocking him yet again? When she praised him for his novice rendition of the curse she had eloquently expressed in her own tongue, Oliver eyed her doubtfully, not sure if she meant that well or as an insult. When she gave him that wink, however, he let the thought go. "Maleeixo les estrelles…" he repeated for good measure, and winked back at her.

Her chuckle brought a wider smile to his face as it reminded her of the soft tinkling of bells, but he was almost upon her when she winced again like a dutiful nurse or caretaker. Even if the arrow had already been taken out from her shoulder, Oliver had easily forgotten that the pain was still very much there. He belatedly realized that she must not exert any unnecessary effort, not just yet.

"But I guess that’s life… who knows what use it might have in the future?"

She was talking about consequences and the future, and that reminded him so much about the gypsies that he had met once or twice in his many hunting trips. They were a fairly lively group of people who are good with their herbs as well as their affinity with the stars and the future. Looking at her, Oliver wondered if she was one of them. But seeing as no one else had come to find her after a time, he doubted she were. Gypsies usually travel in groups or caravans, the young woman here was obviously alone.

"Indeed I am. I’ve been trained for years by my mother. Though I never had to treat myself with battle wounds before."

So it was in the family this gift of healing that she had. And an image of a little girl identifying all sorts of plants quickly flashed inside his mind, and Oliver had to shake his head to clear it. That was weird though he knew what brought it on. While his mother didn't exactly teach him about herbs and stuff, Oliver did have memorable fond moments with her. His mother taught him how to read and to love books. "I'm sure she'd be very proud to see you handling this situation very well," he told her. "My mother trained me to read instead," he added, feeling obligated to share something about his mother as well.

He could already feel her discomfort at his suggestion to move her clothes away from the wound, but Oliver felt that she knew it was necessary. He nodded when he asked her to help her up. Moving beside her, Oliver positioned himself so he could easily help her up without unnecessarily moving her shoulder. Rolling her gently a bit on her good side, Oliver then placed his hand and arm against most of her back while the other was positioned just around her waist. "Ready? One, two, three..." He then carefully helped her up, ever so slowly so as not to jolt her shoulder. Not confident that she could hold herself up, Oliver scooted a bit behind her so she could easily lean against him if she needed to.

At her words, he then proceeded to undo the lacing on the back of her dress until it was loose enough to pry the sleeve off her injured shoulder. When he did start to move part of the dress off her shoulder, anybody watching them would see a rather intimate moment between a man and a woman. The man taking a woman's clothes off with great care as he sat there behind her. Oliver was leaning his head over her shoulder, closely looking at the wound as he gently pulled the piece of bloodied clothing that clung against it, trying to make sure he was not making the wound worse.

[Yassia Dyfrène de Ailantha]

Yassia usually didn’t like cursing, didn’t like it at all to be precise, as it had just been a firm part of her upbringing to see it as an unnecessary blemish in conversation. Even though her mother had sometimes shook her head at how much courtesy was overvalued in Ailantha, she had taken heed of such things with their children as well, and especially with her daughter, bringing her up to be the role model of the other ladies. Her son, Ramon, had been more of a fighter and as such cursing had come to him more natural, but Yassia remembered how he had always bitten them back in the presence of their parents. Oh, the old times… before the ‘mercenary doom’, when things had still seemed like a fairytale. Was it the sound of her own language being spoken that brought back so many memories of happier times? But she also couldn’t deny that she wasn’t as offended around this particular man cursing. It sounded rather funny, to be honest, and so she gave him another smile instead of chiding him.
”See, now you’re not the only one getting something to last out of this encounter.” With the thing she had got to last she of course meant the scar the wound would most likely leave.

She cocked her head slightly as the man mentioned her mother. Would she in fact be proud of Yassia now? Who could tell. She might be proud she had handled herself so well in the situation, keeping a clear head and all, but she might be disappointed and sad that Yassia had gotten herself into this danger in the first place. But she was dead long since, and sometimes the princess thought that her mother and now her father must shed endless tears up with the stars when they looked down on their daughter having to fight so many battles. It was surely not what they had planned for her. But the stars did not shine down in favour on the Dyfrène dynasty any longer. And it was Yassia’s goal to change that.
”I hope she will be”, she mused, her eyes involuntarily darting up to the sky, searching for the stars that were still to show their glimmering light. “I am very thankful for her endless and sometimes tiring lessons right now.”

He then spoke about his own mother, which made Yassia wonder. Would she still be alive? She dearly hoped it for him, because in her eyes you were never too old to need the guiding and loving hand of a mother sometimes.
”Well, reading is a very useful skill as well!” she commented and gave a firm nod, to show she was not only saying that. “Had I known, then maybe I should have carried a sign in front of me saying: ‘Don’t shoot, I won’t bite’ or something similar.”
Yes she was teasing him yet again. It seemed the only possible outlet for her to deal with what had just happened, without openly blaming him and calling him a trigger-happy bastard. No that would not bode well. She still needed his help after all, and somehow she also didn’t think he deserved a full Yassia-outburst just now. That might come later if at all.

Yassia had expected it to hurt, but in fact, he was very gentle. That was of course due to the fact he used a whole lot of body contact, securing her waist with his arm and all, but the princess knew she was not in any state to complain. But nevertheless, she released her pent-up breath in a hiss when she was finally sitting halfway upright, and had to lean back against him for support. You never knew the part your shoulders had in that until you actually needed them…
”Thank you”, she breathed and closed her eyes for a split second to regain her strength. It must be the bloodloss for her to be so exhausted and airyheaded…and maybe the alcohol as well.

She bit her lips again, but this time not from too much pain but rather from discomfort. Or was it not even so much discomfort and that was what made her uneasy? He was so close to her, touching her in this very intimate way, maybe knowing as well as her what it usually meant for a man to loosen a woman’s lacing. Yassia even could feel his warm breath on her bare skin as he examined the wound and it made her shiver. She should tell him to stop… try on her own… and yet she did not move a limb. Instead, she felt the prominent urge to break the silence that was suddenly mounting between them. And she realized again she didn’t even know the name of the man that was now all but undressing her.
”I am Yassia by the way.”, she whispered, her speech hoarse and a little slurred.

[Oliver Strathmore of Mercia]

”See, now you’re not the only one getting something to last out of this encounter.”

She had this uncanny knack of turning would-be sarcastic remarks into something amusing. Either that or Oliver was too guilty to let her light mockery get to him. He knew she was referring to the scar that the arrow wound would leave her. He didn’t know if that would be a good thing for her to be constantly reminded of that blasted hunter who had shot a woman instead a huge cockatrice. Oliver already felt embarrassed at the thought.

Still, he couldn’t hide the fact that he was enjoying her company, and she had to be wounded at that. He wondered what she’d be like if she were all well and not in pain. With that thought, he made a silent promise to get her back on her feet as soon as possible. He owed that to her for shooting her. If not for him, she would probably be having the time of her life partying or whatever it is that nomads do.

He watched her as she lifted her eyes to the bright skies above them when she mentioned her mother. His eyes rested on her slender neck. Despite looking all grimy from the traveling, Oliver couldn’t help but admire the dainty curve it perfectly made over her shoulder.

The “neck adoration” was short-lived however when she made another mocking jest, this time with regards to his reading and shooting. He smirked at her and retorted, “I can read, but my arrows can’t. They don’t exactly swerve when they see your sign.”

”I am Yassia by the way.”

She had hissed when he sat her up, and Oliver took extra care removing her lacing. He had never expected to be doing something as intimate as this so soon. It was an intimate gesture usually reserved for a woman's husband on their wedding night. But he doubt she knew about that for she herself suggested it in the first place. What do nomads know about rules or traditions in court anyway? It was just as well. The last thing Oliver wanted was to be schooled on royal customs in the middle of a jungle.

“Oliver. You can call me Oliver,” he replied simply as he finally removed the piece of clothing from her wound, revealing rather fine and proud shoulders and an equally smooth back. “Would it be okay to clean the skin around the wound with some whiskey?” he asked quite distractedly. He was trying too hard to focus on the wound and the task at hand rather than the amount of skin that she was showing. As much as he would like to keep his own reactions tamed, he couldn’t deny that she was having quite an effect on him. She or the alcohol, whatever it was.

[Yassia Dyfrène de Ailantha]

She could have been worse off, Yassia decided in a short idle moment as she waited for him to muster a reply to her rather snide comments. He didn’t seem to take much offense in the things she said, and even had it in him to retort in rather witty ways. Yassia hadn’t had many people with which she had been able to joke around in her younger years, even though she had always loved this kind of conversation. Mircea had been one of them, even though he never talked much. Her father as well. When they had been alone, Yassia and him, they could engage each other in endless battles of wit, though of course in public they had to keep up courteous pretenses. That was also the reason Yassia had never been able to find a companion in wit amongst her ladies in waiting, they had been all too much concerned about their outward appearance and their manners.

So it was rather refreshing to work her tongue like that again, even under such unfortunate circumstanced. It also distracted her rather nicely from the pain that was still throbbing in her left shoulder. She should be at least a little grateful, yes, though of course she would have liked it better if she hadn’t been deterred from reaching Camelot yet again. This injury would slow her down considerably, and she would have to keep a good eye on it in case it got infected after all, besides all her care and precautions. She would also need some time to recover from the massive blood loss, and wouldn’t be able to push her limits in the imminent time to come. But that couldn’t be helped now, she better counted her blessings.

“I can read, but my arrows can’t. They don’t exactly swerve when they see your sign.”
Biting her lip to not laugh outright at his rather good retort, Yassia shook her head slightly.
“Well, that’s no excuse”, she stated, raising her eyebrows challengingly. “Now you know what you better start doing the next time you feel bored. Teach them! Even arrows have a right to acquire education. Then at least they are free of getting blamed for your trigger-happiness.”
The words might be sharp, but Yassia made sure to soften them with a smile. She really was not very angry at him any longer. Things like that happened and a large part of it was her own fault.

Yassia was glad she had had the idea of exchanging names. Not only was it what courtesy required, but it also distracted her at least a little from the current situation. However much he probably had tried not to – at least she judged that from his honorable behavior until now – his fingertips now and then had grazed the delicate skin on her back and shoulders and it always sent a peculiar tingle down her spine.
“Oliver”, she repeated slowly, letting the name roll off her tongue. “That would be Olivier in my language – I like it.”
The name rather suited him, she found. It was simple yet somehow special. But why she did think that she couldn’t figure out for the life of her. Must be the whiskey making her head swim…

Speaking of whiskey. What he suggested made Yassia wince even in advance. She had seen hard-boiled fighter beg for mercy as soon as the strong alcohol had burnt like a purgatory on their skin. But there was no better way to get a wound clean. The healer in her agreed with Oliver, the patient shied away from it. But eventually the healer won out. Swallowing once, she nodded with a lopsided grin. “Only if I get another swig of it first to strengthen my fighting spirit.” She should not be messing with alcohol right now, Yassia knew it could not end well. But then again, what did she have to lose? She had just escaped death.
Digging her right hand into the leafy ground again, she prepared for the searing pain.

[Oliver Strathmore of Mercia]

Oliver laughed at out loud at her incredulously funny suggestion for him to teach his arrows to read. Trust a wanderer like her to think of absurd and crazy jokes like that. "My trigger-happiness?" he repeated her description of him with amused disbelief. "It's not my fault you wanted to live on the edge and see if you can outrun a cockatrice. That is a rare hobby you know. Let's see...apart from you, who else do I know does that? Hmmm...no one!" he replied with a teasing glint in his eyes. Right now, Oliver was really interested to know how she came to be in the war path of the dangerous animal. He made a mental note to ask her about it later. Not a lot of people would want to be caught dead in her situation at that moment, especially not him.

When she repeated his name, Oliver paused from examining the wound and looked at her rather oddly. There was something about the way she spoke his name that made Oliver feel warm tingles creeping into his body...in a good way. His name had never sounded so soft and beautiful in anyone else's lips. "You have a beautiful name...unique..." he told her with a smile. "What does it mean?" He could no longer resist asking this time. The name "Yassia" wasn't exactly a common name, not in any parts of Albion as far as he could tell. He didn’t speak her name out loud just yet for he wanted to give it justice by knowing what it meant first.

The thought about cleaning her wound with whiskey obviously wasn't much to her liking, but Oliver wished she wouldn't mind. With the help of the comfrey, the alcohol would at least help disinfect the wound. He saw the battle happening in her head from the way the expression on her face changed from apprehension to indecision and finally to resolution. Oliver only shook his head laughing when she finally spoke and handed the bottle of whiskey to her. "Don't drink it all up now. Leave something for your healer," he teased.

Oliver, too, took a swig himself to calm his nerves again, and then took his coat that he had draped over her earlier and positioned it just beneath the wound on her shoulder so as not to drench the rest of her dress with the whiskey. With as steady a hand as he could muster, Oliver slowly poured the liquor over her wound even as he held her close from behind to keep her still as the pain came.

[Yassia Dyfrène de Ailantha]

Trust him to get her back!! Yassia couldn’t help an amused smirk spreading over her face and even lighting up her eyes this time, almost forgetting the pain and the circumstances she was in. This was something she liked! Even though they had just met, they oddly enough had found a mutual base of understanding, both enjoying to hurl mocking insults at each other while never toeing the line of actual blame. Maybe it was because he had shown so much care beforehand that Yassia did not want to accuse him. He had made up for anything he had done by agreeing to treat her wound without hestitation. And he had shown quite some guts as well. Not everyone was born to treat battlewounds, not even all men. They might not faint at the sight of blood but they surely also could get queasy. But instead of committing the fatal mistake of taking her elsewhere to get the responsibility off his back, he had acted promptly, and probably had saved her life with that.

”We’ll never know now who would have won”, she gave a mocking sigh. “Though as I have been the first one to be hit by your arrows I claim this as a proof that I eventually would have won anyway.” A bold thing to say and absolutely ridiculous if you thought about it. Because the cockatrice had been fairly fast, and Yassia might have been caught by it within minutes had this not been ended by this hunting party. Looking at it that way, he might as well have saved her life by shooting her in the first place. How peculiar…
”And a rare hobby you call it?” she added with a wink. “Well, I am know for my rare hobbies.” That wasn’t even so much of a lie even though he of course could not know any of this. Herb lore itself was a rare hobby for a princess, yes?

Was she actually … no, she could NOT be blushing like a maiden just because he had called her name beautiful?! And yet, even despite the massive bloodloss, Yassia could feel her cheeks heating up at his words. She knew her name was rather unique, especially for the people in Albion, and she had been told by many that it was nice… so why was she acting all pathetic now?!
”Thank you…”, it came as merely a whisper, but then she told herself to get a grip and act properly. Clearing her throat a little, she added: “Well, it’s a very rare name where I come from as well. My mother once told me that it means something like ‘perfect’ or ‘complete’ because it is made up of two syllables. ‘yas’ means ‘beginning’ and ‘sin’ or the female form ‘sia’ means ‘end’.”

Taking the flask with a little snort, she took another hearty swig and found it didn’t even taste so bad anymore. Didn’t burn as much either…hmm… was it a bad sign to get used to this? Oh, whatever! Handing him the flask back, she shook it a little so you could hear the liquid sloshing inside. “There, still much left for your own needs, Oliver. Don’t you fret!”
It was worse than in her imagination. As soon as the first drop of whiskey touched the torn and bloody skin of the arrow wound it was like Oliver had just lit a fire right on her shoulder. It burned, it seared, it simply HURT. A thousand pricks with a sharp needle and a glowing piece of charcoal was nothing against it. Clenching her teeth and digging her fingers deep into the ground, Yassia arched her back and her head collided with Oliver’s chest. It was fortunate he held her so firmyl, practically cradled her in his arms, because if not she would have tossed and turned, her body instinctively trying to flee from the torture. She only unclenched her teeth once to let out her breath in panting, ragged gasps and draw in a new one.

[Oliver Strathmore of Mercia]

”We’ll never know now who would have won. Though as I have been the first one to be hit by your arrows I claim this as a proof that I eventually would have won anyway.”

These words made Oliver laugh out loud yet again. She was really something. One of a kind. He had never met a woman before who could just as easily make up things like that, and with no care whatsoever what others would think. It rolled quite easily off her. Most women he'd met in court were either too shy to talk or too conscious to talk a lot. Some actually do talk a lot, but none made sense to him whatsoever. Yassia here was quite positively pushing the right buttons to get him rather amused at their current predicament. She was making him forget the rather awful thing he did to her. It was as if she had forgiven him. Even if her remarks were still a bit biting, Oliver could feel that it was all light-hearted and well-meant underneath. He really liked how comfortable she was with him, and he too liked how he was easy with her. Perhaps it went with the territory that nomads don't really care for titles or what-not, and that Oliver had practically not told her exactly who he was. Yes, that was it, and it made Oliver decide that he was going to keep his true identity from her in fear that revealing himself might change the dynamics between them. He was loving what they had now. He wouldn't let anything destroy it.

"Once you're feeling better, we'll find the nearest tavern and celebrate your win in the race," he told her, still laughing at her remark. "We'll invite the entire village and the villages surrounding it! There will be lots of dancing and singing and merrymaking in honor of your victory!"

When she told him she was known for her rare hobbies, Oliver's interest was considerably peaked. This was his chance to get to know more about her and her kind. Maybe, just maybe, he'd find it in him to leave the life of a prince and become a nomad. Crazy thought, but if he was going to spend wandering the forests or being chased by cockatrices with Yassia, he knew it would be worth all the fun. The freedom would be exhilarating. He didn't know how or when it happened, but Oliver was starting to get rather fond of the young woman. Very fond in fact that it was developing into a crush. "Let me guess...you also like jumping off cliffs for fun?" he teased.

"Yassia," he finally said her name, testing how it felt in his tongue, savoring its sweetness. He liked her name. "Perfect. It suits you quite well. You are perfect." Oliver had to kick himself mentally for that remark. Did he just say something so cheesy? Geez! Was he flirting with her already?

Clearing his throat to try and regain composure, he focused his mind on the task at hand. Turns out, he didn't need to focus too much. As soon as the whiskey licked her wound, Yassia had hissed in pain and it was all Oliver could do to help her out. He moved his hand over her forehead and held her close. "Shhh...shhh...it's all right, Yassia. It's just a small sting." he comforted her like one would a distraught baby. Seeing her in so much pain, Oliver felt guilty once again for shooting her. "I'm so sorry..."

[Yassia Dyfrène de Ailantha]

Wasn’t it slightly unfair that Oliver could laugh out so freely and made her laugh in return, when Yassia had to bite back this wonderful means of communication because it brought her too much pain? Then again, even holding it back forced her muscles to tense and that did not go without pain either. So what was the lesser evil?
She enjoyed hearing him laugh however. Many men she had come across had a rather unpleasant laugh, too loud, too boisterous, sometimes even mean or dirty. But Oliver’s laugh, however hearty, was never too much or out of place. It was even rather charming. And aside from the laughter she also enjoyed what caused it in the first place. Joking around with him like that made her feel oddly carefree. For once in a very long time the demons where at bay. The hurtful memories, the fear of the future, the hardships of the journey, she could finally forget them. HE made her forget them, made them seem so small in comparison to the enjoyment she witnessed now.

And what he suggested was such a funny image, but Yassia had no difficulty envisioning it. A tavern crowded with people, laughing, dancing and celebrating her as the hero she was for outrunning a beast like the cockatrice.
“Of course, we shall”, she quipped and chuckled, wincing afterwards. “And then we’ll ask a poet to compose a ballad about ‘Fearless Yassia, the cockatrice and the huntsman Oliver’. It will become a popular song throughout Albion, and everyone will remember us for all eternity. But joking aside…” she gave a little sigh. “Dancing sounds wonderful. I love dancing, but I think in my current condition I would have to refrain from it.“
Oh, if only she could do any of this! Celebrating in a tavern, dancing freely. But it was not her world. He might take her for an ordinary nomad, those people just wandering around because they were too restless to stay in one place for long. But Yassia had a destination. And she better reached it soon, every day more was a lost day. And yet… this talk almost made her want to forget her duty for once. Just live… in the moment.

The mentioning of cliff jumping made her grin. He must think her really reckless to suggest that. The image Oliver had of her was probably profoundly wrong, but she felt no need to correct him. Let him think what he wanted! The real her would not be able to converse with him as openly as she did right now, so why spoil the fun? Not to mention that she could not trust anyone with her true status anyway. It had misled her too often already.
“There sadly are no cliffs where I come from”, she explained. “At least not those with water underneath them to break a fall. But I like throwing daggers, and consider myself fairly good with it. My brother taught me years and years ago.” Throwing daggers was also very unseemly for a princess, but Yassia couldn’t deny it, just like her healing skills, had already come in handy during her journey.

Yassia blinked in surprise at Oliver’s next words. Had she just heard him right? Had he truly called her ‘perfect’?! And it hadn’t even sounded like one of those stereotyped compliments men liked to use on women… he had sounded like he meant it… what was going on here? But her already slightly dizzy mind did not want to dwell on the how and why too long, it was content to deal with the simple words. And with the wonderful feeling the simple speaking of her name by him left in her…
“Far from it I fear”, she replied with a genuine sigh, but gave him a thankful smile. “Do you know what Oliver means? I have no clue, to be honest, but I am sure it is something very good. You deserve a good name.”

Just a little sting?! Well didn’t he have some nerve!! Yassia would have liked to retort with a biting remark about how he should be the one trying it out next time, but she didn’t want to be ungrateful, and might not be able to voice something without screaming anyway.
Soon, though it seemed like an eternity, the burning died down to a bearable degree and Yassia relaxed into Oliver’s arms. It might not be the most seemly thing to do, but right now she could not care less. She was comfortable, that was all that counted for now.
“It’s fine”, she whispered and looked up at him, not wanting him to shoulder all the blame. “I am fine, Oliver. Now the worst is over.”

[Oliver Strathmore of Mercia]

She spoke about songs and dances, and that made Oliver smile. He had such lovely memories when it comes to festivities and merrymaking. Both his father Lord Bayard, the King of Mercia, and his mother the Lady Adelaide were big fans of revelry. Not a month goes by in the courts of Mercia where there is no big celebration happening. Lady Adelaide had always seen to it, and Oliver was only too happy to help her organize these events.

He playfully crunched his nose at her suggested song title. “Just ‘the huntsman Oliver’? Why not Oliver the Great? I’ve always wanted to be called that. ‘Fearless Yassia, the cockatrice and Oliver the Great’,” he said chuckling at his own lame suggestion. The thought of having songs written about them was amusing. It’d surely be a funny tale of how a nomad woman got into a race with a cockatrice and was shot unknowingly by a huntsman who became her healer. That’s a funny convoluted song if there ever was one.

“Dancing sounds wonderful. I love dancing, but I think in my current condition I would have to refrain from it.”

Oliver would love to see her dance. He was sure she’d be an excellent one. He could already imagine her swirling about in her skirts, her feet nimble, her arms slender and graceful. She’d be a sight to behold. He didn’t know how long until her shoulder would totally heal for her to be able dance, he just hoped that he will still be around by that time. The thought about leaving Yassia when all this is over filled him with a touch of sadness, and it somehow surprised Oliver. Never had he felt that way about leaving something or someone behind. Somehow, he already felt an ache piercing his chest at the thought of him and Yassia going their separate ways. He heaved a deep and heavy sigh. “You ought to tell your wound to heal faster so you can dance sooner,” he told her smiling.

“I like throwing daggers, and consider myself fairly good with it. My brother taught me years and years ago.”

Daggers. Huh! Why was he not surprised to know that? While she may look all helpless now, with that skill in her arsenal, she’s definitely no damsel in distress. Oliver couldn’t help his admiration for her grow more and more by the minute. “I'd love to see you wield a dagger. I’m not exactly a big fan of knives, but me and my arrows can certainly give all archers out there a run for their money.” Ha! He was boasting, certainly in the hopes of impressing her. But he doubt that would have the effect he desired though. He and his arrows had only caused her so much pain. “I can even hit a moving target, especially if they’re racing against a cockatrice,” he added jokingly.

“It means olive tree, but friends tease me and call me olive vendor. Do you know that the olive tree is a symbol of fruitfulness, beauty and dignity? I don’t know if I’m fruitful or dignified enough, but I certainly am a thing of beauty, aren’t I?” he replied with a cheeky grin when she asked him what his name meant. “And before you protest to that, I am not only beautiful but peaceful as well. Extending an olive branch traditionally signifies an offer of peace.” His mother had always told him that it was after his birth that his father Lord Bayard had thought about ending the strife between Mercia and Camelot, and help restore peace among kingdoms in Albion. It wasn’t until he was in his twenties that the peace treaty between the two kingdoms was finally signed by his father and Uther Pendragon.

When Yassia relaxed into his arms, Oliver felt like it was the most natural thing in the world. It felt very comfortable. He felt very comfortable. Funny how a total stranger was making him feel that way. He smiled down at her when she told him she was fine, their faces merely inches apart. He stared deep into her eyes, loving what he was seeing. She had beautiful eyes, expressive, kind. Then his own eyes moved down to her lips, and he felt himself swallowing hard at how near they were to his own. So near...

Then he heard shuffling behind him, and Oliver abruptly turned his head to see his servant Lot emerging from the bushes. When Lot saw the position Oliver was in with Yassia leaning against him, he gave his prince a knowing smile and a wink, and Oliver only rolled his eyes at him. He had the urge to thrown something at Lot for breaking his moment with Yassia. “Go and gather some firewood. We may have to camp here for the night. Tell the others,” he told Lot when he noticed that the sun had already started to set. There was no way he was moving Yassia when she was still too weak in her condition. “You don’t mind camping out here with us, do you? The nearest village is still hours away from here, and I wouldn’t want to unnecessarily move you. We’ll keep you safe through the night and hopefully by tomorrow, your wound wouldn’t hurt as much anymore to travel,” he told her, just to be sure.

[Yassia Dyfrène de Ailantha]

Sweet stars, he didn’t lack of a self-esteem alright! He might have sounded those words only in jest, but no overly humble mind would have even dared to say them out loud. Oliver the Great… now he had opened it up for her, and big time! If Yassia was good in anything, it was in turning jibes against her counterpart. She only had to watch out it never got too biting or toeing the lines of insult. After all, people with a very well sorted self-esteem were also those most prone to hate jibes such as these.
She shuffled a little, biting back a groan, to get a better look at him, and made a show of waiting for something more, staring expectantly for a few seconds. Then, when nothing came, she made a ‘continue?’ motion with her hands and then grinned mischievously. “Oh, thought there was something missing in your title. Oliver the Great… what? The great … ego? The great… nuisance? Or even the great… flirt?” she asked with a wink, hoping he would see the glinting in her eyes that marked she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. And it only now occurred to her, there had been something in him, very much hidden, but sometimes showing in the way he spoke. There WAS a flirty streak in him, but it was nothing Yassia found annoying. On the contrary, it matched rather well with his otherwise gentle personality, making him a very interesting person to talk to.

“You ought to tell your wound to heal faster so you can dance sooner,”
Now that was a very funny suggestion indeed, though Yassia doubted it would work. Then again, the power will had over the body sometimes was remarkable. She remembered an incident when her mother had treated a knight of Ailantha who had fallen off his horse in a tournament. She had been all but sure no medicine in the world could save him, but he, having a pregnant wife, had simply refused to give up, clinging to his life and eventually had made it. Compared to that getting an arrow wound to heal faster would be a walk out in the sun, right?
”You hear that?” she told her shoulder mockingly, twisting her neck so her mouth was almost touching the wound. “Get your skin and act together and heal, I say!”
But then another thought crossed her mind, and she was surprised how much it actually saddened her. The quicker she healed, the sooner she would be on her way again… and leave Oliver and his men behind… Now Yassia, don’t get ridiculous!!!

She laughed impulsively at his boasting, and was rather relieved to see that the alcohol already numbed much of the pain. It hurt a little, but not so much that she would have been writhing in agony. And she didn’t even have to take him up on being a very good archer and shooting people, he realized the fun in his words himself and joked about it. How pleasantly surprising indeed. A man who really could make fun of himself.
”There’s not much I need to add here”, she quipped. “Now if you could teach your arrows to read and bend away from an unwanted target on their own accord, then I might be inclined to call you king of all archers.”

Listening intently, she found his explanation of his name very interesting – before he turned it into another boasting jibe. Chuckling lightly, she shook her head at him, contemplating on what to say. That she could not leave these sentences like they were went without saying. But she had to admit he was giving her rather a run for her money, it got more and more difficult to muster a decent retort, but she partly blamed it on the whiskey and the bloodloss.
”What is the saying? ‘Beauty lies in the eye of the beholder’?” she teased and grinned up at him. “And I didn’t think men should pride themselves on their good looks anyway. It’s a bonus of course, but aren’t other things more important for them? Strength, power, money? But that aside…” she turned her eyes upward, examining him intently for a second, and actually had to admit to herself she liked very much what she was seeing. Before, other things like surviving and fighting pain had been more important, but now she saw him, for the first time really looked at him. “… passable.” She finished with another wink, though it was a lie.

Something was happening the moment she stopped speaking, though Yassia could not exactly tell what. It was the way Oliver looked at her, maybe the way she looked at him as well, that made her want never to look away again. Everything, time, reason and pain seemed to take a little timeout in this short period, and Yassia felt calm and serene like she had not in a long while. At home…
And then there was something else… a tension rising up in the air between them, but it was no unpleasant tension. It was… full of expectation somehow, though Yassia had no clear concept on what exactly to expect… she just knew that it would be good…
The arrival of one of Oliver’s friends broke the enchanted spell and for a moment Yassia’s head was whirling and she felt utterly lost. What had happened? And what WOULD have happened if they hadn’t been interrupted?

She only listened vaguely to what he said, her mind still elsewhere and reluctant to return from the land of ‘what-might-have-been’. It truly must be the alcohol making her so reckless… and peculiar in general.
”No, of course I don’t mind… I feel quite safe with you…all…” she added as a reluctant afterthought, not wanting him to get any wrong impressions. Or did she? Goodness, what was going on with her?! “Maybe… maybe we should dress the wound… before your friends return…”

[Oliver Strathmore of Mercia]

“Oh, thought there was something missing in your title. Oliver the Great… what? The great … ego? The great… nuisance? Or even the great… flirt?”

Oliver’s reactions ran the gamut of amusement to mock annoyance. Of course, he knew he can never be angry with Yassia’s retorts. He was actually expecting her to dispute his claims, and he wasn’t disappointed. He have had enough of ladies accepting every word that comes out of his mouth, even if it was clearly made in jest, just for the sake of pleasing him. What he needed was a good and stubborn mind to challenge him, make him think up witty comebacks of his own. Yassia definitely made him do that. And it felt so refreshing. “I can accept great ego, but nuisance? I am being a great nuisance? Prove it.” It may seemed like he had ignored her last declaration, but in truth, Oliver was deliberately not trying to bring it up. Flirt? She noticed? Somehow, he didn’t know how to defend himself with regards to that, hence, he pretended he didn’t hear the last bit. Although, he was quite amused by it. Trust her to expressly say out loud that he was indeed a flirt.

He watched with clear amusement as Yassia turned her head to 'talk' to her wound. “Yes, you get your act together and heal now!” he repeated her words as he too leaned closer to her wound 'talking' to it. Then he turned to Yassia. “You think she’ll be a good girl and listen to us?” he asked with a seriously worried expression on his face, like a parent asking another parent about a problematic child.

After another whiff off the whiskey, Oliver then handed the bottle to Yassia as if it was the most natural thing to do, like they were buddies just hanging out together, having a drink in the middle of the forest. When she made a show of inspecting him after his declaration of his own 'beauty,' Oliver lifted his chin up trying to look as regal as he possibly could. ”…passable.” “Passable? Me? Passable?” Oliver ignored her wink and let out a mock outburst. “What kind of a word is passable? I’m not a salad bowl that you can pass around the dining table. I am not passable!” He shook his head and heaved a playful sigh. “We need to work on your English. Say it with me now…handsome. It’s not difficult really…hand…some,” Oliver grinned at her. At the back of his mind, he was starting to notice that he was becoming a tad bit too talkative, and too comfortable as well. Blame the whiskey. He needed to stop drinking or he’ll only make a fool of himself in front of Yassia.

”No, of course I don’t mind… I feel quite safe with you…all…” Whether it was her words or the alcohol, but Oliver felt something warm run through his body when she spoke. She trusted him…or them to keep her safe. That was quite something coming from a stranger. He knew he shouldn’t easily trust any people he randomly meet in forests, but he owed it to her to be kind and to protect her after he had practically incapacitated her for the time being.

The thought about missing that moment…that brief but enchanting moment…with her filled Oliver with a strange sense of disappointment. Sooner or later, his friends would all be back, and he would never be alone with Yassia again. He only heaved a small sigh to express his regret. Not wanting to jolt her or move away from her, Oliver reached to the left to grab her pouch and placed it on her lap. His other hand then wound around her right waist as he held the pouch in place and opened it for her. Technically, he was wrapping his arms around her as he searched for bandages inside her bag. When he found them, he fished them out, and positioned it over her wound.

Not a few minutes after he had dressed her wound, his four friends started arriving back at the site. While he saw the meaningful and suggestive looks on their faces, no one was bold enough to tease him about what they saw. Instead, they started building up the fire not far from where Oliver and Yassia were situated while Lot readied their dinner. “Can you please spread that sleeping mat out here, Kingsley? For Yassia…” he told his friend as he motioned to the spot beside him. “Yes, You—“ Kingsley was about to say ‘Your Highness,’ but Oliver gave him a warning look, careful not to give anything away as he had decided earlier. The last thing he wanted was for Yassia to get uncomfortable around him.

[Yassia Dyfrène de Ailantha]

“I can accept great ego, but nuisance? I am being a great nuisance? Prove it.”
He wanted proof now? Oh, she could give him that and at length! She just needed to channel the annoyance she could still muster up at him – though hard it was! – and focus on the things he had done. One: he had shot her, two: he had therefore deterred her from her journey, three: he was on a good path on misleading her towards drinking alcohol which was by no means suitable for any woman and a woman of her status even less!
”Do I really have to go into detail there?” she chaffed and grinned up at him. “But of course, your wish shall be my sole command. The fact alone that I am right here right now, lying on the ground, instead of slowly reaching the outer periphery of this forest should be proof enough, yes? But then again”, now she changed the tone of her voice into a fairly patronizing one to tease him further, “you were quite acceptable in cleaning up your mess, so I might say… only half a nuisance. Now doesn’t sound that well? Oliver the great half-nuisance.”

She had not expected him to play along with her little childish act of talking to her own wound, but apparently he didn’t think it beneath him to take up the silly joke and prolong it. The way he talked about the wound now was as if he was talking about a living person, a stubborn child maybe. It was a slightly peculiar line of thinking, but in a way, both her and Oliver had be responsible for creating this wound, and so it could well be considered their ‘child’. Even though the sheer delicacy of these thoughts that lead her on a dangerous path made her blush slightly. Goodness, did she have NO control over her thoughts anymore?!
Mimicking his concerned facial expression she heaved a sigh. “Well.. judging the body it is attached to, I fear it might simply be too stubborn. What is the saying… like mind, like limb?” At least that was the equivalent in her own language and it fit to the situation rather nicely.

Yassia didn’t even think about it anymore as she took the bottle from Oliver, taking another swig of whiskey. That liquid could really grow on you… she nearly spat it out though, when she heard him say:
“What kind of a word is passable? I’m not a salad bowl that you can pass around the dining table. I am not passable!”
Fighting hard to swallow first, which caused again pain to flame up in her shoulder, she was torn between wincing, swallowing and giggling wildly at his outburst. Her face turned red with the effort and she raised her right hand to fan it to regain some air. She couldn’t quite tell why she was so very amused by his words, but she simply was. “You are not?” she panted once she had enough air to do so. “But you MUST admit, the resemblance is uncanny!”
Now she was just being silly, but granted, he was too. Yassia had no idea where this may lead, it might just end with her dying of laughter. Not that she would complain. A mischievous smirk spread over her face at his next words. He was starting on languages now? Oh, two could play at this game!
”Hand?” she retorted,furrowing her brows in mock confusion. “I can’t see what hands got to do with this… some hands… no, no I think you get it wrong, Oliver. You were pretty close though. I think you meant to say you are a handFULL. Now, to that I can agree.”

The moment was over far too soon. Not only the one they shared in this enchanted silence, but also the one following afterwards. Yassia would have never imagined she would wish a painful experience as the dressing of a wound to last longer. But that was oddly enough how she felt. Long since she had stopped to think about just how unseemly this whole experience was, it was simply not worth worrying over. Why couldn’t she simply savor the feeling of being comfortable in his arms? He tried to be gentle, and that he was, practically cradling her in his arms so she did not need to move much. She could even feel his warm breath on her neck as he was dressing the wound, and the sweet tingling on her skin made her want for him to stay there.
But then his friends were returning one by one, and suddenly Yassia started to become self-conscious again. Sighing a little herself, she waited for his friend to do what he said, awaiting the imminent departure.
”But if this is your sleeping matt I’m using, Oliver”, she mumbled, “where will you sleep?” The slightly suggesting air of her comment escaped her whiskey-clouded mind completely.

[Oliver Strathmore of Mercia]

”Do I really have to go into detail there?”

He was actually hoping she wouldn't, but she had never really lived up to his expectations of her from the very beginning. She always has a way of bending all his pre-conceived notions about nomads and women in general. Which surprisingly Oliver actually liked. He was almost close to generalizing all women to be made of the same stuff, to speak and act alike. Yassia wasn't anything like most of the women he had met. And he liked it.

"All right, all right! I get your point," he replied with a chuckle. Half-nuisance? Where is she getting all these words? Oliver laughed more to himself. He never really expected a rather harrowing experience of having shot a woman with his arrow would turn out to be quite an enjoyable thing. He had expected to be more morose, serious. Not laughing like crazy and grinning like some madman on the loose. "Fearless Yassia, the cockatrice and Oliver the Great Half-Nuisance. Hmmm...sounds like it has potential to be a popular song that will last through generations and generations," he added, trying the most serious expression he could muster.

“Well.. judging the body it is attached to, I fear it might simply be too stubborn. What is the saying… like mind, like limb?”

Oliver ran a hand through his hair as if he was really concerned and was trying to think about a possible solution. To anyone watching, it'd look like he and Yassia had indeed quite a dilemma. "We can't have that." Most of that was true though. Oliver wanted her to heal because he wanted to see her all alert and kicking...and hopefully dancing. But then again that would also mean she'd be well enough to travel again on her own. "Although...I...uh...don't mind staying with you until you're...I mean she's had the sense to listen to us, be a good girl, and heal quick..." His mind was getting a tad bit woozy now, and he was surely losing control of whatever words that come out of his mouth. At this rate though, he was afraid he might start to confess all this 'crush' he was developing on her. No, Oliver had to rein himself in. Yes.

But even after Yassia drank from the bottle, he took it from her and downed another round. It was helping him calm his nerves earlier, but now that the worst part was over, he can't seem to want to stop. "Shush..." he practically silenced her when she insisted on him being passable. "I am not a salad bowl. Are you a salad bowl? No, you're not passable. You're beautiful. You're all grimy with mud on your feet and on your elbows, but you're beautiful like a vase full of flowers..." Yes, it was definitely a bad idea to continue drinking. Someone better take the bottle of whiskey from him now.

"Fine. The more you deny it, the more I think you agree to it. Let's leave it at that," he told her. "I am not a handful. You are. You practically have all of your weight leaning against me, I'm not complaining by the way because it feels nice, but yeah...you're a handful, not me." He ended that one with a wink. Did he just admit that he liked cradling her in his arms? Geez!

Someone must have realized that he was talking a bit too much, because suddenly the bottle of whiskey was already off his hands. He didn't know where it went though. He was just glad it was gone. Heavens! What had he been blabbing about?

”But if this is your sleeping mat I’m using, Oliver, where will you sleep?” That made Oliver stop and think. Where indeed? "We're taking turns for the watch, so Oliver can sleep on whoever's mat is vacant, miss." It was Sir Sigfried who answered her question, seeing as Oliver couldn't quite come up with an answer on his own. As soon as the mat was laid out, Oliver turned to Yassia, a tad bit more composed now. "Do you want to lie back down? Dinner should be ready in a few minutes I think. If you don't want to, it's perfectly fine by me to stay here with you." He hoped that sounded innocent enough for an offering, he wasn't suggesting anything whatsoever. Although he knew he wasn't fooling anybody judging from the chuckles that came from Lot and his two other friends. At least, Sir Sigfried still had the decency not to react openly to his words.

[Yassia Dyfrène de Ailantha]

"All right, all right! I get your point,"
Yassia couldn’t help the smug smirk that spread over her face, hearing that. That was clearly a round going to her! Success! And all that with him not getting overly mad, he really could take what he dished out, that was a very rare and precious trait in every person. Yes, this was definitely her idea of fun, and she hoped it would last for a little while longer, even though this particular subject seemed more or less through. Sometimes you just had to stop, lest the topic got overstrained and overused. The least thing Yassia wanted was to appear boring. And she had won this round anyway, so why prolong it?
”I’m sure it will”, she nodded giving her face a very serious expression, before she let the grin break through. “After the people finally memorized the title of course, and don’t just go with: ‘that song about the bloke, the beast, and the girl’.”

"We can't have that." "Although...I...uh...don't mind staying with you until you're...I mean she's had the sense to listen to us, be a good girl, and heal quick..."
Somehow the joking part of the conversation had turned into something rather awkward, but Yassia wasn’t even sure how it had happened. One moment they were joking, the next he was stuttering and she was desperately trying to avoid his gaze because if she had held it she was sure something unforgivable would have burst out from deep within her. She was a fool even to think such things, like that she wanted him to stay with her for longer than just until the wound had healed, and the stars prevent she ever voiced them! But in her current state, with a tongue loosened by alcohol, she was not sure whether she could keep it inside her if she kept looking at him. But something she DID have to say… just… what?
In the end, she decided to keep it half-joking, half-serious, trying her best to mask her true intentions but not sure how succesful she was with it.
”Well… maybe you’ll have a better influence on her than I will? I… I don’t mind you staying either. I just hope this…” she made a vague gesture including their surroundings, “doesn’t keep you from something.” For all she knew, he could have a wife at home, desperately waiting for his return…

"Shush..."
Yassia’s brows darted up in surprise and amusement. The nerve! She had never been shushed before in all her life, not even by her parents. It simply wasn’t seemly to shush a princess. But then again, how would he know? She was just another girl to him, and somehow Yassia found she was not in the least offended.
And then what came next made her eyes widen in a feeling close to shock. Was he being serious? He might be inebriated, but what was the saying: In vino veritas, in wine lies truth? And whether it was wine or whiskey didn’t matter, right? He thought her beautiful… that made a shower of happiness run down her spine and she could not help the dazzling smile that spread over her face in response to it. But then she started. As princess she was used to being told she was beautiful, but the commoner she posed as, would she? Certainly not!
”Oh now you shush!” she retorted and lightly slapped his arm. “You’re flattering me. I’m far from being as beautiful as a bunch of flowers. How about a bunch of thistles instead?”

And the awkwardness just kept coming! Or was it even awkward and not simply too good to be true? He made it more than clear now that he liked her… and she liked him… yes she saw that now. What a twist of fate indeed…
Oh, goodness, Yassia, stop being ridiculous! He’s a huntsman! She chided her self. And you’re not a nomad! This ends here, right HERE and NOW! Get a grip, girl!
So she did not reply to his last remark, did not in any way hint at that she liked their current position, felt safe in his arms. Her tongue was practically burning with the effort of keeping still, but she HAD to, she simply could not do this!

And yet, her mind deceived her yet again. She should have taken the rightful step, as he asked her if she wanted to lie down on the mat. She should have said yes. But she didn’t. She told herself that too much unnecessary moving would not be good for the wound that only now started to heal, when in fact all she wanted was to stay in his arms longer. How pathetic! But she could not help it.
”I… think it’s good as it is now”, she whispered, blushing slightly under the chuckles of the other men. They had obviously been found out, and it was a shameful situation. But the will of her body was stronger for now. “Not too much moving, and anyway”, she tried to appear reasonable, “if I wanted to eat something I cannot do this lying down. And I don’t think I am strong enough to sit up by myself yet.” That might all be true… but it was not the healer speaking out of her now. It was the woman unwilling to let go of his touch.

[Oliver Strathmore of Mercia]

She was avoiding his gaze, and Oliver thought it was for the better. He probably wouldn’t know what he would have done had she kept looking at him with those bright wide eyes of hers and lips just as tempting. It was crazy what alcohol can do to your mind. After a hot and grueling day, with the adrenaline rush at hunting a cockatrice, and the pressure of keeping someone alive, it wasn’t much difficult for the whiskey to creep up to him like that. For a moment though, he was actually afraid that he had turned her off with his unrestrained talk, but heaved a relieved sigh at her words.

”Well… maybe you’ll have a better influence on her than I will? I… I don’t mind you staying either. I just hope this…doesn’t keep you from something.”

Nothing can keep me from you. It was the thought swimming in his head at that very moment. He would have blurted it out had he not caught himself at the last minute. “Nothing can--I mean it’s fine. I can’t very well leave you in this condition, can I?” Perhaps that was a more tame and less creepy response from someone she had just met? The last thing he wanted now to freak her out.

“Thistles, huh? Hmm…” Oliver made a mock motion of picturing a thistle with its thorny appearance and all. Thistle would certainly suit her best, the way she prick him back with each of her witty biting retorts, Oliver thought with amusement. “No comparison is more perfect. Thistle it is then! You are a lovely and as prickly as a thistle. How’s that?” he added with a wink.

Who would have thought that he’d meet someone he clearly and genuinely liked in the middle of a dangerous forest? And it wasn’t just an ordinary friendly like. It was somehow more than that. She was funny and stubborn in her own cute way, not to mention she’s very pretty despite being all grubby from her carefree nomadic lifestyle. He had to admit these types of women are always his weakness. Women who are free and carefree to explore the world. He had once been with someone like that before, but he had realized he loved her freedom more than he loved her. With Yassia though, it was different. Sure, he still loved the fact that she’s this wanderer but he also couldn’t complain about the obvious chemistry that was going on between them. With or without alcohol.

“Then I’d gladly stay and feed you all the dinner that your stomach could take in,” Oliver said with a wide smile plastered on his face, his hand gently caressing her arm in an effort to comfort her. He only rolled his eyes at the suggestive looks and the faint whispers that his friends were shamelessly displaying before them, and was just as glad that Yassia was not letting them affect her as well. It may sound rather insensitive and selfish of him, but he was somehow glad that she was still too weak to move about on her own. He wanted this to last for as long as he could get it to last. Now, if only she would just fall asleep in his arms…

“Dinner,” Lot said breaking his train of thought as he handed a bowl of beef stew to his prince, and placed a flask of water beside him. “Thank you,” Oliver replied and smelled the stew. “Smells good.” He took a spoonful of the stew, and moved the bowl and spoon closer to her mouth so he could feed her. “Here you go, princess. Eat your fill,” Oliver jokingly said, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he play-acted the part of a servant dutifully serving his mistress, not knowing how close he was to the truth of her identity.

[Yassia Dyfrène de Ailantha]

“Nothing can--I mean it’s fine. I can’t very well leave you in this condition, can I?”
Nothing can—Nothing can??!! What had he wanted to say? And why had her heart leaped with these two words that practically could mean anything? She shouldn’t be so stupid to believe he would have said something along the line of “nothing can be more important” or such – that was truly pathetic and ridiculous and couldn’t have been born out of anything but wishful thinking induced by too much whiskey. Truly Yassia, be careful to not lose it! You’re not that kind of girl, are you? Never lose sight of who you are, not even under such circumstances! If you do anything stupid now, you will probably regret it for the rest of your life!
But the reasonable voice had a hard time getting through to Yassia as she was becoming more ‘devil-may-care’ every second. On the other hand, she was very glad for his correct behaviour. Many a man would have taken advantage of the situation long ago. Not so Oliver.
”Oh believe me, I’ve stumbled over some people who would”, Yassia retorted, rolling her eyes. “No, you might think it is granted to help someone out in need which makes you a good man. But not everyone thinks that way.”

It might not be the thing every girl wished for, being compared to a thistle, but Yassia was very content with it nevertheless. In any way, it had brough their conversation to a less confusing, still joking level again. And it wasn’t even that wrong, yes? Thistles had thorns just like roses did, but they were safe from being picked because no one thought them worth the hassle. A thistle could live her life in peace without being constantly flattered and abused for her outward beauty. And then Yassia had always thought thistle blossoms quite beauitful. Their beauty was more subtle and hidden than that of most flowers, but it was there.
”It sounds perfect.” Yassia gave him a cheeky grin. “The olive tree and the thistle… what a curious mixture indeed.”

Why had she been speaking of a mixture? Was she now implying that the two of them should in any way belong together? What kind of new madness was that? And yet, it sounded perfectly right when it left her mouth. This was heading into an entirely wrong direction, but Yassia did not know how to alter its course… or if she even wanted to! That was the most alarming things of all. First it had only been acting unseemly out of necissity, but now that the need for desperate measures was gone, why couldn’t she take a step back and become her distant self again? Was it truly only the alcohol speaking out of her? Or was some of this also his doing?

“Then I’d gladly stay and feed you all the dinner that your stomach could take in,”
Very unlike her, Yassia could feel a chuckle that almost bordered on a girlish giggle break rise up in her chest. She hadn’t been fed ever since she was a little child, and certainly not ever by a man… but then again… what about it? No one that knew her could see her now and think anything of it! This was an extreme situation and normal conditions didn’t apply to those. So why be a spoilsport and deny it?
“Here you go, princess. Eat your fill,”
Yassia couldn’t help but wince when he called her by her true title and for a split second a cold fist seemed to reach for her heart. How does he know?! Paranoia swept over her like a tidal wave, until her brain kicked in and told her that he had been most likely joking. And she better now replied in jest as well. Hopefully he had blamed the wincing on her wound and nothing else!
Opening her mouth dutifully, she took a spoonful of the stew, savored the taste quickly and then swallowed.
”Why thank you, Mylord”, she joked back, raising him to an at least similar status. “Not bad for a bunch of huntsmen!”

[Oliver Strathmore of Mercia]

“No, you might think it is granted to help someone out in need which makes you a good man. But not everyone thinks that way.”

Her words brought a surge of warm fuzzies all over his body that Oliver for once was lost for words. She was right. Just because he was raised that way doesn’t mean everybody else was. Others would not be bothered by a setback like this. They would probably have left her for dead. But not Oliver. He couldn’t imagine leaving her or anyone he had hurt to suffer and die. “Thank you,” was all Oliver could say, feeling a slight color rise up his neck to his cheeks. Not a lot of women had actually called him a ‘good man.’ They all assumed it was expected of him being a prince and all.

The olive tree and the thistle. How interesting. To hear her put those two together, ‘a curious mixture’ in her words, was making Oliver think of a warm little picture where the olive tree was protecting the thistle growing there underneath it, shielding it from the harsh heat of the sun or the strong whipping of the wind and rain. Weird as it may be, he wanted to do that for her, to protect her, not just now when she’s all weak, but for as long as he could. But he knew no good would come of such wishes. She was a nomad, and he was a prince. He will just have to accept the fact that he wasn’t going to see Yassia again. He will have to live with the here and the now to enjoy what little time he had with her. “I would gladly be the olive tree to your thistle,” he replied with a grin as wide as her own, not really realizing the implications of those words.

“We live to serve, Your Highness, and I would have already given you a bow now had you not been making me a furniture all this time,” Oliver teased back before taking another spoon and feeding her yet again. Not that he cared really. If he were furniture indeed, then he would love to be her rocking chair, her bed, the very furniture she would lay against, to rest and regain her strength. He’d even willingly offer to be her pillow, one that she would lay her soft head against or hug to herself for comfort. Lucky pillow!

“Eat so you can get some sleep and regain your strength, Yassia,” he spoke to her tenderly now, and continued to feed her more of the stew. Like everything else going on between them today, feeding her felt like the most natural thing to do in the world to Oliver. It felt like something that he had done to her before, and would love to do for her again and again if need be.

“Here’s your dinner, Oliver,” Lot said as he placed another bowl beside them. “Thank you. I’m fine. I’ll eat as soon as Yassia’s done.” His stomach must have heard what he said and in protest grumbled a little too loudly for everyone near to hear. Oliver made a face and laughed. “Traitor!” he remarked and shrugged sheepishly at Yassia. “Don’t worry about me. Just eat.” He was hungry. He knew that as soon as he had smelled the stew cooking. The alcohol had only made it worse, but he was willing to sacrifice a bit for Yassia. Another unusual thing that he was feeling with regards to her right now. He’d gladly forego his own needs as long as Yassia got what she needed first.

[Yassia Dyfrène de Ailantha]

Had she truly just made him blush with calling him a good man?! Yassia scarcely believed her eyes as she watched the tint of red starting to color his cheeks. Surely he must know his worth? If it only had been her place to say it, she would have told him much more, how she could not imagine any man to be better, that he gave his whole trait a very good name and how it pained her ever having cursed him to the lowest parts of hell. It had been when she was writhing in pain, but she still yearned to take it back. Cursing someone was not just idle speaking of words, it could really bring bad luck! And the least thing she wanted was for Oliver to have bad luck. She actually wished him nothing but well. A life full of happiness and little struggle. And the girl who could claim his heart in the end was a lucky girl indeed. Well, maybe he had all this already… and it shouldn’t make her sad to come to this particular conclusion. And yet it did.
”Well, it is true, no need to thank me”, she warded his thanks off and couldn’t help a little blush coloring her own cheeks. “I will be forever indebted to your steady hands and your clear head.”

“I would gladly be the olive tree to your thistle,”
For a little moment Yassia just stared up at him, in loss for words. It probably had meant to be a perfectly innocent and funny remark, but that was not how it came across to her. Well, yes, it was still hilariously funny but it was not quite as innocent. The olive tree to your thistle… suddenly a smile began to tug at the corners of her mouth and her lips started to quiver. Slowly a chuckle rose up in her body, coming deep from her stomach and then reached her mouth where it burst out. It hurt, once again, but this time the merry feeling crowded the pain out two to one. She hadn’t wanted to laugh at him, but she just couldn’t stop herself.
”S-sorry..” she gasped, trying to regain control over her outburst, but with little success. “Please don’t be offended, it’s just…” and then she started laughing again. The clear-headed Yassia most likely would have been defensive and even angry at the suggestive meaning in his words, but it showed how much she liked and trusted him that all she saw was the funny side of it.

Yassia took another spoonful of the delicious stew with a thankful smile, but then, living up to the game, she arched her brows in her best regal manner, giving her voice the same majestic tone.
”Well, indeed, some are to bow, some are to be used as furniture”, she spoke, given a graceful nod which was slightly difficult as she was still leaning against his chest. “Each to his own and to his best abilities. You are very comfortable furniture, so I decree you’ll be used for that henceforth.”
Now that was not so very innocent herself, because there was surely other furtniture included than just being a chair… but like Oliver before, the double meaning escaped her inebriated and carefree mind.

She could also feel the rumbling of his stomach in her back, more even than she could hear it, and she softly shook her head when he told her to ignore it. “But you must eat as well!” she protested. “It must be a pain for you feeding me and not getting something yourself. I’ll tell you how we’ll do it!” she exclaimed impulsively, smiling. “One spoonful for me, and one for you! So we eat together! Is that a deal?”
Too late something else occurred to her that almost made her blush again. He might not know it, but there was a certain significance to eating from the same plate, at least in Ailantha amongst the higher class. Commoners didn’t have so many dishes to really care making a fuss about it, but for Yassia there was not only a fairytale-reference as to what it implied using the same dish together. And they had already shared the drink...