[The rain falls heavy against her thick cloak as the thunder cracks close behind them, splitting the pitch black sky with a white fissure. She more feels for the horses than themselves. The roads had turned muddy quick, and it wasn't until the steeds were plucking their hooves out of muck with each step that they saw the light of the Inn ahead. Rosamund lets the young son of the proprietor take the reins of her horse and lead it away, along with Luke's. She looks to him quizzically, then assumes the place of his shadow as they enter.]
Bad luck, isn't it?
[She's smiling as she says it though, nearly touching his arm before she remembers herself. Right. Even under the guise of humble travellers with false names ("Aurora" is a strangely elegant name for a merchant's daughter), there's certain expectations of behaviour. She can't cross too many lines a princess wouldn't, and that includes being over-familiar with a boy she's known since the age of nine.]
It'll only extend the trip by a day, as long as the storm breaks overnight.
[It's not ideal weather, by any means. Luke can't say he's happy about it, exactly, when he knows she must be cold and uncomfortable--but if he were to search his heart for genuine dismay, he knows he would find none. Not when any little delay grants them extra time together. It would be greedy and irresponsible to wish for the storm to go on. Dangerous, too. The Luke that faithfully serves her and her family would never harbor such selfish sentiments, which is why he keeps them hidden behind a noncommittal hum of acknowledgment.
("Lucas," he's chosen to go by here--hilariously uncreative, but he'd refused any further deviation from his name, arguing that a split second of confusion on either end could cost them dearly. Logic is such a convenient cover for the truth: that while he's used to keeping her name off of his tongue, he couldn't stand to hear anything too different from hers.)
He looks to her and catches the smile on her face; with the the young man gone, he dares to sneak her a smile in return, though he quickly schools his features after. Even hidden by his hood and playing the role of hired help, he doesn't dare let himself relax out here, where anyone could see them.]
Let's hurry inside, Y--My lady. [He'd practiced this, but it still feels strange to say. Bittersweet, to know that it won't ever be more than a facade.] You'll catch cold.
[Ah — there he is. It's a blink and you'll miss it exchange, but she brightens the second he gives her that old grin of his.]
You could, too. [Always so thoughtful of her and so careless with himself. She does hurry inside though, secretly thrilled. It's a welcome reprieve from the months-long dread this trip has been giving her.
She ought to be arriving to meet her betrothed with a full retinue, but impending war had muddied matters. She'd be much safer in Apogee, and wouldn't she like the time to get to know Jonathan anyway? And here, just to taunt you further, take the one man you can't keep your eyes off on the way. A final parting reminder that you can't always get what you want. Not even if you're a princess.
Rosamund sweeps inside, checking back for Luke even if he's barely two paces behind her. The innkeepers are a sweet middle-aged couple, serving the last rounds of ale on an already late night.
"What a darling couple you two are, and to be caught in such bad weather!" Rosamund flushes but makes no protests. A key is pressed into Luke's hands in exchange for coin. "Don't worry, take the last room on the second floor, on your left. We'll bring up a hot meal shortly, there's plenty left over."]
Thank you so much! I love your dress, by the way. Your embroidery is absolutely stunning.
[The woman blushes and chuckles, and Rosamund flashes Luke a smile of her own on her way up the stairs.]
Awfully sweet of them, isn't it? Especially since it's so late. I can't wait to get out of these soggy clothes.
[Not for the first time, Luke wonders if it would be kinder to tell her. Actually, Your Highness, I know precisely when I am to meet my fate, and it won't be tonight nor from a common cold, so don't worry about me. But it's nothing more than a fleeting, intrusive thought. He has no intention of breaking his silence when it comes to this, and even if he did, such a dismissal would only make her upset, not less.
So he accepts her concern with another smile before he falls back into position behind her, maintaining decorum even out here. Luke's hardly a frequent visitor of inns or taverns or anything like that, but he knows plenty about the power of gossip from the palace alone, so it's not hard to guess what might be said if they behave poorly.
Not that it matters, apparently--assumptions are made anyway, and for all that Luke is very good at being professional, he is also very much a young man alone with the love of his life, being blatantly, albeit unintentionally, perceived. He can't quite keep the shocked look off of his face, nor can he stop his own face from heating up--he looks away quickly, pretending to be very interested in the inn's decor. Wow! Those sure are paintings. They have colors and stuff. Amazing. Never seen anything like 'em.
He looks back once it sounds like Rosamund's done chatting, nodding respectfully to the innkeepers in order to avoid their gazes.]
A-ah, yes, thank you. Please draw my lady a bath as well.
[Oh to be horses that can just prance around in the mud.
Anyway, up the stairs they go!! Away from prying eyes, finally--and though he can never truly relax around her for a lot of reasons, he finally allows a small bit of the facade to drop once they're up on the second floor.]
We'll have to hang them to dry in here. I doubt they have enough patrons tonight that we'd have to worry about theft, but better to be safe.
[...
......
........]
Um... do you...
[...........
He doesn't know how to ask if she needs help getting dressed oh god maybe he should just turn around and go get a maid just in case that would be less embarrassing than finishing this sentence--]
Well, if they want soggy peasant's clothes that badly.
[She's been rather well disguised here. Though there are a some dowry gems sown into the lining of her underskirts? But even Luke doesn't know about that. Royal secrets.
Not that there are many between them. She doesn't keep much from him if she can help it, whether her parents approve or not. And the gems depress her, just knowing what they're for. But a fraction of the offering should she be well received in Apogee! There's more to come once matters are settled, pinky promise! How galling.
She pops the door open once they arrive and looks back to him, one brow raised.]
Do I what?
[Sorry, her mind wandered a few places. She has to run the train of thought backwards before she realizes what he might be asking.]
...........
[Oh. Um. Oh.]
I suppose... [It's all right, this is Luke. He's seen her ass-up in a puddle after being knocked from her horse, with lemon custard slopped over her front, heard her flounder and fumble more than one speech. There are very few depths she has yet to sink to in front of him, so there's no need for a sudden flurry of nerves.] I could use a little help? Just with the back, if it's not too much trouble.
[The owners thought they were a couple, and a lowborn pair at that. It might look suspicious if they ran asking for help getting her undressed.]
[her arms might snap immediately if she attempts to do anything other than hold birds, yes.
He's so flushed, she feels rather ashamed to have even asked. Though he had mentioned it first.]
I...Thank you. [Maybe it's better not to make a meal of it? She's starting to heat in the cheeks as well, though she stays steady as she nods to him.] You know I trust you, right?
But--ah. It's a more loaded question than she knows, through no fault of her own. Fortunately(?), he understands what she's asking, and he's had years of practice keeping his melancholy off of his face, so aside from a small pause, there's nothing to reveal the pang of guilt and sorrow that strikes him with her words.
Still, his expression does soften, some of the flustered redness fading away.]
[honestly yeah she has yet to be hardened by Millions Briars.
Maybe she's touching on things too big for either of them to bear. He's quick enough to shake off the implication, but her own pause is longer, the smile much softer. Rosamund reaches for his hand and gives it a bracing squeeze.]
That's why I'm glad it's you here.
[And why she'll be heartbroken when it's over.
But she'll turn now, removing her cape and hanging it on the hook. She pulls her hair over her shoulders so he might more readily reach the lacing of her gown and waits, ignoring the acrobatics her insides are pulling to put on a facade of calm.
She moves into the room, and he follows on instinct, part of his mind caught on the terrible secrets he's keeping from her, the rest distracted by the lingering warmth of her hand against his. Only once she's hung up her cloak does his brain catch up, sending a burst of nervous energy through him all over again. He swallows, staring at her back, which looks the same as it always does, but that doesn't help settle him at all, really, because he's never looked at it with the intention of reaching out, and. And.
No, no, it's fine. He can do this. She's right, after all--they can't afford to draw too much attention to themselves, and he'd never forgive himself if he got them in trouble because he was too embarrassed to help her with something so simple.
(Never mind that it's not simple at all, to him, but. She'll never know that, if he has his way.)]
...Right. Here I go. [So that she isn't startled when he reaches out, taking hold of one of the laces...
And he tugs!!
...
...Nothing happens!!
Well. Hm. That's not how that works. Erm.]
Uh--sorry, hold on...
[Give him a second to just. Pick at this knot he made on accident, like an idiot.]
[It's taking a little longer than anticipated. She's half worried he'll spin on his heel and go back out the door. Which is silly, Luke would never consider abandoning her, but perhaps she's going a touch too far today — oh, he's warning her.
She braces, chest tight with dearly held breath.
Then it's tight for other reasons.
Rosamund looks over her shoulder, brows rising high with a smile creeping over her cheeks.]
Did you make a knot back there? [Oh my god. She starts laughing.] Luke, what happened to all that sailing experience?
[He was a well-rounded knight. Unreasonably so, some might say. Much too skilled to be sent away on as silly a mission as this.]
[LISTEN SOMETIMES YOU ARE HYPER-COMPETENT BUT ALSO EXTREMELY STUPID]
I didn't know I'd need it for this--! [What, just because he's stared at her back all day long for like a decade, he's supposed to have noticed that there were ties there? What does he look like, a guy with working eyeballs?
Fortunately, he has nimble fingers, so it's easy enough to fix the mess he made and finish up what he was doing, distracted into being slightly less nervous.] Are they all this complicated?
[It's not like his own clothes don't have laces but he can do it himself, damn]
[Said with the utmost fondness. But it seems he's getting the hang of things back there, finally. Nerves got the better of both of them, that's all.]
Usually? A lot of the court stuff is far worse. Not that I mind putting on something fancy. [She rather relishes in it actually. No #notlikeothergirls feelings here.] But it does strike me as a little silly. There's already so much we're not able to do on our own, does that have to include putting on our own clothes?
Though — I suppose you'd need a little help getting in and out of armor, too. I shouldn't complain so much.
[NOT THE DOOFUS!!! He wants to kick up a fuss so bad but he really did just look like a wholeass idiot so he just sulks behind her]
Only a little. [Stares at his knight card. At least this outfit is no different from your usual fantasy video game knights, it's fine.] And it's not like we have to worry about looking beautiful, just uniform.
[To present a united front and look organized and intimidating yadda yadda. Luke doesn't even need to worry about that too much, honestly, given that he's been her personal guardian for years, but he did learn the same things the rest of the army did, and he internalized them perhaps even more thoroughly than the rest of the royal guard, given how seriously he takes his duties.
He softens a little, then.] But I'm glad you don't mind it too much. It would be terrible if you were uncomfortable all the time.
[Also he would feel insanely guilty for thinking about how pretty she is all the time if she truly hated it, especially since he is but a weak mortal man and can't help himself.]
Hmm. Well, you do cut a dashing figure all the same.
[A thought that falls loose too easily, and reminds her of the intimacy of this act anew. Rosamund hushes up for a moment. She has to gather herself again, suddenly the swish of the cords is louder than her own voice. And there's a mad urge to reach back. Or turn unexpectedly, or shrug her sleeves down. Tell him to keep going.
All notions that trail back to that oft visited and oft squashed corner of her mind, where she flees any time he gives her that shit-eating grin, or the light catches his lashes just right, or she watches him in heated spars from high windows. For the thousandth time, she presses each and every thought down, until they're all small enough to tuck into dark crevices and leave for later.]
I'm not uncomfortable. [This isn't regency era yet. Rosamund smiles to herself, pulling at her thumb in a show of nerves hidden from his view.] I just don't like the idea of being helpless.
I mean, there's got to be things you'd rather be doing instead of watching over me all the time. I don't like the idea that I'm burdening you. Even with something as silly as this.
[The dress. The impending marriage. How will she look him in the eye once they reach their destination? He's supposed to stay with her until they're both called back, or retrieved by a victorious retinue after the conflict abates. Even thinking about holding some strange man's hand in Luke's line of sight makes her queasy.
It's not a betrayal, but it burns like one just the same.]
Edited (nah makes it thirstier) 2024-05-05 03:57 (UTC)
[Oh. Well, immediately, his grip tightens on the laces, and he shakes his head--completely forgetting what he's doing in favor of dispelling her concerns.]
Don't ever think that. You could never be a burden to me. [Firmly!!] Actually, it... makes me really happy, when this is all you need from me. Because it means you're safe.
[Not that he doesn't like being needed--in fact, it's very much what he lives for, and it always has been. Protectiveness is in his blood. But he isn't so selfish as to begrudge their moments of peace. He has no large dreams of ambition and glory. Everything he wants is right here, in this room.
And he can't say that, of course, for a thousand different reasons. But he doesn't like that she's feeling discontent, even if it's about something small. (Even if it's not.) And it's ingrained in him to assuage her unhappiness--not out of any knightly training requirements, but simply because it makes his chest hurt, and he's compelled, purely by affection, to try and make her smile again.]
And, there's... [nowhere I'd rather be than right here, with you, all the time--]
[There's a knock on the door, is what there is, because he'd asked for a bath to be brought up to her room, and the water is nice and hot now, so the kind madam innkeeper is here to deliver it for her!!
And very abruptly, he remembers that he's helping her undress, and his shyness slams back into him. He yanks his hands back, staring blankly at the undone laces, and hurriedly turns away, nyooming for the door.]
In the privacy granted by simple perspective, she can smile at that. He doesn't have to see the tightness at the edges. It's odd that the word sits so ill with her now. It's not that she wants to be in danger, more that...well. Safe decisions are usually the ones being made without her say so? Like this marriage. Like staying cooped up inside, barely learning anything useful. She must seem awfully naive to someone like Luke, who's seen and done so much with all the same hours in the day she's had. He could fight a band of six brigands easily, unarmed even. She can't even reach the ties of her own dress.
Before he can move on, however...]
—Ah!
[Right! The bath!
She grabs at her sleeve and turns but he's already beating a retreat.]
[Once a deeply appropriate amount of bath time has been had, Rosamund is in bedclothes and a heavy robe over even that, lest things look too casual. Her hair has been dried about as well as it's going to get, and the hour draws quite late.
Whenever Luke sees fit to return to the room, she's curled up in a chair waiting for him with a few candles lit, pouring over a book.]
Welcome back. [She'll smile warmly.] I didn't mean to kick you out for so long. You must be exhausted.
[A cloud of roadrunner dust settles across the floor as he flees (no)
It is shyness that has him fleeing, because Luke is brave in a lot of ways, but not this one, not the way that truly matters. (And he'd balk if he heard someone say it, but he's innocent, too, at least compared to the majority of his fellow knights.) It's hard enough for him not to turn tomato red half the time when she's simply existing in the same space, he's pretty sure he would've exploded and died if he'd lingered any longer,,,
So he flees, because he can't see her like that. And he stays gone for a while, longer than strictly necessary, because--
Well. Because she can't see him like this.
The roof of the stable is a blessing in the storm. He isn't in a state to appreciate it as he curls into himself, his throat scraped raw and his chest heaving with the painful, bloody coughs that rip through him--but he will, later, when he doesn't have to make excuses for anything beyond smelling a little too much like horse and hay. Later, he'll be grateful for the pouring rain hiding the sounds of his body tearing itself apart, even if it's unlikely that anyone would care enough to be nosy. Late, late at night, when everyone else is fast asleep and he can sit alone with his thoughts and his brittle, aching body, he'll think of these things and feel quietly relieved that he doesn't have to lie to Rosamund any more than he already does.
For now, though, he can't think beyond the pain, and all the misery and bitterness it dredges up within him. They're old friends, by now.]
[He's cleaned up, more or less, by the time he returns. The blood is wiped and rinsed from his mouth and the cloth tucked away. The hay's picked out of his clothes and his hair, and for good measure, he waits long enough that the color of his face is, most likely, back to normal. His facade is firmly back in place as he knocks quietly, and when he pokes his head in, he smiles to see her.]
It's fine. One of the patrons downstairs got into an argument with the owner over fish--it was pretty funny to watch. [Refreshingly mundane, compared to the sorts of things the two of them have to worry about on a day to day basis. He slips inside and closes the door, coming over to peer at her book.] What are you reading?
[She folds the book shut, eyes flicking quick over him. Altogether fine, it seems. Nothing's happened. Nothing ever happens when he vanishes, regardless of the inciting cues or the speed with which he makes the exit.
Luke is very, very careful. She knows this about him, observes it in many of his steady habits. And he is discreet. He has other work, and he's not always within pinching distance of her in the first place. But he vanishes. It's the one habit he won't cop to, and the one that needles her the most. It was only a bath, she thinks with a thin press of the lips. Shyness only counts for so much.]
Uh — minor cures and crafts? [She holds it up, cover facing outward.] Forgive me, I sneaked it along for the trip. It would be handy, don't you think? To know a little witchcraft before we get too far into the woods.
[Where more powerful witches are known to reside. Occasionally.]
...Are you all right? You should rest, Luke. It's been a long day.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
smooches it
Bad luck, isn't it?
[She's smiling as she says it though, nearly touching his arm before she remembers herself. Right. Even under the guise of humble travellers with false names ("Aurora" is a strangely elegant name for a merchant's daughter), there's certain expectations of behaviour. She can't cross too many lines a princess wouldn't, and that includes being over-familiar with a boy she's known since the age of nine.]
It'll only extend the trip by a day, as long as the storm breaks overnight.
[And nothing else goes wrong.]
no subject
("Lucas," he's chosen to go by here--hilariously uncreative, but he'd refused any further deviation from his name, arguing that a split second of confusion on either end could cost them dearly. Logic is such a convenient cover for the truth: that while he's used to keeping her name off of his tongue, he couldn't stand to hear anything too different from hers.)
He looks to her and catches the smile on her face; with the the young man gone, he dares to sneak her a smile in return, though he quickly schools his features after. Even hidden by his hood and playing the role of hired help, he doesn't dare let himself relax out here, where anyone could see them.]
Let's hurry inside, Y--My lady. [He'd practiced this, but it still feels strange to say. Bittersweet, to know that it won't ever be more than a facade.] You'll catch cold.
[Fuss fuss fuss]
no subject
You could, too. [Always so thoughtful of her and so careless with himself. She does hurry inside though, secretly thrilled. It's a welcome reprieve from the months-long dread this trip has been giving her.
She ought to be arriving to meet her betrothed with a full retinue, but impending war had muddied matters. She'd be much safer in Apogee, and wouldn't she like the time to get to know Jonathan anyway? And here, just to taunt you further, take the one man you can't keep your eyes off on the way. A final parting reminder that you can't always get what you want. Not even if you're a princess.
Rosamund sweeps inside, checking back for Luke even if he's barely two paces behind her. The innkeepers are a sweet middle-aged couple, serving the last rounds of ale on an already late night.
"What a darling couple you two are, and to be caught in such bad weather!" Rosamund flushes but makes no protests. A key is pressed into Luke's hands in exchange for coin. "Don't worry, take the last room on the second floor, on your left. We'll bring up a hot meal shortly, there's plenty left over."]
Thank you so much! I love your dress, by the way. Your embroidery is absolutely stunning.
[The woman blushes and chuckles, and Rosamund flashes Luke a smile of her own on her way up the stairs.]
Awfully sweet of them, isn't it? Especially since it's so late. I can't wait to get out of these soggy clothes.
[Last room on the left huh?]
no subject
So he accepts her concern with another smile before he falls back into position behind her, maintaining decorum even out here. Luke's hardly a frequent visitor of inns or taverns or anything like that, but he knows plenty about the power of gossip from the palace alone, so it's not hard to guess what might be said if they behave poorly.
Not that it matters, apparently--assumptions are made anyway, and for all that Luke is very good at being professional, he is also very much a young man alone with the love of his life, being blatantly, albeit unintentionally, perceived. He can't quite keep the shocked look off of his face, nor can he stop his own face from heating up--he looks away quickly, pretending to be very interested in the inn's decor. Wow! Those sure are paintings. They have colors and stuff. Amazing. Never seen anything like 'em.
He looks back once it sounds like Rosamund's done chatting, nodding respectfully to the innkeepers in order to avoid their gazes.]
A-ah, yes, thank you. Please draw my lady a bath as well.
[Oh to be horses that can just prance around in the mud.
Anyway, up the stairs they go!! Away from prying eyes, finally--and though he can never truly relax around her for a lot of reasons, he finally allows a small bit of the facade to drop once they're up on the second floor.]
We'll have to hang them to dry in here. I doubt they have enough patrons tonight that we'd have to worry about theft, but better to be safe.
[...
......
........]
Um... do you...
[...........
He doesn't know how to ask if she needs help getting dressed oh god maybe he should just turn around and go get a maid just in case that would be less embarrassing than finishing this sentence--]
no subject
[She's been rather well disguised here. Though there are a some dowry gems sown into the lining of her underskirts? But even Luke doesn't know about that. Royal secrets.
Not that there are many between them. She doesn't keep much from him if she can help it, whether her parents approve or not. And the gems depress her, just knowing what they're for. But a fraction of the offering should she be well received in Apogee! There's more to come once matters are settled, pinky promise! How galling.
She pops the door open once they arrive and looks back to him, one brow raised.]
Do I what?
[Sorry, her mind wandered a few places. She has to run the train of thought backwards before she realizes what he might be asking.]
...........
[Oh. Um. Oh.]
I suppose... [It's all right, this is Luke. He's seen her ass-up in a puddle after being knocked from her horse, with lemon custard slopped over her front, heard her flounder and fumble more than one speech. There are very few depths she has yet to sink to in front of him, so there's no need for a sudden flurry of nerves.] I could use a little help? Just with the back, if it's not too much trouble.
[The owners thought they were a couple, and a lowborn pair at that. It might look suspicious if they ran asking for help getting her undressed.]
no subject
You--want me to help?!
[HER LOGIC SHOULD OCCUR TO HIM, AND YET]
no subject
I'm sorry!
[Her hands fly up to make peace.]
I only meant that — wouldn't asking someone else now look suspicious?
I'm sorry. It's okay, I'll get the ties myself, I'm sure it's fine.
no subject
Ah--no, I mean--it's okay! Um, I just...
[.....
He coughs weakly into his fist, his face red again.]
I can get it.
no subject
He's so flushed, she feels rather ashamed to have even asked.
Though he had mentioned it first.]I...Thank you. [Maybe it's better not to make a meal of it? She's starting to heat in the cheeks as well, though she stays steady as she nods to him.] You know I trust you, right?
no subject
But--ah. It's a more loaded question than she knows, through no fault of her own. Fortunately(?), he understands what she's asking, and he's had years of practice keeping his melancholy off of his face, so aside from a small pause, there's nothing to reveal the pang of guilt and sorrow that strikes him with her words.
Still, his expression does soften, some of the flustered redness fading away.]
...Of course. You always can.
no subject
Maybe she's touching on things too big for either of them to bear. He's quick enough to shake off the implication, but her own pause is longer, the smile much softer. Rosamund reaches for his hand and gives it a bracing squeeze.]
That's why I'm glad it's you here.
[And why she'll be heartbroken when it's over.
But she'll turn now, removing her cape and hanging it on the hook. She pulls her hair over her shoulders so he might more readily reach the lacing of her gown and waits, ignoring the acrobatics her insides are pulling to put on a facade of calm.
It's nothing. Really, it is.]
no subject
She moves into the room, and he follows on instinct, part of his mind caught on the terrible secrets he's keeping from her, the rest distracted by the lingering warmth of her hand against his. Only once she's hung up her cloak does his brain catch up, sending a burst of nervous energy through him all over again. He swallows, staring at her back, which looks the same as it always does, but that doesn't help settle him at all, really, because he's never looked at it with the intention of reaching out, and. And.
No, no, it's fine. He can do this. She's right, after all--they can't afford to draw too much attention to themselves, and he'd never forgive himself if he got them in trouble because he was too embarrassed to help her with something so simple.
(Never mind that it's not simple at all, to him, but. She'll never know that, if he has his way.)]
...Right. Here I go. [So that she isn't startled when he reaches out, taking hold of one of the laces...
And he tugs!!
...
...Nothing happens!!
Well. Hm. That's not how that works. Erm.]
Uh--sorry, hold on...
[Give him a second to just. Pick at this knot he made on accident, like an idiot.]
no subject
She braces, chest tight with dearly held breath.
Then it's tight for other reasons.
Rosamund looks over her shoulder, brows rising high with a smile creeping over her cheeks.]
Did you make a knot back there? [Oh my god. She starts laughing.] Luke, what happened to all that sailing experience?
[He was a well-rounded knight. Unreasonably so, some might say. Much too skilled to be sent away on as silly a mission as this.]
no subject
I didn't know I'd need it for this--! [What, just because he's stared at her back all day long for like a decade, he's supposed to have noticed that there were ties there? What does he look like, a guy with working eyeballs?
Fortunately, he has nimble fingers, so it's easy enough to fix the mess he made and finish up what he was doing, distracted into being slightly less nervous.] Are they all this complicated?
[It's not like his own clothes don't have laces but he can do it himself, damn]
no subject
[Said with the utmost fondness. But it seems he's getting the hang of things back there, finally. Nerves got the better of both of them, that's all.]
Usually? A lot of the court stuff is far worse. Not that I mind putting on something fancy. [She rather relishes in it actually. No #notlikeothergirls feelings here.] But it does strike me as a little silly. There's already so much we're not able to do on our own, does that have to include putting on our own clothes?
Though — I suppose you'd need a little help getting in and out of armor, too. I shouldn't complain so much.
no subject
Only a little. [Stares at his knight card. At least this outfit is no different from your usual fantasy video game knights, it's fine.] And it's not like we have to worry about looking beautiful, just uniform.
[To present a united front and look organized and intimidating yadda yadda. Luke doesn't even need to worry about that too much, honestly, given that he's been her personal guardian for years, but he did learn the same things the rest of the army did, and he internalized them perhaps even more thoroughly than the rest of the royal guard, given how seriously he takes his duties.
He softens a little, then.] But I'm glad you don't mind it too much. It would be terrible if you were uncomfortable all the time.
[Also he would feel insanely guilty for thinking about how pretty she is all the time if she truly hated it, especially since he is but a weak mortal man and can't help himself.]
no subject
[A thought that falls loose too easily, and reminds her of the intimacy of this act anew. Rosamund hushes up for a moment. She has to gather herself again, suddenly the swish of the cords is louder than her own voice. And there's a mad urge to reach back. Or turn unexpectedly, or shrug her sleeves down. Tell him to keep going.
All notions that trail back to that oft visited and oft squashed corner of her mind, where she flees any time he gives her that shit-eating grin, or the light catches his lashes just right, or she watches him in heated spars from high windows. For the thousandth time, she presses each and every thought down, until they're all small enough to tuck into dark crevices and leave for later.]
I'm not uncomfortable. [This isn't regency era yet. Rosamund smiles to herself, pulling at her thumb in a show of nerves hidden from his view.] I just don't like the idea of being helpless.
I mean, there's got to be things you'd rather be doing instead of watching over me all the time. I don't like the idea that I'm burdening you. Even with something as silly as this.
[The dress. The impending marriage. How will she look him in the eye once they reach their destination? He's supposed to stay with her until they're both called back, or retrieved by a victorious retinue after the conflict abates. Even thinking about holding some strange man's hand in Luke's line of sight makes her queasy.
It's not a betrayal, but it burns like one just the same.]
1/2
Don't ever think that. You could never be a burden to me. [Firmly!!] Actually, it... makes me really happy, when this is all you need from me. Because it means you're safe.
[Not that he doesn't like being needed--in fact, it's very much what he lives for, and it always has been. Protectiveness is in his blood. But he isn't so selfish as to begrudge their moments of peace. He has no large dreams of ambition and glory. Everything he wants is right here, in this room.
And he can't say that, of course, for a thousand different reasons. But he doesn't like that she's feeling discontent, even if it's about something small. (Even if it's not.) And it's ingrained in him to assuage her unhappiness--not out of any knightly training requirements, but simply because it makes his chest hurt, and he's compelled, purely by affection, to try and make her smile again.]
And, there's... [nowhere I'd rather be than right here, with you, all the time--]
2/2
And very abruptly, he remembers that he's helping her undress, and his shyness slams back into him. He yanks his hands back, staring blankly at the undone laces, and hurriedly turns away, nyooming for the door.]
Uh-- I'll-- wait outside.
[GOODBYE]
1/2
In the privacy granted by simple perspective, she can smile at that. He doesn't have to see the tightness at the edges. It's odd that the word sits so ill with her now. It's not that she wants to be in danger, more that...well. Safe decisions are usually the ones being made without her say so? Like this marriage. Like staying cooped up inside, barely learning anything useful. She must seem awfully naive to someone like Luke, who's seen and done so much with all the same hours in the day she's had. He could fight a band of six brigands easily, unarmed even. She can't even reach the ties of her own dress.
Before he can move on, however...]
—Ah!
[Right! The bath!
She grabs at her sleeve and turns but he's already beating a retreat.]
Oh. Bye?
[There he goes. Damn.]
2/2
Whenever Luke sees fit to return to the room, she's curled up in a chair waiting for him with a few candles lit, pouring over a book.]
Welcome back. [She'll smile warmly.] I didn't mean to kick you out for so long. You must be exhausted.
1/2
It is shyness that has him fleeing, because Luke is brave in a lot of ways, but not this one, not the way that truly matters. (And he'd balk if he heard someone say it, but he's innocent, too, at least compared to the majority of his fellow knights.) It's hard enough for him not to turn tomato red half the time when she's simply existing in the same space, he's pretty sure he would've exploded and died if he'd lingered any longer,,,
So he flees, because he can't see her like that. And he stays gone for a while, longer than strictly necessary, because--
Well. Because she can't see him like this.
The roof of the stable is a blessing in the storm. He isn't in a state to appreciate it as he curls into himself, his throat scraped raw and his chest heaving with the painful, bloody coughs that rip through him--but he will, later, when he doesn't have to make excuses for anything beyond smelling a little too much like horse and hay. Later, he'll be grateful for the pouring rain hiding the sounds of his body tearing itself apart, even if it's unlikely that anyone would care enough to be nosy. Late, late at night, when everyone else is fast asleep and he can sit alone with his thoughts and his brittle, aching body, he'll think of these things and feel quietly relieved that he doesn't have to lie to Rosamund any more than he already does.
For now, though, he can't think beyond the pain, and all the misery and bitterness it dredges up within him. They're old friends, by now.]
2/2
It's fine. One of the patrons downstairs got into an argument with the owner over fish--it was pretty funny to watch. [Refreshingly mundane, compared to the sorts of things the two of them have to worry about on a day to day basis. He slips inside and closes the door, coming over to peer at her book.] What are you reading?
no subject
What was wrong with the fish?
[She folds the book shut, eyes flicking quick over him. Altogether fine, it seems. Nothing's happened. Nothing ever happens when he vanishes, regardless of the inciting cues or the speed with which he makes the exit.
Luke is very, very careful. She knows this about him, observes it in many of his steady habits. And he is discreet. He has other work, and he's not always within pinching distance of her in the first place. But he vanishes. It's the one habit he won't cop to, and the one that needles her the most. It was only a bath, she thinks with a thin press of the lips. Shyness only counts for so much.]
Uh — minor cures and crafts? [She holds it up, cover facing outward.] Forgive me, I sneaked it along for the trip. It would be handy, don't you think? To know a little witchcraft before we get too far into the woods.
[Where more powerful witches are known to reside. Occasionally.]
...Are you all right? You should rest, Luke. It's been a long day.