11. Adjectives
It was the following afternoon when the whitesleeves finally and somewhat grudgingly gave his consent to allow Elayeen to rise from the bed, with the stern instruction that she was to venture no further from the inn than the wells across the broad cobbled area that was the southern terminus of the road to Jarn. Her clothes had been cleaned, apparently with great care, and after much clumsy fumbling on Gawain’s behalf, Elayeen was finally dressed and standing in the middle of the room.
“Am I presentable?” she asked softly, eyes downcast.
“You are beautiful miheth, you could wear an old potato-sack and still be presentable.”
“I do not feel beautiful, G’wain. I feel broken.”
Gawain took her hands in his and pressed them to his chest before wrapping his arms about her and gently touching his forehead against hers. “They are the prettiest potato-sacks we could find,” he whispered, “Stop complaining.”
Elayeen could not help the sudden smile that tugged away her embarrassment at being unable to dress herself. “No it is not sack-cloth, G’wain,” she whined quietly, like a little girl, “They’re my own clothes, don’t laugh at me.”
They kissed, and then Gawain cradled her face in his hands. “Never.”
Elayeen smiled sadly, and then frowned, prompting a hasty “Is something wrong?” from Gawain.
“No,” she said tilting her head this way and that. “Am I standing in sunlight? It seems… brighter.”
Gawain’s heart sank a little. “No, E, the window is behind you, and the curtains are still drawn against the day.”
“Oh.” Elayeen looked crestfallen.
“Perhaps it is a good sign,” Gawain smiled, “A sign that your sight will return. Perhaps all you need is more rest, maybe some fresh air…”
“Yes,” she agreed quickly, “I should like to feel the sun on my face, G’wain.”
With that, he turned, his left arm about her shoulders, her right tightly about his waist, and her left hand, broken fingers bound together, resting lightly on his chest.
“I am frightened.” She whispered. “I am so frightened, Gawain.”
“I will never let you fall, miheth,” Gawain replied, trying hard to swallow the sudden lump in his throat.
He led her to the door and through it, across the empty public room, and out through the wide open doors of the inn to the boardwalk beyond.
“Do you want to walk all the way to the wells, or are you comfortable here?”
“It’s not far, G’wain, I was here before, remember? I won’t slip on the cobbles. But do not let go.”
“Then we shall cross to the wells,” Gawain agreed, “Where Captain Tyrane and his sergeant are waiting, and watching.”
“Oh. You are sure I am presentable? My hair…”
“…Is captivating, if their expressions are anything to go by. I’m not sure I’m comfortable with twenty seven men of Callodon all besotted with you. You are my queen, after all.”
“I can feel the sun. It’s quite warm today.”
“Stop trying to change the subject. You’re as bad as Allazar.”
“Is he awake yet?”
“Yes, though still mumbling in a strange tongue. He is much quieter though, according to the healer.”
“I am worried for him.”
“I am too. Don’t tell him that though.”
Another few paces, and Gawain brought them to a halt.
“Good afternoon, your Majesties,” Tyrane beamed, and bowed slightly.
“The good Captain is of course addressing you, my lady,” Gawain smiled and nodded a polite greeting at the officer.
“Good afternoon, Captain Tyrane,” Elayeen smiled, glorious in the sunshine. “My husband has told me of the care and attention you and your men have given to our protection. I hope you will add my compliments to his and pass them on to your men.”
For a fleeting moment, hope seemed to flare in the officer’s eyes, but then he noticed that Elayeen was in fact looking slightly to his left, and past him, and that her sight had not yet returned.
“Thank you,” Tyrane said quietly, and with great pride. “I shall. If there is anything I and my men can do for your comfort…”
Elayeen bowed her head a little, acknowledging the officer’s sincerity. “Thank you.”
“If you’ll excuse us then, your Majesties, the sergeant and I have our duties…” And with a none too subtle jerk of the head at his sergeant, strode off towards the northern end of the outpost, leaving Gawain and Elayeen alone at the wells.
“Captain Tyrane is gallant.” Elayeen said softly.
“I’m standing right here, my lady, that’s my arm around you, you know.” Gawain grumbled.
“I know.” Elayeen smiled bravely, but even without the throth to bind them, Gawain knew she was struggling against fresh tears.
He turned her slightly, and stood before her again. “It is a wonder you are out of bed, Elayeen, never mind charming a Callodon Captain for the whole world to see.”
She took a big shuddering sigh. “A few steps, miheth. It is hardly a triumph worthy of song. Though now I am sure the world is brighter, I can feel its warmth and yes, the darkness in my eyes is brighter.”
“E…” Gawain’s voice almost cracked, “The sun is behind you.”
“Oh… I think I should like to go back to the room now, G’wain, please.”
“Of course,” he whispered, and led her back across the courtyard.
“There is a step up here…” Gawain said softly when they reached the boardwalk outside the inn.
“Longsword! Quo et dthu! Quo et dthu Longsword!” a familiar voice called from within.
Gawain’s heart sank.
When Elayeen was settled in their room, in a large chair made all the larger for her petite frame curled in it, she insisted Gawain go at once to Allazar. He left her sitting there, her knees drawn up, gazing towards the window, the curtains now flung wide open.
“He certainly appears a little more rational and quieter today,” Turlock said softly outside Allazar’s door, “But still distracted. It’s getting more difficult to restrain him now, and I’m concerned about the concussion he’s suffered. Unlike your lady, my lord, the wizard really must lie still.”
“I’ll try to persuade him. I suppose a second blow to the head would not be effective at restoring his senses? I’ve heard stories…”
“No.” Turlock announced firmly. And then allowed himself the tiniest of smiles. “Though I shan’t rule out the possibility as a last resort if he continues to be troublesome.”
Gawain opened the door to see the wizard in question laying in bed, the Dymendin staff under the covers with him, the top end resting on the plumped pillows beside Allazar’s head.
“Aha! Longsword! By the Teeth, Eyem hatak a ver dthu!” the wizard struggled to prop himself up, only to find Gawain gently pushing him back.
“Allazar, you have been hurt, and must rest, lie still.”
Allazar groaned, and then seemed to twitch, staring into the far corner of the room as if straining his ears to listen to someone standing there. He blinked, before staring back at Gawain once more.
“Longsword,” Allazar whispered urgently, as though fearful of eavesdroppers. “Mi scribendana!”
“Your notebook?”
Allazar’s eyes widened in rapture and his left hand shot out from under the bed-linen. “Dthu compindame! Mi scribendana!”
“No, Allazar, I don’t compinda you, but I have your notebook, it is in your bag, in the other room with Elayeen. Do you want it? Is that what you’re saying?”
The wizard looked on the point of tears, such was his frustration, and he nodded furiously, before sinking back into the pillows where his expression seemed to relax again, and he began mumbling quietly.
Gawain self-consciously straightened the sheets, and then stood. “I’ll get your notebook, Allazar. Be still.” And with that he left the wizard’s bedside and returned to the room he shared with Elayeen, only to gasp with alarm.