It was dark. Cold. His head was full of cotton, and his ears were ringing. His limbs felt like they were made of paper. No sooner had this thought formed that he felt his knees buckle under him.
Just as he tipped forward, he heard a soft, vehement, “Fuck.”
Strong hands hooked under his arms and hauled him upright. Another pair of hands grabbed his chin and tipped his head back while pressing a cool thing to his lips.
Dimly, he was aware that the thing at his mouth was a bottle. As though to confirm this, the voice whispered, “Drink.”
Was this poison? He opened his mouth obediently.
His mouth felt sandy so he was unable to taste anything. Even if he could, it wouldn’t have mattered.
It was a familiar dream.
For a while, he swayed between states of awareness.
Memories flashed through his consciousness, blurring the line between what was and wasn’t real.
A man’s voice broke through at one point, sounding both frantic and relieved. He couldn’t make out what was being said.
There was the gentle rocking and distant sound of hooves and low voices. Then, a spell of darkness.
A feminine voice snickered, piercing through the fog. He struggled to find her within the void.
“Gods, again?” Her tone was disbelieving. “How unlucky is this bastard?”
The sun stung his eyes behind closed eyelids at another point in time.
The same voice, indifferent, asked, “Why are you here?”
He frowned, patience running thin. “Were you not paying attention to what I said?”
“I heard you,” she said. There was a clink – like a shot through his brain. Her words were growing fainter, as though she was traveling further and further away. “But I fail to understand how my business concerns you.”
When he finally had the strength to open his eyes, an ornate ceiling swam into view. His eyes stung, and he closed them quickly. Someone seemed to notice that he was awake, however, as a small exclaim could be heard by his elbow.
He opened his eyes again, and painstakingly turned his head. The muscles in his neck were reluctant to cooperate. Vision blurry, he had to stare at the sitting person for a while before they came into focus.
A young woman who looked like the sun was staring at him. Her eyes were a pale gold, and her hair flaxen. It draped over her shoulder in a simple braid, long enough to tickle her elbow. Soft features, pale and delicate skin - it was like she had walked out of a painter’s dream.
He blinked slowly at her.
The woman gave him a dazzling smile. “You are awake at last. I have called for the doctor, please stay still until he gets here.”
“Where?” He croaked.
“This is my family’s estate outside Rickdarl,” she replied. “You have been unconscious for four days. We were starting to worry that you would not wake.”
“My men?”
“They are encamped outside,” she smiled gently. “This estate is small, so we could not accommodate everyone inside. Once the doctor gets here, I will call for your Lieutenant.”
It took a lot of effort for him to speak, and his throat felt like it had been singed. He nodded slightly and then closed his eyes while he waited for the doctor.
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