Chapter Text
You cursed yourself for getting in such a position as you heaved a bloodied body onto your goose down bed sheets, dark sticky crimson clinging to your skin and the front of your white nightgown. The body landed with a soft flump, leaving a suspicious looking trail of blood towards the center of your bed. Normally you were against opening the door for strange men in the middle of the night, but a gunshot wound to the stomach usually prohibited acts of violence, unless the attacker wanted to bleed out to death, so you deemed it safe enough. You made sure to grab a fire poker from the fireplace on your way back from the medicine cabinet, just in case.
Blood was beginning to pool underneath the man, signaling that if you were to do anything, it had to be done with haste. Fighting back a gag at the tangy metal aroma, you undid his vest and undershirt, pulling it off and discarding it somewhere on the floor. The bullet had thankfully wedged itself near the surface of his flesh making it an easy grab with a pair of tweezers. The wound itself proved to be more of a challenge. Stitches were required to stop the bleeding, but the needle slipped around between your fingers, and attempting to wipe the slick blood off your hands just made more of a mess. After a bit of adjusting, and a lot of wiping, you finally managed a messy line of seven uneven stitches.
For the first time in the past half hour, the thumping of your heartbeat began to fade from your ears, allowing you to process what had just happened.
You took a moment to look him over. He looked around your age. Around twenty– no, twenty-one? It was hard to tell with so much hair in his face. From what you could make out, he appeared to be a reasonably attractive man. Perhaps a bit unkempt, you thought, but as to be expected at this time of night. With his chestnut brown hair, he vaguely reminded you of Clyde, your childhood dog. Though intended as a compliment, you made a mental note to keep that one to yourself when–if ever–he awoke. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep that was drawing you to the curve of his jawline, but with a start, you realize you had been staring for far too long. Blinking away your daydreams, you see the scene in front of you as it truly is.
There was a body in your bed.
You frantically reach over the bed to press two fingers firmly against his neck, feeling around for a pulse. Was he even still alive? A slow and faint periodical throb against your fingertips pulls a heavy sigh of relief out of your weary body, and you slump against the side of the bed. Thank the gods.
Unfortunately, the fact he was alive did not solve the strange-man-in-bed issue. Once he had been securely wrapped in several layers of bandages–any more and he may appear mummified–you weren’t sure what else there was to do. So, you recruited the only person in the household that could keep their mouth shut. Your older sister, Euphemia.
“By Jove, sister… you’ve killed a man…” Euphemia looked pale-faced and wide eyed in horror at the seemingly lifeless body and blood adorning your room.
“Stop it.” You hissed under your breath, closing the bedroom door behind her. “He’s not dead. And would you keep your voice down?”
Euphemia looked from you to the body, then to your crimson hands and nightgown. “Are you to tell me he is… sleeping?” She asked, incredulously, her voice quavering.
You sighed, exasperated. You grabbed her wrist, much to her resistance, and forcefully pressed her fingers against his neck. “There. He is very much alive. Now will you please help me?”
Your sister sighed in relief. “Gods… He looks mauled.” She eyed your butchered stitchings. “Not a slight on your abilities, of course. Spoken from a place of love.”
“Mock me all you want when we break fast, sister.” You toss her a wet washcloth. “As for now, make haste and wipe down the headboard. I’ll deal with the floor.”
“I merely jest.” She replied, rounding the bed beside the body.
As she approached the unconscious man, she froze, the cloth in her hand dropped to the ground as you heard a sharp intake of breath. Startled, you jump up from your knees.
“Hells, are you hurt?” You turned, expecting to see a splinter or bruise. Alas, Euphemia just stood shell shocked, staring down towards the body. You looked at the man yourself, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.
Euphemia leaned closer to the body and swept the hair from his face. “I’ve seen this man’s portrait before.” She crouched beside him, studying his features. “It was in a museum of art from other nations.” Closing her eyes, she recounted the museum. “It was a family portrait. So this must be…” Euphemia turned back to you, mystified. “The Viscount of Waterdeep.”
You stared at her. “...Who?”
“The Viscount, Lord Gale Dekarios.”
✣ ✣ ✣
The rest of the night–technically the early morning–passed surprisingly peacefully, with the only hiccup being a lack of bed space. Euphemia made sure to chide you thoroughly for even suggesting that she take Gale to her room instead. In your defense, he had a larger bed than yours. After some back and forth, Euphemia declared that she’d be ruined if someone found her alone with a foreign Viscount, and her hopes of being courted would be gone. You, however, were newer to the season and very much single–which she didn’t hesitate to enunciate–and therefore could afford a scandal or two.
Cursing her under your breath, you reluctantly slipped under the covers, a good sixteen inches apart from the supposed Viscount. Despite everything, you easily drift off into a sound sleep.
A sudden shift in the bed startles you awake. Groggily, you sat up to see early morning sunrays softly beaming through your windows. Your mind clouds with exhaustion as you attempt to recall the night prior. In your fatigue you barely manage to picture a sharp jawline and soft brown hair. A dream, you conclude. Just another fantasy to forget about. You were about to lean back down when you heard the soft squeak of your bed spring from beside you, followed by a hushed murmur.
“Shit.”
Turning towards the voice, you came face to face with a pair of warm chestnut eyes, staring straight back at you. Lord Gale Dekarios–very much not from a dream–stood with one knee on your bed and his other foot on your floor, attempting to leave without a sound. His face was tense with pain and his hand pressed over the wet bandages covering his wound.
You made no move to stop him, merely watching as he gawked at you dumbstruck like a child with his hand trapped in a cookie jar. “What are you doing?” you asked.
It was as if you had two heads with the way he stared at you.
“My deepest apologies for the intrusion last night,” he managed to stammer out, quickly collecting himself and beginning to stand from the bed. “By Jove, I will leave right away-”
“Why?” You cut him off.
He choked out a confused sputter. “Pardon?”
You gestured to his bloodied bandages. “You are injured. Are you not?”
His eyes flicked to the wound before returning to your questioning gaze. “I am.” He replied, slowly.
“So sit. Unless you mean to walk home.” Standing from the bed, you scoured the room for the remainder of the bandages you brought from before.
Gale hesitantly perched himself on the edge of your bed frame, unsure how to proceed. After a couple moments of watching you flit around the room, he cleared his throat. “Pray tell, which residence am I in the company of?”
Upon gathering the materials and medicines, you sat across from him, laying out the paraphernalia in between you both. “This is the Neredras Manor,” you replied, beginning to work on replacing his dark, oxidized bandages.
From up close you could finally make out his facial features in detail. His jawline was as you remembered, but his hair was finger-combed back against his neck, almost brushing against his shoulders. His atmosphere had changed as well. Despite his grim injuries, a warm feeling surrounded him, almost like an aura of liveliness. You leaned into him, passing the bundle of old bandages around his body as you unwrapped. In such close proximity you just barely manage to make out faint traces of spicy cinnamon, crisp parchment, and freshly lit firewood.
You froze and pulled back sharply. You had completely forgotten yourself. He hadn’t noticed, had he? You glanced up briefly, only to be immediately met by chestnut eyes that bore into you with a thousand-yard stare, and lips ever so slightly muttering to himself as if he was lost in thought.
“...Pretty.” Gale whispered, barely intelligible.
“What?”
Upon realizing you were staring right back at him, he quickly averted his eyes, finally breaking out of his stupor. “Sorry?” He cleared his throat, struggling to meet your gaze.
“Pretty?” You repeated, confused.
Gale sputtered, seemingly caught off guard before a look of mortified realization crossed his features. “Morning,” he declared abruptly. “Y-You are morning.” He paused. “I mean, it is morning.” He paused again. “I mean, It is a pretty morning,” he finally managed, eyes settling back on yours as a pale flush of pink crept up his neck, threatening to wrap around his cheeks.
You attempted to raise the back of your palm to feel his forehead, concerned, only to be intercepted by Gale as he caught your wrist and brought it back down to your lap.
“I assure you, I am perfectly well,” he took a deep breath, composing himself. “And usually better at this.” He added, pressing a customary kiss to the back of your hand. “All this and you don’t even know my name.”
“Well, actually–” you began.
“Gale Dekarios,” he vaunted, chest almost puffed, and you swear you’ve seen images of birds of paradise performing similar moves during a mating dance. Knowing he was a Viscount made the visual match far too well and you failed to stifle a chortle.
“Pleased to make your–” Gale faltered slightly at your reaction. “Did I do something?”
Struggling to pull yourself together, you shake your head breathlessly. “No, it’s nothing. It’s just, I know who you are already.”
He looked puzzled. “You do?”
Nodding, you let out a deep breath, overcoming your brief laughing fit. “My older sister is quite the socialite. She recognized you from your portrait.”
From his impressed expression, you caught yourself wondering if they would be a good match. Euphemia was always fond of the idea of marrying a Viscount, like your mother had, not to mention she was up to date on all the drama of the ton.
An unfamiliar sensation twisted in your gut, unnoticeable until you focused on it. You hadn’t had breakfast yet so it was likely just hunger. But strangely, this hunger was creeping up from your stomach, almost residing in your chest with a faint pang.
You stood up sharply, pushing down the strange feelings. “You must be hungry, my Lord.”
Gale’s eyes flicked around your face, almost as if he was studying you. “I could eat,” he finally spoke. “And please, just Gale.”
Nodding quickly, you turned on your heel and briskly left your room, closing the door behind you. The twinge in your chest finally simmered, leaving your cheeks slightly flushed and blood nearly warm. You let yourself fall against your door, breathing deeply.
Suitors had come and gone before, and once he healed, Gale Dekarios would be nothing more than a man you met for a day.