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It was over, the assault on their hide-away fort had diminished and it was finally over. Marit stabbed down one last time, through the spine of the one lone soldier that was crawling away in agony, away from where their comrades had died.
Roars of celebration started down the battlement when it became clear no more assaults were happening, but Marit was numb to it. It sounded far away, dulled, as if her head was underwater, a barrier between her and the rest of the world. She was staring, staring at the blood that seeped out of the body underneath her and was slowly soaking her through her boots into her socks. Battle always invigorated her, excited her, but not today, it was all overwhelming, the iron twang of blood in the air, the sounds of metal meeting metal, the arrows flying past her, the screaming, the yelling, it all became muddled very fast.
Inside, her mind whispered, you will find solace inside. She wasn’t fully sure if the voice even belonged to herself or someone (or something) else, but her body moved automatically, turning around and stumbling away from the bodies lining the bridge, dragging her glaive behind her. Bloody footprints are left behind as she walks across the courtyard to the tower of the fort. She felt vague claps on her back and shoulders, more shouting, people running around and she swore she heard a gate close behind her, but it did not fully register. A single feeling flitted through her brain, a person, a place, it all was the same thing to her now, safety. Her feet dragged up the steps, her glaive bouncing off the stone which each step taken making harsh sounds that filled the stairwell.
2 floors, third door on the left, he told me to report, Marit reached for the handle with her free hand and pushed, the door creaking open with more forced than she anticipated.
‘Marit..’ Orson’s soft voice broke the bubbles in her ears and everything came rushing in, the shouts from the window, the shuffle of fabric as Orson sat up more on his chair. She reached up to remove her helmet, where did my glaive go, it didn’t matter - the helmet found the ground with a dull twang of hollow metal hitting wood before rolling off to one of the walls, leaving a small trail of quickly drying blood behind. She walked over to him, her noble, her sorcerer sitting on a chair, waiting for her, all for her. She fell to her knees in front of him, knees hitting the carpet that held the worst of the cold away from bare feet, hands trembling as they reached out. She gripped Orson’s gray robes, insufferable wealthy man, her gloves were red, though she couldn’t tell anymore whose blood it was. She gripped the expensive fabric, pulling and pushing, ruining it with more and more bloodstains. She frowned, tugging on the leather that had protected her hands in battle, the gloves needed to go, she needed to feel him, his warmth, his soft skin, him.
He is quiet, why is he so quiet, say something, anything. Marit was always above begging, it wasn’t something she had in her, but the whimper that left her throat shocked the Aelf into action. A hand gently rested on her head, urging her down onto his lap, not unkind, not demanding, but guiding her like she had done for him so many times now. ‘Marit, I have never seen you like this.’ His voice was gentle, as if trying to soothe a wild beast. I suppose I am. ‘I heard the battle was won, the fort held well enough and you defended the bridge…you did me proud, Marit.’ The compliment shocked Marit's system, freezing her body just as her fingers reached her lord’s skin. ‘You came back to me, like you promised, I’m safe now thanks to you.’ Orson’s voice was getting stronger now, helping Marit to cling onto it easier. She reached out more, finally holding onto the warm skin that was her lord’s, his powerful legs from days and days of walking rest firmly within her hands, her fingers digging into the lean muscle.
If Orson noticed blood being smeared onto his pristine skin, he didn’t let it be known. He sat there, slowly stroking Marit's head, scratching the stubble from not being able to shave it the last few days. The silence fell over the knight like a blanket, it wasn’t unpleasant - it helped her settle back into her body, the fog that had wrapped around her consciousness slowly clearing. Orson stayed quiet now, letting her come back to her senses on her own time.
‘I was supposed to report.’ Marit's throat felt raw, her voice came out as a mere whisper. ‘I was supposed to bring the news of the battle.’ She didn’t understand, how could he know how the battle went before she even arrived.
‘Shrapnel sent Rusty with a note, he wanted to let me know that you seemed out of it, he was concerned.’ The artificer, of course he would send word, he had been on the battlements, keeping an eye on the machines and on her. ‘He said you did well, but needed space, I was surprised you came here at all.’
Marit couldn’t explain what happened to her brain, even now, with her head still in his lap, she couldn’t force herself to step away, she wanted to stay there for the rest of the night. ‘The battle was won…minimal deaths on our side, only one machine blew up.’
‘A miracle, really, with his contraptions.’ Despite his sarcastic words, Orson sounded awfully fond in that moment - the bond the 4 of them had built up over the last few months had grown beyond what any of them had imagined. Marit had sworn off of lovers and loved ones when she left her village in the north under contract, but her Lord had dragged her in, broke down any walls she painstakingly formed. He was under her skin, in her head, everywhere all at once and all she needed now is him and his reassurance.
‘Come, let’s get you cleaned up, I will have someone bring us something to eat.’ Marit didn’t know for how long they had been sitting there, her on her knees and Orson stroking her head like she was some kind of pet. Her eyes opened slowly, blinking against the fading sunlight that was streaming through the window, catching on her discarded helmet and reflected into her eyes. She sat up slowly, looking up at him, her sight slightly blurry, but she could make out his features, assisted by her memories. Orson got up, slipping past her into an adjacent room to fill the bathtub for her. Loved, she felt so loved by her Lord, he was running her a bath to clean up. It was all wrong, Orson taking care of her, but it felt so good to be taken care of for once.
She got up from her spot on the floor slowly, mindlessly tugging on the straps of her armour, desperate to get them off so she could join him in the bathroom. The chest plate joined the helmet by the window, the arm guards and pauldrons followed, a trail of items left in her wake as she moved towards the bathroom. The boots came off right before she entered the bathroom, the steam from the heating water meeting her as she stepped into the small, stone room. The bathtub was almost full, Orson was looking at the selection of bath salts and bubbles. He didn’t look up when she leaned down to take her shin guards off, the sound of the steel echoing through the smal chamber, followed by her bloodied socks. ‘I will need to get new socks.’ She whispered, staring at them in her hands. They had been a gift from Orson’s father after her first year with the family Emberhold, now they were ruined, stained with a blood of someone she doesn’t even remember the face of.
Orson looked up from where he was comparing 2 bottles. ‘We will get you new socks, no problem.’ He went back to his bottles, not fully registering the frown on Marit's face by the dismissal. He must understand, the socks are important, I need new socks.
‘My socks...’
‘Will be replaced, I promise, we will get you new ones when we have had a moment to breathe again.’ He turned towards her fully now, finally deciding on the chamomile scented oil. He finally really looked at her and understood that she could not let this go easily. He put down the bottle of oil and walked over to her, slowly taking the damp socks from her. ‘How about we soak these overnight, see if we can get the blood out, hm?’ He dragged over another bucket and filled with it hot water, dunking the socks in the water to make sure they are soaked through before leaving them in to soak. ‘There, we will see in the morning how they look, agreed?’ Marit nodded in acceptance, that was passable. Orson turned back to the bath with the oil bottle in hand and dumped a generous amount in.
The scent hit Marit quickly, setting her back into motion to undress - her shirt, followed by her trousers, her underwear kept firmly in place. Orson stepped aside for her, allowing her to climb in and sit down. The bathtub barely fit her, her knees above the water in order to keep her feet inside the tub. She let out a sigh, rolling her head a little to sort out the muscles in her neck. The chamomile helped calming her racing thoughts, she started to feel her muscles aching now. She slowly rubbed her hands over her arms, trying to get the specks of blood off of her pale skin. ‘Let me, sit back, take a deep breath for me, good.’ Orson took her closest arm - wait, when had he sat down, where did he get that stool? She watched as Orson took a sponge and started scrubbing her skin clean, the red making way for a pale white. He dunked the sponge into the water before moving onto the other arm, giving it the same treatment. She closed her eyes slowly, the heat of the water making her drowsy. She felt Orson move, one of her legs now raised above the water as he cleaned her lower leg and then her foot, repeating the movement once again with the other leg. ‘There we are…’ Marit opened one of her eyes and peeked at the water - it was still clean enough to stay in for a little while longer.
She heard movement then, the shuffle of fabric before she was nudged. ‘Sit up, will you? I have to clean myself now as well.’ And so she did, she made as much room as she could, giving him space to sit down between her legs. His hair was out of his usual braids, hanging limply over his shoulders. He cleaned his hands, cleaning under his nails- there is purple underneath his nails, was he helping in the battle? She reached over slowly, cupping her hands in the water and dumping it over his head, drenching his hair so they can clean it. It wasn’t the first time she had washed his hair, it was long and knotted easily, so she more than once indulged him by cleaning and braiding it on their travels. They were quiet whilst washing him, only the splashing of water filled the room.
Orson got out first, drying himself the best he could with the towel before holding it out to Marit. Once dry, they moved back to the bedroom, Marit making a straight line to the bed and climbing in. The bed smelled like Orson’s expensive perfumes that he liked, floral and fresh, Orson made his way over too, sitting down on the edge of it. ‘Get some rest, I will get you something to eat.’ He pulled the blanket over her up to her chin. She frowned, her hand shooting out to hold onto his wrist.
‘Please, my Lord, stay.’ Her voice was barely a whisper and he conceded with a sigh. He pulled the blanket up and laid down, tucking himself in. He kept a respectable distance from her, close enough to feel her body heat, but far enough that they weren’t touching.
‘Sleep, Marit, when you wake up, there will be food and drink, I promise you.’ Marit nodded slowly, slowly reaching out to him and dragging him against herself. Orson let out a startled gasp, clutching her bicep before relaxing again. ‘I’m not going anywhere, you protected me today, I am safe, I am here.’ Orson’s voice settled over her, helping her drift into a dreamless sleep.
Morning light streamed through the window, right between where the two curtains met. Marit groaned softly, blinking angrily against it and her pounding headache. She looked around blearily, first noticing the white hair of Orson, his face snuggled into her chest, then over the edge of the bed, 2 sets of heads - one covered in short brown curls and one with shiny black hair. Shrapnel, Woodsmasher, they must’ve come in after I fell asleep. She laid back down on the bed, pulling Orson just a tiny bit closer. She was safe and amongst friends.