® ( from elise :3c lightofnohrr !! )))
send ® to catch my muse in a state of undress (@lightofnohrr)
Merrris seemed always to be blessed with a certain degree of good fortune, alongside a natural propensity towards caution – for seldom did he suffer sprains and breaks, despite his occupation; or, otherwise, he was indeed only fortunate enough to always have a healer nearby - in both time and place - to see to the injury little after it had affected him. He knows his own limitations, being a magically-gifted sort at the cost of being less physically sturdy, and was simply wise to avoid unnecessary risks when taking to the battlefield.
Of course, it only stands to reason that his luck - just as his body - had its own limitations, too. A particularly formidable Hoshidan wind spirit spell had caught him unawares, forcing the raised arm of his sword backwards at a most disagreeable angle– And while he had suitably repaid the wretch with a sufficient (if slightly clumsily-cast) spell of his own, the injury sustained at the soldier’s hand remains, reminding him of his failure in the quiet of his tent louder than elsewhere.
He winces gently, cursing under his breath as he removes the right sleeve of his shirt with much difficulty.
It not pride, but a joint effort of both shame and impatience that has him attempt to undergo the changing of his sling by himself. He hadn’t had the foresight to not send Walter on an errand only a few minutes beforehand, and while he is fairly certain Oswine remains nearby, he shouldn’t want to subject a knight of her esteem to such a trivial task. (That, and he does not doubt that her being a woman only furthers his embarrassment.) Still, he manages, if very slowly, until–
For how long Lady Elise had stood at the entrance of his tent, he couldn’t say – but being caught so off-guard makes him suddenly jerk away, as if trying to maintain modesty for the both of them. This does his injury no good, suffice it to say, but he is too awash with apologies and bashful blubberings to presently care for the pain.
She has always been too kind, however, and knows - somehow - precisely how to calm him during such shameful times.
“…But…since you are here…” Merris frowns, obviously so troubled by his upcoming request that it has him hesitate in his asking; it has him avert his gaze from his lady, even as he - after a few moments of silence - addresses her. “Would you be so kind as to help change this sling? The fabric is poor, or else I have, against what sound advice was given to me, put too much strain on my shoulder when doing even what few and little tastes I am able to accomplish like this.”
Perhaps Lady Elise knows the dark knight well enough now to notice his rare talkativity surfacing under only one of two sets of circumstances at any one time: when he is so enthused about a subject matter, or (more certainly the case here) when ashamed, bashful.
The thought alone of her kind, gentle hands attending to his injury…
“–No.” And so, likely recognising his ramblings for himself, he already begins undoing the fabric sling himself. “Forgive me, my lady, that I had even considered to ask of you such a menial task. I shall undergo it myself, or else wait for Walter to return from fetching the water.
“Forgive me and forget it.”
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