|Summary:||Gedeon has a fever and gets a visit from Danae.|
|Related Logs:||The Arms Coat Goes On the Outside and other stabbity Ged logs.|
|Cots and things.|
|Fri Jan 13, 289|
Ser Gedeon Rivers has had something of a week, and it only stretches longer as his fever clings and his wound is yet to be sewn shut. His time is spent mostly in strange dreams or only half awake, though the two women caring for him have made sure he's drinking and taking in some little broth. Just now, he's much as he has been. Half asleep and half awake, lying in a cot in the Oldstones tent.
The Lady Danae Westerling is not one of those who has been tending the harried knight, but duty to her cousin has brought her as far as the camp and keeps her there still. Steps quiet, she brushes aside the tent opening and peeks inside with an inquisitive look. Perhaps looking for one of the women who tends him. Finding them not within, she steps inside with a gentle, "Ser?" It is soft enough that it is unlikely to disturb Gedeon, should be be trully asleep.
There s a soft breath drawn in and Gedeon's eyes flutter open at the soft query. Peering over at the woman standing inside the tent he asks, his voice weak and rough with sleep, "Lady Westerling?"
"I am sorry. Did I wake you?" Danae wonders quietly, placing a hand over her heart with a twist of a frown. "I was surprised to find you unattended." The lady slips across the tent and bends down in sight of the knight. "How fare you, Ser?" She questions with a small smile.
"I'm not sure," Gedeon admits with a weak smile, "it's been a little hard to tell what is waking and what isn't, as of late. How…" he lifts his head a little, "how may I assist you, my lady?"For the question, he answers, "I am still alive and thankful for it. Beyond that, I cannot say."
"I think best by remaining where you are," Danae assures with a lift to her smile, gestures towards where he lies abed. "Let me not keep you from your rest and recovery. I am certain many others are glad of it as well. And forgive me my impudence but…" She bends closer, touching his forehead with her wrist to feel for any trace of a fever to match his exhaustion. "It looks as if you still have a fever. Can I get you some water?"
The knight eases his head back down with a soft sigh of relief. "Thank you, my lady, but Mistress Delacourt and the Lady Flint have been plying me with liquids on an alarmingly regular basis. I suspect I am more waterskin than man, at present."
"From the little I have heard of the battle, Ser. I suspect that you rather need the fluids to replenish what you've lost," Danae teases lightly in chastisement, drawing her hand down from his forehead to his cheek. Gentle as can be, her skin cool against his fevered cheek. "You are lucky to be in such good attendance." Withdrawing her hand, she moves to rise slowly and flashes him a slight smile.
"Indeed I am, my lady," Gedeon agrees, sighing softly for that gentle touch on his cheek. "And to have such pleasant company. Thank you."
"I should apologize for not warning ahead of time that I was coming, but I am glad to be a pleasant distraction," Danae admits with a slight chuckle. She moves only so far as to collect some water and a rag. "Although, I imagine after the sights and sounds of the tent you might be just as glad to see your horse, Ser." As she speaks, she dips the rag in water and rings it out. Laying it across his forehead, she smooths it carefully into place.
"Anything that is not these four cloth walls and that cloth ceiling is welcome indeed," Gedeon agrees wryly, eyes closing as Danae settles a cloth on his forehead. "But I must be ill to be so frank. Please do not think I compare you to a tent wall, my lady."
"I think you are quite ill enough to be as frank as you please," Danae asserts lowly, laying the final corner flush against his skin with a finger. She smiles down at the prone knight, smoothing her hair back over her shoulder. "I believe I suggested the horse, I am not offended regardless."
"There's some small grace for me, then," Gedeon murmurs around a rather weak smile. "Tell me my lady, what news of Stonebridge? How fares the town and those who keep your company within it?"
Danae chuckles softly, settling her hands in her lap as she perches near the edge of the bed, resting on her heels. It is not a grace she is disinclined to give. "Stonebridge remains much as you've known it. There was a return to daily activities once the banners marched out. The distance is small but news as ever remains slow."
"Well, good then. News that doesn't have to be rushed is news we needn't fear. Perhaps I'll be returning there sooner than later. I had hoped to continue to march with the banners but…" he exhales softly, "I grow less certain that's likely."
Gedeon can feel the gentle brush of fingertips across his skin as Danae lifts the rag to cool it again with a low murmur, "You will heal as quick as your body allows, Ser. You have tried and took a sword. No one could ask more of you." The rag is dipped and wrung again. "Besides, I cannot promise much excitement on our end, but I can promise somewhat amiable company."
"I ask more," Gedeon murmurs. "This is not yet over and out numbers will only decrease the longer we fight. If I can mend, I should like to and lend my blade to the fight, again." He huffs a faint laugh. "My lady, I am not so sure all those in Stonebridge should wish my company, for reasons I can well understand."
Humming a low note of agreement, Danae leans over him to settle the rag back against his skin. "Only if you mend well and right; your hand will be better on your blade when it is steady and strong, Ser. I shall happily hand it to you then, with my blessing." First he must heal. "A lady is taught…that never will all get along well with the others at any gathering. It is a matter of placement. Yet, I am certain that some will be well glad to see you."
"A matter of placement," Gedeon murmurs. "Wise words, my lady. I shall hope to be well-placed, then. I think you are right, there may indeed be some. Though when I am recovered, I shall ask you for my sword." His eyes begin to close again, breath slowly. "I am sorry," he murmurs, "I think I may be falling asleep again."
"Then I shall give it. Sleep, good Ser," Danae bids gently, chuckling at his apology. "That will do you better than my company for your recovery." She lingers long enough to settle the rag comfortably enough that it will not fall askew in his sleep and sees the water set back in its place. She will not remain while he rests.