Her green eyes fluttered open for some short seconds; she saw an expression of gratitude on Diarmuid's face as he loomed over her, and a soft smile on Gilgamesh's lips before her pale eyelids flickered shut again. The darkness was taking her back again for a while longer—yet this time it was much more relaxing, she felt less pressure on her chest as her lungs were filled with air.
Pointing her long sword at utter darkness, she knelt on her bed, trying her best to catch a glimpse of her intruder. It had been the creak of the floorboards that awoke her, and she immediately felt that something had been off. She could feel the presence of someone in the room, but she could not see them for the windows had been blocked and there was so much she could do to look around. The threatening silence was causing her chest to rise and fall more deeply than before and she kept her senses strained in order to hear or feel the enemy.
Something blunt hit her arm and she dropped her sword, letting it clatter to a stop on the wooden floor. Her breath hitched as she reached down for the weapon, but she felt a sharp and sturdy grasp on her arms. She screamed out but a hand flew to her mouth, covering it with a handkerchief, a stinging smell filled her lungs. Arturia kicked and screamed, but with more energy that she used, the weaker she felt.
If only she had not dismissed her guards...she would not be in this problem.
Arturia would not go down without a fight, and so she continued to claw at the arm and try her best to kick her offender, but it was to no avail. Her body begun to tingle and with each kick, she felt weaker and weaker; her energy draining out with every single move, and her screams becoming weaker as well.
And then she noticed as her vision blurred to black, it was not because she was weak, but because she was fainting.
"I am so sorry." It was all she heard; choked and a little shaky, but also gruff.
Arturia felt the heat of the sun as the rays kept her from freezing in the cold winter air. She slowly opened her eyes and allowed the light to filter through them, without failing to make her squint. The bed below her whined as she shifted and let out a grunt, bringing her body up to a lazy sitting position; pain radiated through her neck and shoulders as she slouched forward. Her head fell onto her knees as she hugged them, letting the thumping of her head settle and hopefully disappear soon.
Her chest rattled once a few strained coughs left her dry lips, and she cringed in pain. She heaved and then breathed in profoundly. She ran her left hand through her hair as she yawned, the faint headache becoming more prominent with ever move. Her eyes felt tired and they hurt, as did her throat when she gulped.
She could hear a loud ruckus below her, coming from what sounded like a tavern. She groaned after realizing that they had somehow made it to an inn, and then she snuggled back into the bed; she was going to have to scold whoever had left the window open because it was making her freeze in her bed sheets.
Arturia lay awake, her body curled so that she could heat up faster. Although she felt extremely tired and her body ached, she could not possibly fall asleep. Her head was thumping and she was finding it a little too hard to breathe, and her brain was begging her not to close her eyes.
"How could you leave her window open?" She heard a voice call down the hallway, the person obviously seemed annoyed and exasperated, "Do you have any idea that she is weak and could catch a cold and die? What did the town Doctor say?"
"She also needed fresh air! The dust in that bloody room does her bad too," She identified that it was Gilgamesh who tried to argue an excuse as Diarmuid bolted down to her door; the voices and steps getting louder as they neared her.
The door burst open and it caused her head to start thumping loudly again, so she groaned in response as one of the men hurried to the window and shut it closed, "Well, that should be enough fresh air," Diarmuid sassed as he had not yet noticed that the Arturia was awake.
"Yes, of course," Gilgamesh remarked with a roll of his eyes.
Arturia groaned again and held her head in her head as to suppress the loud and hurtful pounding of her head, "Be quiet." Her voice was hoarse and strained, making her throat ache with the simple words that left her lips.
Both Gilgamesh and Diarmuid gasped as their heads shot towards her curled up body. She tried to look up at them without letting both her eyes and her head hurt, but that was nearly impossible because her neck ached as well. She let out a small whimper as her neck made a unwanted movement.
"How are you feeling?" Diarmuid immediately dropped to his knees in front of the bed so that she did not have to make an effort to move her head again.
Arturia tightened her grip on the blankets and brought them closer to her self, "Cold and hungry," she croaked.
Diarmuid instantly removed his cloak and draped it over her, "Do not move," he advised as he stood and took the basket from Gilgamesh; not in a rough way, rather more out of anxiety of pleasing his master.
It was Gilgamesh's turn to kneel in front of her and look over her injuries, "You had us scared to death, Arturia," he smiled softly, but bit his lower lip in anger when he mumbled her name.
She slowly nodded as she did not understand as to why he had furrowed his brows, "I do apologize for that."
"Dying is not something you have to apologize for, only lying to me," he huffed, "When were you planning on telling me that your name was not actually Guinevere?"
"That's enough Gilgamesh, let her rest, she needs it," Diarmuid barked from the table where he was preparing her some food.
"No matter though, I forgive you because Arturia is a much more fitting name, my princess." His soft smile returned whilst his red eyes settled upon the bruises on her neck. Black and blue with tints of purple and green. There was no hand imprints, but just bruises caused by harm to the capillaries and scratches that she caused herself. Yet, there was one prominent cut on her neck, and Diarmuid had said that it was caused by the witch. His eyes then drifted back to hers and on the way he noticed her dry pale lips and swollen cheek. Her eyes bloodshot and somewhat swollen, "But Diarmuid is right, you should rest a while longer."
"I cannot sleep," she muttered softly, her throat clenching as she gulped; causing her pain again.
Gilgamesh looked at her with forgiving eyes and he frowned a little bit, "As expected," he huffed, "Maybe you could rest after you eat, then." He stood slowly and walked over to Diarmuid, "Liquids would be best."
Diarmuid turned to him and huffed, "Well, my prince, I am lacking a mortar and pestle, as your highness can see."
"I will go get one from the market," Gilgamesh did not even try to fight Diarmuid because he knew that Arturia needed their cooperation at a time like this. After tying his cloak back on and giving Arturia a nod, he left the room.
"What...exactly happened?" She tried her best to speak, although there was a lot of pain that she felt as the words rattled her throat.
Diarmuid licked his lips, "The witch was choking you after she was able to draw your blood. You stopped breathing and Gilgamesh was able to land a blow on her arm."
"And what happened to her?"
His eyes flickered towards her and then back down at the meal he was making, "She disappeared," he shrugged, "and we were able to get you breathing again." He rubbed his face with his right hand before cutting some apples with a knife Gilgamesh had insisted on buying from the market that day because; 'I won't let you cut stitches on my future wife's wounds with a spear ever again'.
"How bad are they? My injuries, I mean," she mumbled as she blinked at him.
He walked towards her after letting the knife down on the table and knelt again. He took a deep breath and lifted his hand slowly, "May I?" he whispered as he looked her in the eyes.
She nodded slowly—because even that simple movement hurt her neck—and kept her gaze on him, checking what he meant when he was asking permission.
"Lay on your back and I will pinpoint what you have," he spoke and she did as he asked. "Your neck," his cold fingers grazed her skin and she inched away at both the cold and the pain that the touch brought. "I am sorry," he mumbled but she gave him a soft nod of approval. "Your neck, here, here and here," he let his finger ghostly touch her skin, "has bruises due to the rupture of some of your capillaries; the doctor says you must be careful when you breathe and eat because it could cause discomfort and less blood flowing to your brain. You also have some scratches that you caused yourself when you were clawing at your neck," Diarmuid spoke firmly. "Your left cheek," he softly touched it, "Is swollen, as you could possibly see, and so are your eyes."
"Is that all?" Her voice was very raspy and rough even in a whisper.
He shook his head, "Your throat is also swollen and dried as well as harmed. And your eyes look like Christmas," he chuckled lightly in order to lighten up the mood.
"Christmas? How do my eyes look like Christmas?" She furrowed her brows and wished to tilt her head but the pain stopped her.
"Red and green, like a mistletoe," he laughed softly so as to make her feel better and much less worried as he stood and turned back to the food he was making.
She slowly sat up and slipped out of the bed—without failing to give a small cry of pain, wrapping the blankets around herself and headed for him; after ruling that her eyes were bloodshot, "How long had I been unconscious for?" She grumbled and continued to walk towards him.
"It was only a minute or less, but you have been resting for one day," he looked back at her and noticed that she was standing and not lying in bed, "Now, go back to the bed, and rest while I make your food."
"I don't want to rest anymore," she coughed a little bit, "I do not like sleeping for days."
Diarmuid frowned and shook his head, "Arturia, you must rest; it is so very important for your health."
She tried to yawn, but stopped her self when her neck began to sting. She then sat down on a chair by the table and simply looked at him, "I must have scared both of you there."
The Irishman gave a short shrug of his shoulders as he continued to cut the apples, "It is not the first time I find you half dead in the snow," he reasoned, "But you really do get yourself in a lot of trouble, isn't that right?"
"I do not go finding trouble; I am a prince and thus trouble finds me." She rubbed her arms to try to get a little warmer. Now that the window was closed, she could feel the room was starting to heat up, but she could still sense the cold in her bones, "We need to hurry to Camelot, as my father, the king, is waiting."
Diarmuid dropped the knife and turned back to her with disbelief in his bright eyes, "Pardon me?"