A Simple Misunderstanding . . . [Bloodkiss and ChaosLord29]

Allister reached out, holding her cheek, trying to stir her into wakefulness, "Not to say that you can go to sleep yet." He said, "And here you said you were a healer." Allister was not a healer, but he had seen such injuries before and knew the procedure the knights had used in their recovery. Reaching beneath her head, he lifted the pillow and propped it up against the head of the bed and then with any thought to propriety dismissed by his concern, he reached beneath her arms and lifted her up to prop her up against the pillow, reclined by sitting up on the bed. Handing her the mug of tea, "Besides, you shouldn't let your tea go cold."

She laughed, unconsiously leaning her cheek into his touch. "I wasn't going to sleep. I was trying to reconcile with the fact that I almost killed myself by overlookig something so serious. I just assumed the headache was from no sleep, being beaten within an inch or my life, and then spending all of my magic at once. I'm actually surprised that the release didn't kill me. But when I did it I though my choices were being eaten by that beast or being blown to bits by my own magic."

Allister didn't pretend to understand how magic functioned but the thought of casting a spell that could as easily destroy himself or his opponent was quite enough to further his wariness of such things, resulting in his pulling his hand away perhaps a bit too hastily. "A situation you will hopefully not be forced into again any time soon." He said, rising to his feet and then, feeling awkward, taking a seat on the bed beside her. Again, he felt the pulsing of the gem against his chest, almost as though it mirrored his own heartbeat, and he felt compelled to put his hand to his chest, encircling the gem through the fabric of his hand and holding it against him with a sort of ache.

Caoimhe tried not to be offended when he yanked his hand back. She understood that the fear of magic had been bred into him, and most of society. She was an outcast, and she'd learned to deal with that. When she had finally found a small village of people that hadn't shirked away from from her, that had appreciated her abilities, she had thought she could settle down and live out her life. But now, with her reputation shattered, she feared she'd never have peace again. After taking a long, deep breath and sipping her tea for a moment, she smiled. She hoped that by putting up a front of cheer she could put him at ease. "I'm fine. You should go set up your camp and get some rest. We have to begin our search tomorrow."

Allister sensed however that perhaps something was still wrong, though he accredited such feelings to her injury. "I could rest here, I'm a light sleeper and it would be no trouble to make sure you're all right through the night." He suggested, trying to sound as empathetic to her position as possible. He'd had no such troubles in his own life, having grown up in a prosperous, landed family in good standing with the courts. Life at the chapel and fortress of the order had been exacting in training and standards, but he had always been provided for, and the prestige and station carried with being a knight or squire . . . had resulted in something of a charmed life.

She laughed, almost a bit too bitterly. "As I said before, I don't need someone to care for me like a child. I understand if you are afraid of me, but please don't pretend to have civil feelings toward me when you have been taught to feel otherwise." She winced and grasped the back of her head, her raised voice straining her already aching head. Feeling foolish for her outburst, but too prideful to say so, she turned and faced the window. The moon was high enough in the sky now that little light came in through the window, leaving only the fireplace to illuminate her stoic features. She worried her lip, battling with her stubborness and the need for companionship. She didn't want to drive him away, it had been so long since she'd had someone to talk to, but she didn't want him to look down his nose at her because of a stupid difference in beliefs.

Allister did not fully understand her hostility, but he rose to his feet, bowing as he said, "Until tomorrow then." And turned to leave the cabin. He did not wish to upset her further, trying to convince himself it was because he needed her help, and he thought a show of civility and respecting her wishes might go a long ways towards that. Exiting the cabin, he quickly set up his tent outside and unrolled his sleeping mat and blankets. It wasn't until he had lied down and he felt the weight of it on his chest that he remembered the ruby. Taking it out of his pocket and into his hand, he palmed it surprised at it's warmth and closed his eyes, his lucid and forgotten dreams crossing his mind's eye.

Caoimhe sighed when he left, confused by her mixed feelings. She was upset by his abrupt exit, and his absence reminded her how lonely she was in her little cottage in the woods. But her pride refused to leave her alone. A part of her hated him for his smug, skeptical views. He suspected that she was some evil summoner, but then how would he know if she weren't? He didn't know her, and she couldn't blame him. He had not only been raised to believe that witchcraft was evil, he happened upon her just as a demon appeared. It must truly look like she had summoned the beast. With another long-suffering sigh she lay back and closed her eyes, willing sleep to claim her mind.

She watched as the guards dragged her mother to the bailey, to the spot that had once held fond memories for her. They had errected a large bonfire, and her father was the one who had commanded it. She hid with her nursemaid in the tower, watching the horror unfold below. The nurse had left for only a moment, in a desperate attempt to find something to distract young Caoimhe, but she was too late. The child would not be spared the sight, and it would haunt her for years to come. Her mother was tied to a post atop the mound of wood, and her father's people, guards and villeins alike, began to strike the woman with stones. Some missed their target, but others did not. Caoimhe cried out as a rather large rock clipped her mother's beautiful face, and a resounding crack could be heard even up in the tower. The girl ripped at her braids in horror, crying out in distress as more rocks rained down upon the woman below. After the people were quite satisfied with their stoning, the pile of tinder was set ablaze, the woman's skirts quickl catching. She did not flinch in fear once or scream. Her eyes were focused on her husband, her features set in a disturbing calm. Caoimhe collapsed to her knees upon her window seat, furious and terrified and heartbroken. She watched her father turn coldly away, stalking back to the keep with a guiltless expression.

Caoimhe cried out, sitting up in bed a bit too quickly. Her heart pounding in her ears, she couldn't hear her own scream, followed by silent, wracking sobs. She gasped for breath, trying to right herself, but her heart was wrenching so painfully, she felt as if she'd been struck with the very stones tossed at her mother years before.

Allister awoke to the sound of Caoimhe's scream, and just as quickly threw himself out of his bedroll and darted into the cabin, his sword already in hand as he ducked inside, ready for a fight. His training and instincts had reacted so quickly he had not taken into account any other aspects of the situation, and darting inside he was wearing only his tunic loosely around his frame. He could barely see in the darkness of the cabin, but as his eyes adjusted he recognized no immediate threat, and relaxed his stance a little, until he remembered the reason for his entry and looked concernedly towards Caoimhe in her bed. "Are you all right?" he asked, "I heard your scream and thought . . . well . . . " He was now beginning to feel a little embarrassed at his brazen entry.

She swallowed hard, shaking her head and trying to take a calming breath. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean to wake you." She stuttered and ran her hands over her face, trying to gather her wits. After a moment she stopped shaking and spoke more clearly, but her eyes were still swollen with angry, unshed tears. "Just a bad dream, is all." She cleared her throat and brought her knees up to her chest, pulling the blanket around her shoulders and leaning back against the wall. She hadn't noticed his state of dress until now, and blushed when her eyes roamed his form of their own volition. Did they have a mind of their own? As hard as she tried, her eyes would not obey her. They took in every detail, lit only by the embers left of the dying fire and the sparse moonlight filtering in through the window, doorway, and thatched roof.

"Oh," Allister couldn't think of anything more inadequate to say at such a time, but it was all he could do. He was suddenly, very acutely aware of his dress, though he could not perceive her eyes as they roved his loosely clad form. Deciding it would be best to act as though nothing were out of the ordinary, he approached the side of her bed a bit closer. "My apologies for such an entrance, I was worried for your safety." He rubbed the back of his head as he set his sword down on a table. "I hope you will forgive me for such an intrusion."

Caoimhe couldn't help but laugh. "It's quite alright. I have no door, anyway." She rested her arms across her knees, holding her head in her hands. The dream had shaken her to her bones, leaving her feeling empty and cold with dread. She hadn't realized that she'd actually screamed, and felt bad for frightening him so, but she couldn't deny that his presence was comforting. The dark feelings that had resurfaced made her head spin and her mind reel. Having something solid to focus on made it easier for her regain her composure.

Allister was about to wish her a good night's sleep anew, when he found himself taking a seat on the stool beside the bed from their previous conversation. Something tugged at his mind, and now that he was still he felt the ruby pulse against his chest, surprisingly warm, but he dismissed these notions as a simple lack of sleep. Rather than acting on that reasoning though, he smiled at her laughter, "Was it about the demon?" He asked, not sure why the contents of her dream would be of interest to him, hoping to justify the question with talk of their task. "Your dream I mean. Encounters with such creatures can touch the mind in ways we might not expect." It wasn't until he actually said the statement that the oddness of his own behavior occurred to him.

It would be so easy to lie to him, to tell him that it was about the demon. And he wouldn't question the matter any further. But for some unfathomable reason she felt that she needed to tell him the truth. She'd never spoken about her mother's death, the matter too raw and personal. "No, the demon doesn't frighten me...I had a nightmare about my mother. The day she died." Her hands were in her lap, fingers laced, gripping eachother with white-knuckled ferocity. She stared at them, feeling the old wound opening again, bared before him. "I was there the day she died. I..." She let out a long sigh. "It was rather horrifying. It still seems like it happened just yesterday."

"I'm sorry." He replied, though the words felt empty, hollow. Again he was struck by how charmed a life he had lead till this point, free from such sorrows or hardships. Moreover, he felt somehow that one such as her should not be so deserving of strife, that he would rather bear the load of such things. "Your mother she was . . . " He struggled to find the words. Part of what lead him to pursue knighthood was not only his desire to bring honor and glory, but his ability to sympathize for those he could not empathize with. "I know I would not wish such a fate on anyone." Instinctively he put his hand out to wear her own rested in her lap.

Caoimhe felt numb, her mind drifting back to old memories and leaving her body cold. She couldn't stop the tale from spilling forth, something strange compelling her to tell Allister, this man she'd known for barely more than a few hours, who'd saved her life and whose belief that her magic was evil angered her and shook her to the very core. "My father was a knight. He stumbled upon my mother once, working in the village he was traveling through. When he became curious about her, he followed her back to the castle. It was an old castle, on pagan lands...it belonged to my mother. He became infatuated that a woman had so much power and strength..." She paused, clearing her throat. Her eyes had begun to sting and water, but she wouldn't give in to tears. Her mother hadn't. "She believed he loved her, and after some time they married. In the eyes of England, he owned everything that was once hers. My father became the protector of our lands, ordered to stay there and guard the holdings from being reclaimed. I rather wish he'd gone off and died in some battle for glory and vain. After a few short months, they had me. My father wasn't too upset about the fact that I was female, as they had plenty of time to produce an heir. But one night, when I was a young child, my father found my mother in the sacred caves below the keep, teaching me the fundamentals of magic. He hadn't known her power's extent, and became panicked. I fled when angry words were flung between them, and I heard him hit her once before my nurse found me. She whisked me away to my room, and when I woke my father had smeared my mother's good name and decreed that she be put to death. He locked her away while they constructed her pyre. Then I watched from my window as they threw rocks at her and burned her alive." She bit her lip so hard as to draw blood, fighting the urge to scream and sob.

As she related to him the tale of her birth and parentage, Allister was stunned beyond words. It dawned on him just what a burden such a sight and experience might be to bear, and could not begin to imagine how he, himself might struggle and deal with such an experience. He loved both his parents, and they he and one another more than mere words could express. In an almost child-like naivety he could not see how persons could share such a bond as family, and then cast it aside, not out of fear, or anger or anything remotely close. He extended his other hand, holding her wringing hands to his own in an effort to calm her, twining his fingers with her own in an effort to halt her from clenching them. "You have good reason to feel so deeply." He said, kneeling beside the bed, trying to catch her eyes with his own, "To endure such a hardship would warrant anyone's deepest pains, but you have endured thus far," He rose to his feet, holding her hands still, "And that shows that you are strong, stronger still for doing so."

She watched as he took her hands, and in the back of her mind couldn't help but think that their hands seemed to fit together. "My mother didn't even cry. She watched me, watching her. She willed me not to be afraid. I cried for days...I was ill with grief. In the middle of the night I ran away...my nurse knew without needing to be told. My father thought me dead, and my nurse didn't tell him otherwise. He might be dead by now, for all I know or care. I never looked back." She finally met his eyes, her own aching with anger and despair.

Suddenly, a familiarity in her tale occurred to Allister, and a twinge of doubt crossed his features only to be replaced by a sudden ache. He felt for her, felt the pain and anger that pooled in her eyes and in her heart, and felt compelled to console her. His sterling eyes met hers with compassion and strength as he took a seat upon the bed beside her, pulling her hands up next to his chest, as he leaned in next to her, "And you have lived a life more fully in doing so. But you cannot hope to live with so much anger and pain bottled up for the rest of your life. Your actions must work to resolve them, to rectify them." He reached out with one hand, tilting her chin upwards, "But I suspect you have already begun to do so, even if you have not yet recognized it."

She would have blushed at his nearness, but she was too glad for the comfort he offered. She looked up at him, surprised by what she saw in his eyes. His words of understanding were not so empty as she'd thought, and she wished that she knew why. What had pained him so much, that he could grasp the depth of her pain? She leaned into his strength, readily take refuge for just a few moments. She had been strong these past years, and it was nice to let up that guard, even if only for a few moments. She felt tears suddenly well up in her eyes, and pressed her face against his chest and their hands in a child-like way, trying uselessly to hide the tears that came.

Allister felt more than saw her tears as she leaned in against his chest, and once more he was vaguely aware that the ruby was warmer than it had any right to be. But that was not his concern at the moment, his entire attention focused on Caoimhe as she pressed herself to him, and how he could better comfort her, lend her what strength he had in hopes that she might overcome the hardships of her childhood. He could barely abide to think of her sadness as his own fault, for invading her home, for probing her history, for not being able to console her, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, hugging her tightly to him as his other hand used their entwined hands to wipe at her tears.

Caoimhe calmed as he held her, and the tears slowed, eventually stopping. "Thank you-" She muttered against his chest, still reveling in the comfort of his embrace. "-Allister..." Her voice was now a whisper. She felt herself drifting back to sleep, exhaustion trying to claim her. Her eyes fluttered closed slowly, and her breathing evened out, her chest rising and falling softly.

Allister just barely heard her words, though not for lack of trying. He was intent upon her now as she rested in his arms, trying to push aside conflicting feelings of duty and propriety in favor of the warmth and all together rightness he felt in holding her. "Yes?" He murmured to her even as he began to recline backwards, letting her down to lay against him.

Caoimhe yawned, curling against him as sleep began to claim her. She wasn't sure what she had been about to say, but all thoughts were lost as she reveled in the comfort of his arms, and she drifted off to sleep without any further thoughts. The dream didn't plague her again, and she was acutely aware of his presence through the fog of sleep, her body molding to his comfortably.

Allister was vaguely aware that there was some sort of abstract, arbitrary line in his duty; that in falling asleep with Caoimhe in his arms there was some breach of principle, but none of that mattered to him at the present. He felt better for having comforted her, and felt more comfortable himself for having her lying there next to him, sharing the warmth of the same bed, breathing in time with her as his eyes seemed to close of their own accord. The voice of duty and reason in his head was awash in the heady tide of comfort and sleep, but it was not alone. Their was beside it, perhaps even weaker a less wholesome interest, now equally drown out by slumber's call, but it was there, with an interest all it's own. And all the while that they slept, the ruby pulsed gently in time with their heartbeats, keeping slow, steady time as the night passed.