15min fic #2
Aug. 4th, 2004 11:58 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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yrae
Title~ At the Healing House
Author~ Annarti
Series~ Yrae Chronicles
Warnings~ Iccle bit of bloody, but not much
Disclaimer~ Still mine
Notes~ 15 minute fic, word 2. Ph34r my original titles. Was originally going to be about how Nol gets uncomfortable around magic, but then kinda went off on a tangent. Meh, whatever. Also, Melraan's another guy in the King's Own *nods*
~ ~ ~
He took a deep breath before entering the healing house, hugging himself as much to stop the bleeding in his side as to comfort himself.
The palace’s head healer approached him, smiling in welcome and assessing the red patch on the prince’s shirt. She never asked questions or chided her patients as Auin had done. She just did it.
Nolryn hastily pushed her hand away and took half a step back. Yamin looked up quizzically at him.
“I… prefer the more traditional methods,” the prince mumbled. Magic made him feel… not queasy exactly, just uncomfortable.
The healer blinked and raised her eyebrows slightly, then shrugged and gestured for the prince to go to the back of the healing house. Nolryn watched as she left to fetch bandages and other, more natural means of healing. Yamin’s expression had reminded him so much of Nimay. Since the girls both looked so vastly different, and their occupations were polar opposites of one another, it was easy to forget they were twins, but simple actions like that made it apparent.
The healer soon returned, one arm full of creamy bandages, a pot of balm and a damp cloth in the other. She raised her eyebrows in silent question, checking that he was certain he wished to forgo the magic.
Nolryn nodded, then took a seat on one of the solid stone beds and stripped off his shirt, wincing as his wound opened further. It was his own fault. He should have blocked the lightning-quick sword stroke rather than try and dance away from it. He gazed up at the ceiling and grinned. Melraan had won this round, but as soon as the prince was patched up, he’d challenge the swordsman to a round at the Golden Thrai.
He winced again when the cool, damp cloth contacted with the wound, wiping away blood, both dried and still flowing. Yamin’s quick, light fingers worked some of the balm into the wound to stop the flow, then she wound the bandage around his middle and tied it off. Finally, she rinsed his shirt in a basin of water and handed it back to him.
The prince smiled in thanks, then slung his shirt back on and made for the door. He cracked his fingers and headed back towards the training ground, where Melraan was undoubtedly still gloating. Nolryn couldn’t understand why, the sword had never been his best weapon anyway.
Author~ Annarti
Series~ Yrae Chronicles
Warnings~ Iccle bit of bloody, but not much
Disclaimer~ Still mine
Notes~ 15 minute fic, word 2. Ph34r my original titles. Was originally going to be about how Nol gets uncomfortable around magic, but then kinda went off on a tangent. Meh, whatever. Also, Melraan's another guy in the King's Own *nods*
He took a deep breath before entering the healing house, hugging himself as much to stop the bleeding in his side as to comfort himself.
The palace’s head healer approached him, smiling in welcome and assessing the red patch on the prince’s shirt. She never asked questions or chided her patients as Auin had done. She just did it.
Nolryn hastily pushed her hand away and took half a step back. Yamin looked up quizzically at him.
“I… prefer the more traditional methods,” the prince mumbled. Magic made him feel… not queasy exactly, just uncomfortable.
The healer blinked and raised her eyebrows slightly, then shrugged and gestured for the prince to go to the back of the healing house. Nolryn watched as she left to fetch bandages and other, more natural means of healing. Yamin’s expression had reminded him so much of Nimay. Since the girls both looked so vastly different, and their occupations were polar opposites of one another, it was easy to forget they were twins, but simple actions like that made it apparent.
The healer soon returned, one arm full of creamy bandages, a pot of balm and a damp cloth in the other. She raised her eyebrows in silent question, checking that he was certain he wished to forgo the magic.
Nolryn nodded, then took a seat on one of the solid stone beds and stripped off his shirt, wincing as his wound opened further. It was his own fault. He should have blocked the lightning-quick sword stroke rather than try and dance away from it. He gazed up at the ceiling and grinned. Melraan had won this round, but as soon as the prince was patched up, he’d challenge the swordsman to a round at the Golden Thrai.
He winced again when the cool, damp cloth contacted with the wound, wiping away blood, both dried and still flowing. Yamin’s quick, light fingers worked some of the balm into the wound to stop the flow, then she wound the bandage around his middle and tied it off. Finally, she rinsed his shirt in a basin of water and handed it back to him.
The prince smiled in thanks, then slung his shirt back on and made for the door. He cracked his fingers and headed back towards the training ground, where Melraan was undoubtedly still gloating. Nolryn couldn’t understand why, the sword had never been his best weapon anyway.