After being revived by his foster father, Diarmuid learns of his treasonous acts and decides to leave Hibernia for sure. Still longing to be a knight, he learns of a certain king that is willing to accept any kind of Knight. Camelot is quite the jou...
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It was the ringing in his ear that had awoken him. He groaned, his head feeling heavy and the sleepy notion continued to cling to his mind. He felt sick, his stomach a little uneasy and it only made him feel worse. He sat up slowly and immediately felt a sharp stinging sensation emitting from his back. Diarmuid could not hold back the cry of pain that left his lips.
The pain in his back was unbearable and he began to wonder what on earth was causing him so much harm. His surroundings were unknown to him and he was having trouble understanding what had occurred for him to end up sitting in a strange place with his back aching greatly. He felt cold and slightly afraid of what he did not know.
He recalled hunting a deer and nearing a small creek, but there was nothing else that made him piece any happenings together. His head ached to the point that there was even pain in his eyes and then he began to think if he had been drugged. Groaning a little softly, he let his feet touch the wooden floor and he stood rather unsteadily. Pain quickly emitting to his brain and then he concluded that he had probably hit the floor too hard whilst he fainted—a concussion. Using the bed he had been sleeping on as a fall back net, he took a step and immediately he heard a tick.
The room he was in was not large, but there was enough light leaking in that it made him conclude that he was not being held hostage. Plus, the bed had been rather comfortable. The room was not extravagant and it was evident that who ever was helping him—a rather delicate word—was a poor fellow. Only a nightstand was below the small window, a seat next to it and the bed. The floor was all wooden, but there was a brown carpet that almost matched the wood in the center of the room.
The sound of the floor boards scared him and he fell back onto the bed. In an instant, a woman came through the door, that also made a weird sound. Red hair fell into ringlets reminding him of fire and bright green eyes blinking; worry evident in the irises. "Thank goodness that you are awake!" The beautiful woman clapped her hands together. The freckles on her cheeks and nose were very visible due to her pale skin—she was beautiful. Even her voice was as soothing as a melody.
Blinking a couple of times, he held his aching head, "He...llo?" He greeted, quite unsure of who the woman was. He was trying to match her features to someone he knew before, but he could not remember who she resembled. Her beauty was beyond him and he knew that he would be able to match a face like hers with a name, but the headache was causing him confusion. He knew her, he swore it.
"Good afternoon," she smiled—her pink lips moving so sweetly, "How are you feeling now?" Her eyebrows were knitted together in a worrying expression. There was something that did not sit well with him, but he overlooked it as he kept his eyes locked with her grass green gaze. Her features were so mesmerising for some reason, and it made him a little pensive.
"My head aches, but it might not be anything bad," he found himself answering a complete stranger, his mind slightly scolding him for it, but there was a part of it that did not mind. He did not even flinch when she approached him to check his temperature. Her hand was soft, delicate and little bit cold; she would probably think he had a fever—but that did not even matter. His eyes were trained on every move of hers. The way her hips swung when she walked towards the night table, the steady way she breathed and the smell of lavender that surrounded her; they were all floating around his head.
