Throughout the endless night, the solemn royal healers laboured by her side, carefully layering iridescent spells and soothing salves over every bruise and laceration on her battered body. Mei-Ling herself seemed to float along a tenuous boundary between life and oblivion—her shallow breaths betraying her struggle, while her spirit flickered like a lone, defiant candle caught in a wild, relentless storm.
Ever faithful, Aelric never left her side. Seated in a sturdy wooden chair just beyond the reach of her modest bed, his gleaming armor lay abandoned at his feet. Yet his posture remained unyielding and resolute, carved from discipline even after long hours spent in quiet vigilance. In the dim light, he was a silent guardian, his face inscrutable as the healers murmured ancient incantations and pressed glowing, intricate sigils into Mei-Ling's scarred skin.
At the tender break of dawn, as soft sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains like a gentle caress, Mei-Ling stirred. Her heavy lids fluttered open to reveal a world tinted in pastel hues, while the air was redolent with the earthy aroma of healing herbs intermingled with the delicate, ethereal scent of lotus petals—an olfactory memory of serene gardens and quiet waters. When she attempted a small shift, a sharp groan escaped her lips as a searing pain raced along her bruised ribs.
"Easy now, you're safe," Aelric said in a hushed tone, his words barely disturbing the stillness of the morning.
Mei-Ling blinked slowly, her eyes heavy and unfocused until they met his—a steadfast, silent presence whose tired gaze was as solid and unyielding as carved stone. With a voice raw and fragile like a whispered secret, she asked, "Why am I here? Why did you choose to save me?"
For a moment, silence reigned as he continued to watch her intently from his chair, the quiet space between them thick with unspoken emotions and words left hanging in the air. Then, with deliberate simplicity that belied the depth of his resolve, he finally answered, "Because I chose to."
A tentative quiver laced her voice as she teased, "Because you like me?" A soft, wan smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, even as her body trembled with the effort of the movement. Aelric's silence deepened; he remained immobile, hands clasped tightly in his lap, as if that one question had stirred something unsteady within him.
With a hint of childlike wonder and defiant playfulness, she added, "You really, really like me," drawing out each syllable as though savouring a newfound secret. Bolstered by her own gentle courage, she attempted to push herself upright—only to be met with a sudden, piercing hiss of pain. "Ouch... okay, bad idea," she murmured, easing herself back into the plush pillows as a searing ache meandered along her side, serving as an ever-present reminder of her fragility.
Aelric remained as still as a statue. Yet, in a fleeting moment, she caught the faintest tilt of his head and the slightest narrowing of his eyes—a subtle indication of worry tightly held beneath his stoic exterior. Allowing herself to settle once more into the soft embrace of the pillows, her breathing slowed to a shallow yet steady rhythm as she observed, "You almost smiled just now."
"I did not," he replied flatly, his voice measured and even. But for just an instant, a ghost of amusement danced in his eyes—a nearly imperceptible echo lingering just out of reach. "Mm... denial. Classic defense," she murmured softly while closing her eyes briefly, uncertain if it was the relentless pain or their teasing that drained her strength more swiftly.
He offered no more words as the room gradually filled with the gentle sounds of a world awakening—a melodious birdsong drifting over from the balcony, the subtle rustle of leaves stirred by a soft breeze, and the delicate flutter of curtains in the early light. With each passing moment, her breath found an easier rhythm, in sync with the calm cadence of the morning.
"You should rest," he finally advised.
"I should, but that doesn't mean I will," she responded with a playful glimmer. He exhaled softly, a nearly imperceptible sigh escaping through his nose. With a lighthearted sparkle, she slightly cracked one eye open and said, "I missed annoying you."
"I noticed," he replied in a hushed tone. Time seemed to stretch as the silence deepened, each beat echoing in the quiet room. As motionless as a living statue, he remained in his chair, his unwavering gaze locked onto her face as if absorbing every nuanced expression.
Glancing toward him once more, her voice softened into a gentle invitation: "You know, it wouldn't hurt to sit closer." Still, he made no move. "Not even a little?" she pressed on, a hint of a smile playing on her lips despite her evident struggle. Then, for the first time, he truly looked at her—his eyes searching hers with a weighty tenderness. Although his expression remained stoically composed, an unspoken current passed between them, a profound connection that felt both deep and unmovable.
"You need time to heal," he intoned softly.
Her gaze dropped, laden with vulnerability as she confessed, "It's just... quieter when you're here." The silence stretched between them once again, yet it was filled with a rich, unspoken understanding rather than emptiness.
After a lingering moment, Aelric slowly rose, his movements smooth and deliberate despite the fatigue etched into every gesture. "I'll return later," he promised softly.
Tilting her head in a playful pout, she teased, "Running away already?" He replied curtly, "I have duties." With a light-hearted chuckle, she echoed his word, "Duties, indeed. I suppose the royal court shouldn't learn that beneath all that armor, you're actually an elf-man. " Without another word, he turned toward the door.
"Aelric," she called softly just as his hand brushed the cold door handle. He paused momentarily, caught in the lingering tension of their farewell. "Can you... come back soon?" she asked, her voice trembling with longing. He did not turn back, and his silence spoke volumes. For a lingering heartbeat, the door remained ajar, as if time itself hesitated to sever the connection between them. Finally, after a long, weighted moment, with a quiet, resolute click, the door closed behind him.
A deep exhale escaped her as she sank back into the soft sea of pillows, her sigh mingling with the lingering aroma of healing herbs that filled the room. Beneath that earthy fragrance, she detected another subtle perfume—the delicate, elusive scent of blue blossoms. Reaching beneath her rumpled blanket, Mei-Ling discovered a fragile flower resting gently against her palm—cool, soft, and untouched. It had not come from one of the healers but rather seemed to be a silent gift from another caring heart.
For a long moment, she stared at the delicate flower before cradling it gently against her chest, as though safeguarding a treasured secret. In a whisper meant only for herself, she murmured, "Stone-faced idiot," a soft and wistful smile curving her lips. In that quiet, tender moment, the heavy ache in her body began to soften, its weight lightened by the warmth of this enigmatic gift.