Trying to find courage

[Primrose Cadigan]

Prim was at the infirmary that morning, glad to have the small break of time away from her children so she could have “mommy time” even if she wasn’t actually doing something for herself. She was doing things for others, per usual.

It was a slow day, or at least a quiet morning so the infirmary wasn’t too filled yet with injuries from training, or possible flu that had swept through the barracks. The doctor was in his office and few of the other nurses were off doing laundry, leaving Primrose to man the place herself.

She was dressed from her usual noble lady self, replacing her gowns with a much simpler tunic dress. She wore a stained apron that had once been white but after multiple uses had faded to a grey color. Her blonde hair was up in its usual up do. A few stray curls hung loose that she would periodically reach up to tuck behind her ear. She

She was changing bedding on the beds currently, working efficiently, as she hummed to herself. Enjoying the quiet of the morning.

Jaren Wright

[Jaren Wright]

He really shouldn't be here. This was a bad idea. Honestly, he should just turn back around now and forget he ever thought about coming here.

And yet, his feet kept moving, kept drawing him closer and closer to the infirmary door. It was as if his body wasn't his own, acting on its own accord as he stepped into the building with that telltale scent of cleanliness. Yet it wasn't the pleasant kind- no, this smell reminded him of the war, the battles that left many men and women of Aralore bound to cots, their blood soaking the white sheets. It made him physically cringe and he was almost terrified to look around, lest he see those people again.

There was a strip of cloth wrapped around his hand because he had stupidly cut his palm while chopping wood. He was never this careless, and he could probably have just taken care of it at home, but it was an excuse to come here. And he no longer had any excuses avoid it.

Drawing in a deep breath, he noted how quiet it was this morning. Perhaps that was a good thing. Maybe she wouldn't even be here. He shouldn't be hoping for that, but he was. Stepping further in, he finally heard the soft humming from somewhere nearby, and he forced himself to speak up quietly, "Hello...?"

[Primrose Cadigan]

Prim heard the voice and raised her head from where she was making the bed. She let the sheet drop as she straightened. "Hello!" She called back, taking the pillow and quickly throw the pillowcase on it. She moved then from around the bed, starting to make her way towards the center of the large room. From where she was at, it was a bit difficult to see who had come in. From the way he was holding his hand, she assumed he had some sort of hand injury.

Dark auburn curls, tall, the bit of scruff on his face, the closer Prim got she realized who had shown up. "Lieutenant!" She said in surprise. Running her hands over the apron while her blue eyes flickered to his hand. Her brows furrowing in concern. "I'd say this was a nice surprise, but usually people only come through that door for one reason." She smiled, stepping forward. She held her hands out to his injured hand. Waiting patiently for him to give it to her so she could look at it.

It'd been some time since she'd seen Lieutenant Wright. Maybe Anthony's funeral, and at that point, she'd been pregnant with her youngest. Her blue eyes looked up into his face for a moment, a kind smile on her face before she looked down at his hand. She'd then gently pull away the cloth to see how bad he'd injured it. "How have you been? Aside from this?" Her smile quirked up a bit more.

[Jaren Wright]

The moment he heard the greeting, he felt a tightness in his chest and his throat closed up. Those blue eyes found her when she finally stepped into view, and he thought he was going to panic. This was a very foolish idea. What was worse, was that she recognized him. Jaren didn't know why that was so hard to believe, perhaps because he tried to shun himself from the rest of the world that no one would bother remembering his face after a year.

Had it already been that long?

"Lady Cadigan..." he nearly stammered back in reply. Was he standing there looking as dumbfounded as he looked? He prayed not, because keeping his composure was already challenging enough. Jaren had stepped into the infirmary with every intention of telling this woman the truth...and yet, something was already telling him that he would chicken out. Just like every other time he had tried. Only, this time, he managed to actually step through the door.

A little reluctantly, he held his hand out for her to inspect, the faint smile on his face slightly sheepish. "Aye, a bit of an accident with the axe." He hadn't been entirely paying attention, which was embarrassing for someone who not only served in the military and handled weapons all of the time, but prided himself on being a decent hunter. But, gods forbid he had to chop some firewood.

With her question, he faltered. It took him perhaps a moment too long to answer, "I've been alright." That was a lie. He barely slept, and when he did, it was often haunted by nightmares. He felt miserable all of the time, was often grumpy, and rarely did anything for himself these days. "And how about you? Your children?" His heart seized the moment he thought of them.

[Primrose Cadigan]

Prim took the Lieutenants behavior as being a bit embarrassed to be there for his injury. Most men didn't like coming to the infirmary, seeing it as a sign of weakness, or thinking they were fine. Maybe the Lieutenant just hadn't expected the one running the infirmary that morning to be someone he knew? Even then, she was glad he'd decided to come in so he could get it looked at. 

She pulled the wrappings away gently, holding one hand under his to support it while the other unbound the soiled cloth. "An axe?" She looked up alarmed. Well it was certainly good he had come in then! Prim saw usually the same types of injuries. Sprained ankles, wrists, dislocated shoulders, the occasional graze by a blade. It wasn't until during the war where she saw more of the gruesome injuries. The concern showed in her eyes like it did for most of her patients, but maybe there was a bit more concern with this one. After all, Lieutenant Wright had been Anthony's commanding officer. He's a good one Prim, young sure, but a good man. I'd follow him anywhere. She remembered reading in one of Anthony's letters. And if Anthony had spoken so high of him, then Prim was determined to give him the best care she could. 

She went back to unwrapping his hand while she listened to his answer, giving him another small smile at the mention of her children. "They're bigger since the last time you saw them." She smiled laughed lightly. "They keep me on my toes, but we're doing alright." She said. Or as alright as they could be, as she was strung out from stress. She did well at hiding it however, and her own exhaustion from how busy they kept her. As she pulled the last of the wrappings off, she took his hand in both of hers and lifted it slightly so she could see better. She frowned a bit, before she lowered it. "Few stitches and I think you'll be right as rain once more." She said glancing at him with a smile. 

"Take a seat, and I'll get you stitched up." She told him, motioning to one of the various available beds. She let his hand go and then tossed the soiled wrappings in a waste bin, before she gathered up what she'd need to fix his hand. "How is your family doing?" She asked over her shoulder. Glancing at him quickly before she would come back with her tray and sit across from him. gesturing for his hand again, she's gently begin to clean it. 

[Jaren Wright]

Now that he stood there in front of her, he couldn't tell her. Whatever he told himself before, whatever he had done to get the courage to come here for a very minor injury just to tell her the truth of what her husband had done...immediately flew out the window the moment blue eyes fell upon her.

It had been a year. Why did he think this was a good idea?

No, he would keep his mouth shut. There was no point in opening up this wound for her simply because he couldn't sleep at night over it. She didn't deserve to have to think about it all over again and feel the pain that would inevitably come along with hearing that her husband died, leaving her and their children, to save him. A man who had nothing, who didn't have everything Anthony had waiting for him safely at home.

Jaren barely registered that he was clenching his jaws so tightly until it hurt. He'd been so preoccupied that he hadn't heard her alarmed inquiry about his little accident, so he didn't say anything more on the matter. She was speaking of her children again, and he was trying to force that small smile once more. A year had past, and he wondered how big they had gotten in such a short time.

"Not so terrible," he mused lightly to hear he'd only need a couple of stitches. Of course, he had gotten worse before, so this was barely anything to cringe about. When she requested he take a seat, Jaren held back a sigh before doing as he was told, sitting there at the edge of the bed. He was staring down at his injured palm when she was glancing over to him, echoing his question of before. "They're, uh...good. My brother is brilliant as ever, and Brianna doesn't let anything keep her down." His smile might have grown a bit more, but his expression was still strained. Jaren wasn't even sure if Prim had ever met the members of his family, and here he was, name dropping them in assumption.

[Primrose Cadigan]

Of course she knew who they were. She might not look it right now, but Primrose Cadigan, nee Lockheed was a noblewoman through and through. She would be a terrible noblewoman if she didn't know who the others were at least by name, even if she didn't have the pleasure in actually meeting them. With such a small kingdom such as Aralore as well, their numbers devastated by the war, she'd be surprised if more people didn't know each other. 

She was familiar with Lord FitzWilliam Wright and his children. Lieutenant Jaren Wright was the oldest, followed by Griffin, and their younger sister Brianna. "That's good to hear, and how's your father? Is his health doing alright?" She asked. Prim was always asking after everyone's health, especially the older generations.  She glanced up at him, that small kind smile still on her face awhile she cleaned his hand. Being as gentle as she could as she leaned forward on her stool. Once it was clean as it was going to get, she held his hand with one of her own, setting it in her lap for a moment while she leaned over to the tray for an ointment that would help numb his hand before she applied the stitches. "You're lucky," She said, as the corner of one side of her mouth curled up into a side smile. "It could have been much worse." She said, her eyes flickered up his for a moment before she looked back down at what she was doing. Lifting his hand up again to apply the ointment. Her nose wrinkled at the smell of it. 

She took took the cotton ball with the ointment and spread it evenly on the outside of the wound. Having to let it dry and take affect before she could do anything. "Let me know when you feel it go numb." She glanced up at him once more, setting the cotton ball aside and then pulled the tray closer. She sat there then with his hand in her lap, and she looked down at it. Seeing his palm lines, and the callouses he had on it most likely from a sword. Anthony had similar callouses on his hands. She remembered how rough they felt against her skin, but she hadn't minded the rough texture. They were hard working hands, any one could see that. 

Without even realizing it, she realized one of her fingers was idly tracing one of the lines on his palm. Following the "life line" as she heard so many call it. He had a long one. Ironically, Anthony's had been short.... She hadn't realized the trance she'd gone into and blinked rapidly suddenly, pulling herself out of it. She glanced quickly up at him, pulling her other hand away. "My apologies." She said quickly, a sheepish smile quickly appearing on her face while her cheeks flushed pink. "Your life line," She pointed down at where she'd been tracing it. "It's long." She pointed out, and then her face turned a bit reader. Yes, great Prim. Good going, he's going to think you're weird now. She thought to herself in annoyance. Back to the matter at hand, she gently touched the skin around the wound. "Can you feel that?" She asked gently. 

[Jaren Wright]

"Aye, he is well," he answered absently, although he was certain Brianna secretly wished their father ill in some fashion. The man was fairly brutal, and harsh on her most of the time. There was very little that Jaren could do about it, although he wished he could.

Jaren sat there, quietly watching as she cleaned the silly wound on his hand, speaking only when she inquired about something. It wasn't just his nervousness that kept him quiet- the lieutenant was just naturally this way. He wasn't so much shy as he wished to keep to himself and not burden others with his concerns. Although he was usually silent, it was rather loud inside his head. Sometimes he couldn't even hear his own thoughts.

He was blinking when she was suddenly speaking again, calling him lucky. Bright eyes rose up to her face with light question. Jaren wanted to argue that, because he felt like he has had nothing but horrible luck...but if he did that, he might have to elaborate. He wasn't prepared for that anymore. Instead, he offered a weak smile. "I suppose so. A trained soldier can't even chop wood. More embarrassing than lucky, if you ask me."

Then there was silence once more. A strange kind of silence, a silence he couldn't fully comprehend or explain. He was simply waiting for the applied ointment to take affect when he felt one of her fingers lightly tracing across his palm. It drew his gaze down to his hand before he realized he was just watching her soon after in wild curiosity. Was there something wrong, had he done more damage than she initially thought? At the same time, there was a temporary calm that washed over him, her touch soothing until he couldn't feel anything at all. The ointment had finally numbed the skin.

Jaren shook his head to answer her question before telling himself he shouldn't backtrack to what just happened...yet he couldn't stop his mouth from moving and speaking words. "What do you mean...a long life line?"

[Primrose Cadigan]

Prim felt her face turn more red when he asked to elaborate. Oh goodness… She thought. He’s going to think our mad now Prim… She thought. Still, a flicker of a smile appeared on her face as she glanced up at him. Holding her own palm up so she could show him easier, she held it up and faced towards him, using her pointer finger to point to her own. “It’s silly really,” She said, averting her eyes for a moment as she pursed her lips. “When I was abroad as a girl, I came across a woman from Romania. A gypsy she called herself. She gave me a book that has a bunch of things from their culture in it. Like: how to use pendulums, Tarot cards, palm reading…” She could feel herself getting redder as she further explained information he probably didn’t want to hear.

“A-anyways,” She said with a small shake of her head and huff of laughter. “You can tell a lot about a person by the lines on their palms, and this one,” She pointed to the life line on her palm. “Is the life line. It’s supposed to predict how long of a life you’ll have.” She explained. She would take Jaren’s hand gently then, holding it with one if he let her, and point to where his was near where his wound was. “This is yours. See how it comes all the way to here?” She said pointing. Her blue eyes flickered up to his. “According to your palms, you’ll have a long life.” She said. “And this,” She pointed to another that ran across the upper part of his hand near his fingers. A sheepish smile on her face. “You’ll have two loves in your life.” She said.

Prim pursed her lips then, turning to the suture kit so she could start tending to his injury. “A lot of people don’t believe it.” She said with a slight shrug. Propping his hand up on her knee. “I find it neat.” She said a bit shyly. Peeking up at him while she fingered the thread. “Anthony had a short lifeline.” She murmured. She didn’t meet Jaren’s eyes, rather then focused on her task which was stitching him up. “Let know if it becomes uncomfortable.” She told him before she took the needle and started with the stitches.

[Jaren Wright]

Did he believe in any of this? Certainly not, but that didn't mean he wasn't at the very least curious about it. Especially with how adamant she seemed about it. That in itself made it all the more intriguing. Prim was speaking of cards and palm reading, and he glanced up to the crease within her own palm to notice the life line she spoke of.

'It's supposed to predict how long of a life you'll have.' He felt his jaw clench. Even if he didn't believe in all of this "hocus pocus", there was something about that that was unsettling. Jaren didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to know that he was supposed to live some long life, miserable as he was. But when she took his hand again, it stilled these thoughts for a moment as the curiosity began to seep back just a little. 'You'll have two loves in your life.' The small laugh that escaped him was blatantly sarcastic, and he couldn't seem to stop it. It was abrupt, but he found all of this to be painfully amusing somehow, as if the gods were trying to teach him a lesson. "Right..." he murmured, mainly to himself, and he wasn't actually agreeing.

Then he was feeling guilty when she spoke again, and his heart sank. No, he didn't believe it, but what she said of Anthony had his heart completely stopping. His life was cut short because he wasted it on me. He threw his life away for someone who didn't deserve it. The words were on the tip of his tongue, and it was what he had come here to do...yet the longer he sat there, the harder it became to even speak.

How could he tell her now?

You bloody coward.

While she couldn't meet his eyes now, Jaren was staring at her with sadness and confusion furrowing his brow. He struggled to speak, barely even feeling the needle as she started to stitch him up. After a moment of silence, his quiet voice broke the air between them. "Lady Cadigan..." Just do it. Get it over with. Tell her that her husband died because of you.

His other hand curled into a tight fist, threatening to break the skin of his palm with his fingernails. When he managed to speak again, he didn't say what he had intended to. "I'm sorry." For what? Basically everything, really. Not that she would entirely understand the true meaning of it all.

[Primrose Cadigan]

Prim was focused on her task, and trying to not think of how embarrassing she’d probably been but a few minutes before with the palm reading. Goodness, Primrose….What came over you… She thought to herself. Something must have, as she’d felt like she’d been in a trance when she first stared at his palm and had traced those lines.

She was knotting the second stitch when he said her name, and for a moment she thought she’d hurt him. Her blue eyes instantly darted up to his face, trying to search it for any possible pain. However, his voice had been quiet. Rather than pain, his face read of sadness and confusion. Drawing her blonde brows together in her own confusion before he managed to speak again.

“I”m sorry.” She blinked twice in rapid succession, as she was a bit taken aback. Her confusion growing. What was he sorry about? “It’s quite alright Lieutenant, even the most capable of men hurt themselves on occasion.” She said with a small laugh, as she looked back down at his hand. That had to be why he was sorry right? But a part of her had the feeling he was talking about Anthony, and he was not something she wanted to think about. Blaming herself for even bringing him up.

She sighed quietly, and gave a small shake of her head as her shoulders slumped forward. She pursed her lips as she focused on pulling the needle through his skin again. “No one’s immune to injury, even those that think they are.” She said quietly, “I-it’s nothing to feel sorry for.” She said, trying to convince herself more than him.

She didn’t want his pity if he was sorry for Anthony. What happened to Anthony was a normal occurrence in war. Casualties happened, and unfortunately, her Anthony had been one of them. Leaving her nearly two full years later with three children, and the youngest looking more and more like him every day. She had no doubt that Timmy’s hair would continue to darken from its current light brown to a darker shade just like his fathers. Three children and she was on her own in raising them despite his family and her own assistance. She didn’t want to have to rely on others to make it through, but she was nearly at her
wits end. She was tired. So very tired.

She looked up at him, offering him a small smile to hopefully reassure him. “Really, don’t be sorry. Please.” Please don’t pity me like the others. Is what her eyes said even though her mouth said something different. Prim had accepted that what happened had happened, and there was no bringing Anthony back. She had to move on. For her children's sakes. She had too.

[Jaren Wright]

Even if she hadn't used numbing salve, Jaren wouldn't have noticed how the needle pierced his skin or the soft tugging as she stitched him up...because he was too busy getting lost in his thoughts and looking at her in sadness. That guilt was growing inside of him with each passing second and he was on the verge of just confessing everything to her.

It worsened when she met his gaze. That is, until she was taking his apology as if he was sorry for having to come here for her to stitch him up. He actually almost laughed- almost, but it would have been sad regardless. Maybe it was best that she just thought that instead of knowing the truth. He couldn't seem to manage it right now.

"No...I suppose no one is immune," he echoed in a gentle murmur, agreeing with her although it sounded like he was simply speaking to himself. Yet, somehow, he felt like he was immune...and that wasn't something he was happy about. Or was he cursed? Meant to survive what he had, to see watch his men die all around him, leaving behind family and loved ones like Primrose and her children?

'Really, don't be sorry. Please.'

She was looking back up to him again and he stopped breathing. That look in her eyes was the very same one he seemed to give others, so he was far too familiar with it. Although she spoke of not being sorry about one thing, she was thinking something else entirely.

Jaren swallowed hard and nodded. "Alright then...I won't be," he lied, trying to prove otherwise as he forced another faint smile; at the same time trying to lighten the mood. He doubted it worked- he always looked angry or miserable.

[Primrose Cadigan]

Prim didn’t realize she was holding her breath until he nodded at her, and the sigh that came forth was much more obvious than she intended. She attempted to cover it up with another smile and found herself giving his hand a slight squeeze before she realized she shouldn’t be doing that.

She quickly looked down at her work. She was almost done, and settled his hand back in her lap as she carefully maneuvered that needle. Searching for another way to lighten what felt like a grey mood. “I’ll hold you to it,” She found herself saying in response. Her tone had been light as well, but it was...gentler, softer as she tried to push on from the feelings she’d felt moments before. Not wanting to think about if he’d been sorry about Anthony, or he was truly sorry for hurting himself.

After a few more moments, her lips curled into a smile as a thought occurred to her. “You’re going to have to come up with an epic tale for this Lieutenant.” She murmured, suddenly laughing quietly as she imagined what her children would come up with. Anya would probably come up with the best story, as her imagination was certainly out there. Her eyes flickered up to his face. “If you don’t want people to know you cut it chopping wood.” She clarified so he knew what she was talking about. “You’re going to need a good story.” She mused. She quickly did the last stitch before she was tying it off then.

“And before you say I shouldn’t be telling you to lie” She her eyes glanced up again as for a brief moment there was a spark of mischief. Something that Prim rarely allowed herself to even think about doing. She was always a “good girl” that did as she was told and a proper woman. But as of late the stress she was under made her want to do things a bit out of the ordinary for her. “A little white lie can’t hurt.” She said with a wink then as she snipped the last of the thread and then reached for a roll of clean bandages. She set it in her lap and then took another tin with a different salve in it, and lightly applied it over the stitches to help it heal, before she placed one end of the bandage in his palm, holding it gently as she started to wrap his hand.

[Jaren Wright]

The longer he remained there, the harder it was to keep his composure, to keep that truth inside. At this point, it would be wrong of him to suddenly blurt it out, and so out of the blue. It would only hurt her more, and that wasn't truly his intention even though he fully expected her to hate him the moment she understood how her husband had died.

Anthony's death had been pointless- that was the truth of it. He died saving Jaren who wasn't worth saving, wasn't worth leaving behind a beautiful and children and his life.

"Epic tale?" he echoed with a furrowed brow. As she explained, he only appeared slightly amused by the prospect. There came a faint chuckle, but it still didn't quite come from the heart, if she was able to pick on those things. "Perhaps I don't really mind what people think of me," Jaren replied bluntly, but his voice was not unkind. He really just didn't care. A lot of people already thought ill of him for the choice he had made, the choice that got so many killed.

In truth, he didn't know why this woman wasn't looking at him the way most of the widows of the fallen did.

Still, that spark of mischief in her eyes seemed to still him and make him a little curious, lightening his tone somewhat. "A little white lie, huh?" That brow rose now, wondering. "And what kind of lie would you suggest I tell people?" Not that they would care to ask.

[Primrose Cadigan]

That mischievous little glint she’d had only worsened and the small smile she had turned into a grin as she wrapped his hand. Glancing up at him through her lashes. “Hmm let me think,” She mused. It was silly wasn’t it? Coming up with some story to tell people how you really cut your hand? She shouldn’t have been encouraging it, let alone giving him the idea, but it was harmless wasn’t it? Something...Fun. Lord knew when the last time Primrose Cadigan had fun…

“My Anya would probably say you gallantly defended some princess’s honor, and stopped the killing blow with your hand. And she was so grateful that she sent you to the best nurse around,” Prim playfully rolled her eyes, indicating that she was the best nurse, when that was far from the fact. She was merely a nurses assistant, even if she could do what the nurses did from how long she’d observed them. “Or you fought a bear, though I imagine you’d be a bit more banged up.” She voiced, as she reached the end of the bandage and started to tie it off around his wrist.

“No, I think you give them as much as the truth as you can. That’s how the best lies are believed. Giving as much truth as possible.” She said thoughtfully. Not because she knew from experience or anything…. But Prim felt like she’d been lying a lot lately in telling people she was fine. That everything was nearly as it should be since Anthony’s passing. That she wasn’t exhausted or at the end of her rope. “I have problems sleeping lately” was her excuse to the tired look she had about her. Those that knew would be able to see right through her. Primrose was putting on an act, and had been for a long time.

Prim gave the smallest tug on the bandage to secure it and then finally let go of his hand. Folding her own in her lap. “There! Good as new. Come back in ten days and I can remove the stitches for you, try to keep it dry for three days, and don’t soak it.” She instructed as those bright blues studied him.

She was still pondering what lie he could tell people. The simple one being he’d cut himself, but not because he’d been chopping wood. Maybe he’d slipped, and cut it on a rock, or while he was sharpening a sword. “Mmmm maybe a hunting trip. You cut it on a trap or something of that nature.” She hummed slightly. “But you should think of something, and then let me know what you decided, and how it works.” She grinned.