The storm hit landfall in the early morning hours. Sleep for those in palace was disturbed by the ringing of the bells along the coast and even in the basilica itself. But the kingdom had braced in time. Those most vulnerable were moved to shelters before midnight. All the rest could do was sit and wait.
     All the rest, save those in the military...
     Rescue flares were fired, ship positions announced for those attempting to ride it out off-shore. The Crown Prince, commander of the High King's navy, following the High King's orders, fired answer flares to acknowledge the messages. But rescues would have to wait until the eye of the storm approached. It would create a window of opportunity that would have to be seized in order to mitigate loss of life.
     Elsewhere, Grand Duke Balthazar, the Sun King, was dispatched with others of the cavalry and air force to inland rescue efforts along the coast, docks, central city and the outlying rural areas. It was in the midst of one such rescue that straight-line winds grounded a part of the response. Several were wounded, most notably the Grand Duke himself.
     And now the palace is in a tizzy. Nothing sets the basilica on fire like a wounded member of the royal family.
     Clothed in only the remnants of his armor, the parts that did not have to be cut off or were torn off by the winds, Balthazar sits in his chamber. His upper body is wrapped at his arms and shoulder and chest, lacerations bandaged by quick-working medics. One leg is still armored. His other is stretched out on a chair, propped up. Or at least that is the assumption. One cannot properly tell with ten (count them) surgeons and medics hovering over it, each with his own opinion of what to do. Break and reset? Reset as is? How clean is the break...
     "Is it really necessary to have ten medics? Aren't there wounded people down the hall?" Balthazar glowers, his head tipping back in pain (his pain evident in the tightening of his jaw, the sharpness of his gaze, and the way his other leg bounces up and down on the ball of his foot). "Bit of overkill..." he pauses, gritting his teeth as they prod his leg.
     The rest is Persian obscenities...

     And in comes the Queen! Well, no, not the Queen. Yet. Maria walks in briskly, having been attending to other useful things prior to this, such as number-crunching and ordering around the deployment of supplies. She is here now without so much as a rolled bandage in sight.
     "How is he?" she inquires of the nearest medic. She barely waits for an answer before she says crisply, "Not life-threatening, then? Good. You ... three of you, go to the Roman Room, the Blue Room, the Hall of Oranges. The rest of you can go to the Dining Hall and the Ballroom where the refugees from the storm are. When you've ascertained that there are no actual life-threatening injuries among them, you can come back and tend to the Prince. I will see to it that he is resting as comfortably as possible until my husband arrives." She motions. Go.
     She then takes a chair - not the one your leg is propped upon - and thumps it onto the floor next to the bed. "I hope you don't mind, Balthazar," Maria tells you serenely. "But as long as time is not absolutely critical, the people do need to be seen to. Would you like something to drink for any pain?" Anna would be so proud.

     All ten medics and surgeons turn, bowing their heads to their future queen. The eldest among them, a man of some (appearing) fifty years, his hair platinum white, turns his bright green gaze her way, briefly. "Not life threatening in the conventional sense. But I think we all are in agreement," a glance to the king, "...that we would prefer he walk again. I would prefer not to wait too long to set and cast it, your highness." He looks to Balthazar, head bowing again, "Pardon, majesty."
     Fiery wings flap then sag, thudding and hissing harmlessly against the marble floor. Balthazar gives the head medic a burning look, before turning his attention to Maria. "A brandy please. Anything potent." He frowns as all but one medic moves to follow the Princess' commands. The chief medic remains behind for the moment.
     It is a clean break of the left femur, his leg bloodied where it pierced his skin. Balthazar looks to the chief medic. "Wrap it to keep it stable then tend to those who need immediate care, Doctor Penderrick."
     "As you both wish," it is against his advice, but the patient is always right. Right?
     Balthazar does his best not to flinch during the wrapping of his leg, the bandages tight and compressing. He is pale, for him, which is to say a cream-colored pale, his normal caramel complexion faded. His hair is burnished, kicking off the occasional flame. A florid and fiery language leaves his tongue, sparking as much with fire as his hair: "keer bokhor," he hisses.
     You really don't want to know what that means.
     "There," the chief medic exhales. "That should keep it stable for a few hours. But... I will need to set it this afternoon. You will heal quickly. I do not want to have to break it again to correct it." He bows to you. "Your highness." With that, he takes his leave and heads out upon your command.

     She is patient; she waits until the doctors are gone before making a face. "Old poops." Maria pours brandy and brings it to you. "Here, drink. Anyway, I imagine that if my husband can regrow missing tissue and blood vessels, healing a broken leg shouldn't present too much of a trick to him. Otherwise, we'll get your mother in on the act. How do you feel, or is that something I should ask after you've finished your drink?"
     She smiles and settles herself on the chair, folding one foot over the other ankle, hands in her lap. Her blue eyes dance with merriment, dark hair tidily tucked up under her circlet like a queen ought. Magic had to have been involved. "So. Now that I have you helpless and at my mercy..."

     "I'm not really worried about it. He acts like he's never been in a room with the children of houri." He takes the glass and takes a grateful swallow. "Anyway." Another drink. "I feel fine." He says this as he looks like a ruination of his former self. His face is bruised, a cut lip -- such pretty lips, really -- and lacerations across his arms and chest from blowing debris turned into shrapnel.
     Balthazar lifts an eyebrow -- it's the one thing that doesn't hurt -- and he makes a twitch of his mouth, the best smile he can do at the moment. He winces with every sip, the brandy cleaning the wound at his mouth with every swallow. "The way you say that. Should I be worried?"
     He isn't. Balthazar stretches his wings and takes another swallow of brandy. "But since I'm stuck here and you have something you wish to say... so... I am captive. All but tied up in this chair...."
     Story begun, he passes it of to you. And you have the very enviable job of keeping him captive and subject to your demands.

     "I don't know, have you done anything for me to be picking on you?" Maria teases, sitting pretty in her seat. "You look absolutely rotten, Balthazar. Your girlfriend's going to be beside herself. Speaking of which..."
     She tilts her head to the side, cocking up her own eyebrow in mimicry of yours. "I actually did want to speak with you about her," she says more seriously. "You know I had a class the other day, with her, Sabira, Anierin and her brother Preston, yes? And I'm a little concerned about her; enough so for me to bring it up to you. Don't get too defensive, she isn't in any trouble. She is a lovely girl, and she has a good heart, I believe. But she has a few problems which I think we need to be aware of so that they can be addressed."
     She pauses, then looks at you with mock solicitiousness. "Or is now a bad time?"

     The brandy disappears in gulps. His doctor is going to be beyond annoyed. "Thanks..." he rolls out nice and long, complete with the twitch of his broken smile. He finishes it off with another wince, subconsciously picking at the tear in his lip. Madison seeing him like this is something he'd like to avoid. But with all hands on deck elsewhere, even his accelerated healing would be too slow. He quirks both golden eyebrows, looking weary at the very idea. "I'm glad she and Sabira are busy."
     His golden eyes know. "It's not a bad time. And what makes you think I'd be defensive? I'm not normally defensive am I?" He smirks. "Okay, sometimes. But... no... we should talk about it." He pauses, looking into his empty cup. He refills it with a stray thought. Though he realizes he should conserve his magical energy for healing, rather than boozing.
     "She is lovely," he says with a swallow of brandy. The wince is beautiful, did he but know. "And she has a very sweet heart. I've tried to talk to her about her feelings, her concerns. She won't talk to me. She brushes it off. I've talked with her brother...and her sister." There is a pointed, golden look at that. No, she does not know that he has seen her.
     "I welcome your advice, sister. Apart from reaching out to her, encouraging her where I can, I'm out of ideas. I just want her to be happy." And he wants to be happy with her. There is some sand in the oyster shell of the sweet perfection of it all. There is something that is bothering him, only evident because pain and injury have stripped away all careful pretense.

     "She's very young; and her culture has kept her younger. She does seem sweet, though she was very uncomfortable and I think a little unnatural in the class, but she was trying so hard to participate anyway. She just could not relax." Maria leans forward to adjust one of your pillows with a twitch of a practiced hand. "Stop picking at it or it'll take even longer to heal."
     She rises and pours herself a very modest amount of brandy, then judiciously tops it up with a bit of water. Just in case. "At some point, Balthazar, someone told her that she is stupid, and it stuck. No; that's putting it too simplistically. She's gotten it drilled into her head somehow that there is no point in her putting much effort into intellectual endeavors, because she isn't equipped for it, that she is essentially incapable. As a result, she meets such challenges with resentment and a bit of bewilderment, because while she might insist she is too smart enough, beneath that, she 'knows' that she isn't. So she'll effortlessly meet any challenge you can think of, as long as it does not 'obviously' involve her brain."
     She sips her drink, pursing lips that owe their pinkness to nature rather than art. "It's rather sad, because as far as I can see, there is nothing wrong with her brain. Oh, she's a bit easily distracted, certainly, and not always entirely observant, but I remember being her age and in love, and you could have given me quizzes on reams of subjects immediately after reading or studying them and I would have been all about Gruffy's eyes or the like. But then, when I was her age, I was also married. I don't know. I just get the impression that there was some kind of difference in how she was trained, from Preston. He's very sweet, by the way; he is very concerned for his sister, although he is quite distracted himself, although for other reasons. Well." She smiles. "Some of them are other reasons."
     She swings one ankle over the other with a swish of skirts, thinking out loud as she looks to your sickroom's ceiling. "The only problem is, I don't know how to reach her so that she will know that she is in fact as smart as anyone else. I have no doubt that she's going to set the academy on its ear, but I can see that she has her doubts. I'll likely change the classes to a trifle more one on one - or, rather, the girls in one and the boys in the other. She seems comfortable with Sabira. Oh, and she was so sweet to Ani, you'll be glad to know. Though he's a whole other topic."

     "Her family is full of cannibals," Balthazar says, taking your admonishment about the picking. He lets the brandy do it for him. Eventually he will be so numb he won't feel any of it. "They eat their own. The mother, from what I have gathered from both her daughters, is all about Preston. Preston is the king. Gillian the brain. And then well... there simply wasn't enough to go around after that."
     The fact that he is in pain and honorably attempting not to show it only feeds his anger and irritation. But his wings do not lie. "To make matters worse, the siblings enact those hard-won lessons on one another. Madison and Gillian are horribly competitive in general, Preston too. They would all rather talk to me about one another, rather than just picking up a bloody phone and making a phone call. I don't like that they don't come together. they don't talk. I mean, she and he have been here how long and they've not spoken? I consider that a problem." And one that doesn't make him happy.
     Balthazar takes a swallow of the brandy, holding it in his mouth a moment before letting it erupt. He sets it aside, his upper body stiff, bruising peeking out beneath the white bandages. "She is very intelligent," he remarks softly. Gold glimmers as he glances to you. "Though she doesn't believe me. She doesn't believe she can be. She's never been recognized for it. She's always followed behind the brilliance of the other two. I'm not surprised she was uncomfortable in the class. She tries to be more flighty than she actually is because that's what her family expects her to be. They discount her at every turn as far as I can see. But she's not blameless. She's used me as a bludgeoning tool on her sister's own patience. I am many things, sister, but I'm not a pawn to be used lightly. I don't like it. I can't talk to her about it; she won't talk about anything of importance whatsoever. Only very occasionally, and then she removes her clothes and that's as far as it goes."
     His frustration is clearly borne upon his face. It is reflected there in mirror clarity. "I think you will need to meet with her one on one. Maybe not even with Sabira at first. Sabira means well, but she is distracting. Though, maybe you can stop her giggling longer than I can." There's a stray smile for the thought, and a delayed thanks for the pillow. "You will have to talk with her, reach out to her. Forget lessons for a while. What she needs is an older sister who will talk to her, Maria. It should be Gillian. But Gillian is too hurt by Maddie's attitude and selfishness. She is not going to be the better person here."

     She listens and she hms, tapping her finger to her lips. "Actually, as far as I can tell, she didn't even realize that he was here. She wasn't entirely happy about it, although not unhappy about it, so to speak. As for him - well, he's been through a lot of changes lately, Balthazar. And he has changed physically as well. She didn't recognize him at first, and it jarred him badly. I think they do intend to speak later tomorrow - well, today. They did make plans. Though the storm might change that."
     Maria looks to your concern and frustration, and her smile is gentle sympathy only. "Sabira cares about Maddie a great deal. And she can't help if she doesn't know about the problem, either. But I will be working with Maddie, have no doubt. If you two are to remain together, then she will need to learn to be a princess, and not just a princess. Her heart is good, though, and she is a very determined soul. I think she is already beginning to shed the old skin, but you know, transformations are painful. And sometimes they take longer than other times."

     "I know," he murmurs. "And I'm focusing on being supportive, whenever and wherever I can for her, Maria. And to be understanding that she is younger than I am. She is just trying to figure it all out. And she's a young woman in love. I do recognize that," Balthazar emphasizes. "And that is the hazards of ...you know... being with a girl who is so young. I expected that. I just... I don't want to be in the middle of their not speaking. They need to all get in a room and just... deal with things. Of course, that's easier said that done, I realize. They are all going through some change. They are all entering our weird universe. I was sort of hoping they'd join hands and step off the cliff, united. That they would be there for one another to help as they got used to a larger universe. I am disappointed for all of them, not just Maddie. That they are all choosing otherwise. It's difficult to watch, sister. And to be unable to say anything. I can't fix it. They have to."
     Balthazar exhales, his frustration melting from his features and his gaze to reveal his concern. "I do love her. She is very sweet. Very nurturing. She wants so badly to be good at something. To be recognized and accepted and loved. I love her in my way. But what she needs is an honest to God family. That's what she wants. Maybe you and Sabira can fill that need for her. I am glad that they are getting along so well. That makes me feel a bit better about it all. I ... have been wondering, lately, if I had done the right thing by her, bringing her here. But when is a good time to peel the layers away from the known universe?"
     Balthazar is quiet for a moment, adjusting slightly as the brandy begins to take some effect. The throbbing in his left thigh is not as severe, though it is still impossible to be comfortable. "Do what you can, use what influence you may have with Preston to encourage him to reach out to his sister. He gives up too easily; he is too easily frustrated. Of course, I know the irony of my saying that, given my history with Bran. Sometimes you need an outside hand to force the issue. You will have more pull with him than I. He and I have, at best, an unsteady truce. I do not wish to push the matter with him. I am trying to maintain a healthy equilibrium. There's no love lost, certainly, but we are managing civility at the moment. I don't want to rock the boat."
     Frowning, Balthazar sits up a bit, going pale when the leg is moved too much. This is going to make relieving oneself mightily inconvenient. "You mentioned Ani," he heard you. "...and Maddie. I'm glad they are getting along. I was a little worried. He's been so quiet lately. Well, when I've been able to see him. Our schedules aren't aligning very well of late. Maybe after they set the leg, I can go see him, see what's new in the workshop. So what's the story there?"

     "Nobody can help them except themselves. But I think you need to give her just a little more time," Maria answers you soothingly. "She has the academy to challenge her and she seems not to realize that dance is also an intellectual accomplishment, not solely physical. I heard her and Sabira arguing over the validity of some forms of dance - well, arguing is too strong a word for it, but it seems to me she is beginning to take root, to deepen into being here. I think in the end, you did the right thing in bringing her here. The world of her birth offers opportunities, certainly, but they also reinforced what she already believed and thinks she knows."
     She rises without comment and fetches a chamber pot, settling it within arm's reach of you. "As for Preston... there is something going on there, but I'm not sure what. It's actually very frustrating. But he is going through some fairly major changes. If you want to know, I'd suggest asking Aediles; he might be able to help mend some of the frayed knots between you, or possibly Adriano."
     You mention Anierin's quietness, and Maria sighs. "He feels left behind. You and Gruffydd have grown up and gotten lovers and are throwing yourselves into your work - not optional, but he has trouble realizing it. And he has no real friends of his own age, so he feels a little betrayed and forgotten. He knows, I think, intellectually that he is not forgotten, but he's twelve, and you remember how twelve can be. I've signed him up for some group classes with others of his own age range. It will take time."

     That hurts more than the broken leg and scrapes and cuts and bruises. Balthazar frowns but then that frown dissipates. "I will speak with him tonight. Maddie mentioned something about having him stay over for games. I think tonight would be a really good night for that. She'll need the distraction, he needs the attention, and I need to have something to do." He smiles that broken, bloody smile, bruised and ruined but still beautiful.
     "I think the classes are a good idea. I think it will help. He needs more friends. Hell, we all do," he chuckles, then groans. Bad choice.
     "Preston and I do not speak, not like that. As I said, we have reached a stable detante. I really don't want anyone else involved in it. Nothing is going to change his mind. I had sex with his baby sister. Well," he smirks, "...I'm still having sex with his baby sister. Not that that's happening again any time soon," he grumbles.
     He lifts an eyebrow at the appearance of a chamber pot. Ugh. No. "So short of getting rid of that, there's little else to do there. As Preston is soon to be my superior," golden eyes slightly roll, "I'd just as soon have it be as civil a relationship as possible. I don't expect there will ever be a mutual love and appreciation society between us. He is rather firm in his dislike, I fear. And I stopped caring a while ago. Tried to mend it on several occasions. He's not interested."
     Balthazar reaches out -- slowly! -- to take up his glass of brandy. He seems more at ease after your words on Maddie. "Is that where the stripping comment came from?" He smirks. Did he overhear that? How? "I'm glad she's putting down roots. I ... ah... " he blushes a bit as he smiles a lopsided smile. "Can you keep a secret?" He knows you can. Setting his brandy aside, he calls a golden light to his hand -- again, he should conserve his energy. As it fades, it leaves behind a ring of unimaginable beauty. The large center diamond (at least five carats) is a brilliant canary yellow, and it is surrounded by a radius of white diamonds, like the rays of the sun. "I'm planning to ask her to marry me after the coronation. I am serious about this girl, Maria. And she will need to be ready for that. It will be a long engagement. We won't marry until she graduates from the academy but... what do you think?"

     "Do that," Maria agrees cheerfully. "It will be good for all three of you, and it will help form some bonds. As for Peston..." She allows it to pass. You have your issues, just as he has his, and she has enough other battles to fight. "Don't be too surprised when you next see him," is all she says. "He has changed a great deal and is a bit sensitive to it, I think."
     You speak of secrets, and she smiles, leaning forward. "Oh, it's beautiful!" Maria exclaims. "I see that you are serious, yes. I'll do what I can to help prepare her so that she's ready." She gives you a mischievous look. "Although I draw the line at the kind of readiness Gruffydd had prepared for me; but then, I was still a virgin, and she isn't. A long engagement seems wise to me. As does waiting until after the coronation. If I were you? I would when you're healed up, take her on the social circuit. Gruffydd and I had your parents and mine arrange something similar, with his diplomatic tour and my joining him on it. If you want things to go smoothly, have her be your official escort for a while; she's going to face a certain amount of opposition on various levels anyway, but that will make it seem less arbitrary out in the provinces, so to speak. So, dedicate a few fights to her in the arena, take her to a few dances and other events, let her get used to living in the fishbowl now. You don't want too many surprises."
     She checks your room, then goes to the hallway and peeks out, just to be sure nobody is eavesdropping. Once she's satisfied herself on that score, she returns to your bedside. "I'll do what I can to turn her into a princess in the meantime. I think she needs to move up her academy audition; I'll pull some strings to get her moved up on the schedule. Whether she succeeds or not on the first round is irrelevent, it'll give her something to focus her mind on other than your injuries. Unless you want her fussing over you, of course."

     "I will continue to trust and accept Preston on face value. In truth, I don't really have an issue with him. I never have. So, business as usual there. And if the time is right, and he is open to it, I will certainly reach out, Maria.'
     You exclaim and he smiles, even if it pains him presently, his hand closing around the ring until it disappears. He doesn't want her to see it, even get the hint that it could be coming so soon. "That's a good idea," he notes. "She needs a coming out party of some sort. I will ...well..." his mouth twists, "...if I am healed enough to fight for the title, I will dedicate the bouts to her. And she should be seen at the coronation, of course. I'm not sure, now, with the storms, what events might occur between now and then but you are right. One, she needs to take her place on the stage and be seen. And, two, she needs to get used to being seen."
     "I appreciate your help, sister. And," he laughs then groans -- stop that! "...no... no ...preparations are required apart from etiquette and history and politics. I think she will need some thick skin," he murmurs seriously. "Her own coat of armor, so to speak. She is so sweet, so kind-hearted. And you know how vicious girls can be." Balthazar takes a deep breath and reaches for the brandy, recoiling his hand as he exhales.
     "I ..don't know that I'd move up the audition. She's nervous and stressed as it is. If the date were to change now, she might talk herself out of it. She's trying so hard," such love and sympathy in his eyes. "She really is. She wants this more than anything. And I've promised not to bring any influence to it. She wants it on her merits. She's so beautiful, god," he sighs at that, "...so talented. I just want her to do well. Her success is important to me. I want her to have something of her own," as he wanted for himself once, "... a life, and a passion. Where she can shine."
     The brandy is doing its work. While his leg is throbbing, swollen and wounded, Balthazar is becoming sentimental and emotional. "Actually," he grins-winces, "I wouldn't mind a little fussing. I am a man." Gold eyes sparkle in the truth and in the humor of that statement.

     "Gruffydd can help with the healing, I'm sure. If not, as I said, we can call in your mother. Otherwise you're stuck with my own plain brand of magic, and I'm not sure you'll enjoy that nearly as much." Maria's smile is mischievous, and she moves to refill your brandy. "She will fuss over you, I'm sure."
     "I do know how vicious girls can be," she agrees a moment later, giving you a sidelong look. "You never really met my cousins, did you? Your granny dealt with some of them for me, but I had to deal with them on my own before then, and since then, of course - I've been fortunate in that I've faced comparatively little resistance, but I am in every way more of a known quantity than is young Madison, and the tour did more to drum up good will than anything else I could have done. So that's what you need to do with her now; drum up a similar kind of good will, so that even if there is some jealousy and spite, in the eyes of the populace at large, she is not labeled a fortune hunter and worse. No matter how good her heart, if there is not that kind of managing done, you and she will face much unhappiness. And it can't all come from your military friends. You don't want her called a camp follower."
     "I will begin planning such, Maria. Thank you. Besides... I will be stuck in bed for at least a couple of days. It will give me something to do. Perhaps a goodwill tour after the storm, in the next couple of days. And then a pre-coronation event in honor of the future king and my father. I could invite the ruling board of the Academy, the arts guild leadership..." He nods in thought as he considers that. "Any official gatherings of the military leadership, of course, balls and the like, but not to random events. I agree. She needs to be an official chosen, not a camp follower."

     He smiles that ruined but beautiful smile to you, tilting his head on the cushion. "What would I do without you. You are a treasure to this family. I am so glad you are here. To hell with Gruffydd's needs, I need you here." Exhaling, Balthazar glances toward the door. "I suppose someone should notify her, so she does not worry. I sent word to father already. Told him not to worry. Is there anything I can do for you, sister? Regarding Maddie or... anything else?"
     The front door to the Sun King's chamber opens to the sound of scurrying seneschal feet. Cyril carries with him a pair of crutches for the prince's future use and an armful of other supplies. Behind him comes the chief surgeon again, his face set and somewhat grim. But then, he always looks like that. They do not speak but set about their tasks. Cyril to check in on any messages received by the prince, and the surgeon to the unpacking of his medical bag. "Your majesties," he says, "... I should like a moment to inspect the leg."

     "Instead of making it purely a good-will tour," Maria tells you practically, "make it a damage assessment and aid tour. Take her with you if she doesn't throw a huge fuss; I think she'd actually enjoy helping to patch broken doors and windows and helping with handing out food and the like. She seems the type to. And that will do more to endear her, as long as she doesn't do it in a Lady Bountiful from up on high sort of way."
     She pats you on the head, laughing and shaking her head. "You will be fine. I'll let you know if I need anything. And-" the doors open. Maria turns and steps demurely away from the bed. "Of course, doctor," she says sweetly. "I'll go fetch the prince's intended, shall I?" To you, she tips a wink, hidden by the turning of her head. "Do try to follow the doctor's advice, Balthazar. The family needs you intact and able to produce offspring."
     With that last, wicked remark and an angelic, innocent smile, the Queen-to-be sallies off.

     Balthazar laughs, and groans, again. "Your Highness, you are far too kind. Cyril... if you could please let my fathers know of my current status. Thank you. I shall handle the other correspondence."
     "Yes, your grace," Cyril says softly with a bow. His face is drawn in concern, which is only encouraged as the prince goes pale and twists at the prodding of the doctor's fingers to his thigh. Swallowing hard, Cyril turns and rushes from the room, making sure to hold the door open for the lady to pass ahead. He even lowers into a stately bow.
     And from the bedroom there follows a stream of florid cursing...

     Doctoral hands press against the bruised and swollen thighs, the muscles torn by the impact and protruding bone. By feel, he guides the bone in place, by magic sensing when it fits against its partner half. A surgical assistant, a young surgeon in training, pulls (gently) on a webbing, like a legging, over the prince's left foot, up his calf, working it up and over his knee. The webbing is tight, firm. It will keep his leg isolated, stiff, will assist circulation, and will form the basis for the cast. He pulls it, with breaths of apologies -- Sorry, sire. Deep breath again, your grace. Only a bit more, sir -- up Balthazar's wounded thigh, the webbing ending at his hip.
     Half seated, half reclined, his left leg on the outside edge of his large bed, Balthazar makes not a sound. Pale with pain, and luminous from the sweat of shock as his bone is readjusted, then squeezed and held in place, he swallows, nodding perfunctorily at the apologies, encouragements, and instructions, breathing in when the sock is raised; breathing out before the next wave of pain.
     It's just as well that no one's seeing this...
     His right hand grips the headboard of his bed, threatening to snap it. He lightens his grasp only when the legging is in place and the surgical assistant -- who shall be known as Beelzebub for the next few days -- stops bloody tugging.
     "We are going to cast and brace," the doctor explains, nodding his assistant to begin soaking the materials. "That will protect the leg and stabilize it. It was a clean break for a femur break, but I would like to avoid surgery if we can. I expect we can pull the brace by the coronation. That is, unless other means of healing are found by then. But," he turns, nodding to his assistant as he begins creating the cast out of plaster-soaked wrappings. "...it is better to assume that the healing will be traditional. Just in case."
     Of course, Balthazar couldn't care less. He isn't really listening. He is too distracted by the throbbing of his leg. He nods perfunctorily again. Golden eyes beam downward, watching the surgical assistant carefully wrap the elevated thigh. "How far?"
     "To the calf. Normally, I would take it to the foot, but with the brace in place," the surgeon explains, "I will have all of the stability I need. Here, sire..." And he offers him a glass of water with a straw. "No more brandy," he admonishes. "It isn't going to help you."

     Running footsteps echo down the hall, stuttering to a halt just outside the door. The door swings open wildly, caught to keep it from banging at the last second, and Maddie is revealed in the doorway. Her face is pale as milk, her hair straggling back and plastered to her cheeks with rainwater. Her clothes are that of a dancer's practice outfit they too are soaked, but she doesn't seem to notice.
     She presses a hand to her mouth. The doctor and his assistant are noticed, but given no time at all. Her attention is fixed on the patient. Oh my god. Her forehead furrows, creasing with her distress, eyes unnaturally bright. Not again.

     The surgical assistant jumps, startled. He sighs as he sees it's just a girl -- though a girl in distress. He clears his throat, working on the cast. The doctor straightens, turning. He starts to say something but then sees Recognition on the prince's face. Oh this must be the young woman...
     His upper body is bandaged here and there on his chest, his side, his shoulders. His mouth is bruised, his lip split but no longer bleeding, and his left leg is being set in a cast. His eyebrows lift and he forms a smile. "Have you been dancing in the rain?" Balthazar wonders astonishingly. I'm alright. It looks worse than it is. Glancing to the doctor, he says, "Could you give us a moment, doctor Bloom?"
     The surgeon looks to the distressed young woman then back to the prince. "Certainly, sire. Doctor Westwynde," he says to the assistant, "....keep wrapping. I'll be back in a moment." These women! They get in the way of getting things done.
     Balthazar crooks his finger to you, calling you over. "Now I know why birds don't fly in hurricanes," he blandly remarks, his head resting back against the pillow. For you, there is humor.

     She barely notices the doctor and the assistant. She has eyes only for you. She bites her lip, holding it together as the doctor turns away but no longer. The moment he does, she sprints to you, sinking to her knees next to the bed with both hands on the edge of the bed and gripping tightly, tears threatening to fall.
     Your question goes unanswered, blue eyes blazing with unshed tears. The water that drips off of her hisses with little rising plumes of steam as it bubbles and drops to the floor. "Are you going to be okay?" Maddie's voice is soft and hoarse, raw with emotions and unspoken fears. Her fingers dig in at the bedding tightly as she looks up at you, and she blinks, a few tears escaping the cage of her eyelashes.

     "It's going to be okay," he assures you quietly. "My leg is broken. That's the worst of it. They expect I will be doing quite well by the coronation. I have been a very bad patient. Doctor Westwynde can vouch for that. I am glad you are here." His left hand, that closest to the edge of the bed -- so that the doctors can work on his left leg with the least amount of inconvenience to him -- brushes your cheek. "I have some bruised ribs. The rest is superficial. Really. I want to kiss you," he smiles that broken smile. "Even if it will hurt. Don't worry, Maddie."
     The surgical assistant will have some gossip to share! He keeps his eyes averted and onto the task of casting that leg. He works on the knee, moving the leg just a little to get it into its final position, the one it will have to hold for a while.
     Balthazar shifts slightly, doing his best not to show the pain of that motion. His left hand strokes along your face, despite the stiffness of his arm. "I love you. Here, come up here. On the other side," he cautions gently. "Doctor Westwynde will have a fit if you crawl over me," he teases. His right leg, undamaged, lies sprawled on the bed, now unclothed. There may be a stray bruise or two but his right leg is more or less untouched.

     She exhales shudderingly, leaning up and forward to kiss you quickly, jerkily trying not to put any weight on you whatsoever. "I love you, too," Maddie manages, coming around the bed and wiping her eyes. "God, I was so worried."
     Maddie sits on the edge of your bed, resting a hand on your right thigh. Her thumb rubs lightly, then stops. "I'm so glad you're okay. Do you need to talk about it or do you just want to get it over with? I was on the roof when I heard. I came as fast as I could..."

     "It is not a very exciting story," he murmurs. Kissing is painful, but he doesn't care. As you settle beside him, your hand on his right thigh, Balthazar rests back against the cushions. He turns his head and kisses you lightly again. "We were near the shore. There was a family trapped in one of the market stalls. I went in after them and got them out. And then was thrown by a straight-line gust into a building." Balthazar's busted lip twitches in a little smile. "The building won."
     He moves his arm slowly, surrounding you in a light embrace. "I didn't want you to worry. But I knew word would get out so I wanted you to know it wasn't life-threatening or anything, and to hear it from me or mine." He pauses, knitting his own brows. "What were you doing on the roof? Dancing in the rain?" Balthazar nuzzles you lightly. One, because he needs to feel you near him. Two, because nuzzling is a great distraction from the pain and cast-building.
     "The cast must dry a bit, your majesty," young Doctor Westwynde says, "...before I can attach the brace." He reddens, clearing his throat as the prince begins to nuzzle with the young woman. Awkward! "Uh... I will ... be back shortly to check on it. Please, your majesty, do not move your left leg," just in case you're thinking of getting any more frisky.
     Pulling from a tender kiss, Balthazar glances to the young surgeon and nods. He settles back on the pillows with a quiet sigh.

     She sighs, leaning towards you, kissing you gently. "I was practicing. I want to get into the academy on my first try, not my fifth," Maddie murmurs. She sighs, lifting a hand to very, very lightly touch your lip. "I just ... yeah, well. Anyway. I'm glad you're going to be okay. Do you want me to play nurse? I can, y'know."
     The doctor speaks, and she jumps, sitting up a little, blushing. She isn't used to an audience. "He won't move his leg if I have to tie it to the bed," Maddie declares firmly. She tosses her head with a rustle of damply drying curls. So there.

     As the surgical assistant leaves the room, Balthazar smirks. "I am an awful patient," he announces quietly. "And I could have no better nurse than you. I was thinking that tonight we could have Ani over... play some games. Take our minds off our individual issues. Dancing, busted legs, and adolescence. How does that sound?"
     His hand lifts slowly, brushing back your auburn hair. "I should be able to move around tomorrow on crutches. How would you like to help me with some of the rebuilding efforts? I plan on getting my hands dirty in that. Even if I only have one good leg," he grins.
     He guides you to him, disappearing happily behind the curtain of your hair as he kisses you gently. "Try not to worry, hmm?" Balthazar murmurs to you. "I am going to be fine. I am not putting up some brave front. Now, I will not lie to you. I do not feel well just at the moment. But I heal quickly. I hope in time for the coronation games. I fully expect to win the championship in your honor and dedicate my battles to you." His bruised mouth twitches in a smile. "And I am sure those in the academy will be impressed. You're talented. You're passionate. You would be an exemplary student. And you are incredibly beautiful. Of course," Balthazar chuckles, then winces, "... I am horribly biased."

     "Sounds good," Maddie agrees, smiling down at you. "We can compare notes on cards and stuff like that." She tugs very gently on a lock of your hair. "Rebuilding? Sure. I can carry stuff while you sit in a chair and bark out orders," she teases. "Wouldn't be the first time. Dad always had us helping out in the areas we stayed in, where it was relevant."
     She sighs, kissing you gently in return. "I'm glad you aren't lying." Maddie blushes a bit. "I'm okay if you need to take the games off, you know. I don't care about dedications. I just want you to be okay. It's important to me, y'know?" She blushes even more at the compliments, shaking her head. "Oh, you," she murmurs, voice going soft and wobbly. "Stop. I just.. yeah, I'm gonna go order you some soup, okay? And making a milkshake."

     "It's all true," Balthazar whispers. He kisses you on the cheek before settling back with a sound held in his throat. It's different from the normal groans he makes around you. This is borne of stiffness and soreness. "Let Doctor Westwynde know he can come in and finish this. The sooner I have an evening free of doctors, the better off I'll be. Besides, I have a feeling that the brace is going to be the worst of it." Yes, you're better off running to place a food order.
     "A chocolate shake for me? Extra chocolate, would be lovely." He gives his body to the pillows, settling in for what will be a long evening. He's not looking forward to the first bathroom hobble.
     "I want to do it," he murmurs, his eyes closing. "i want to win the whole thing for you. And to let everyone know... Madison West is my love and lovely girl."

     "Chocolate it is." Maddie smiles at you through the rest of her tears. "You're so sweet," she whispers, voice breaking. She was so very, very worried. "I'll be back. Just - rest, okay?"
     She jumps to her feet, fleeing to the door so that you can't see the rest of her tears. She keeps it to herself; she keeps the bad memories at bay, like some nightmare that will quickly fade. Or so she hopes.
     "Oh, doctor..."

Posted by rowan at October 24, 2009 08:25 PM