Xirysa Says: WARNING. Stupid, pointless shenanigans and utter nonsense ensue in this 'fic. You have been warned.
A Nosebleed and a Song
Lowen didn't really know how he had gotten into this predicament. Actually, he did, but it was far too embarrassing to admit it to anyone. If they knew... Oh, dear. He would just have to find a large rock to crawl under, and then he would stay there until the world forgot about his existence.
Provided that people did forget about his existence, of course. Then again, what had happened was so embarrassing, it would probably take centuries for people to forget about it.
If only they could forget now.
Sighing, Lowen looked down at the blood that spattered his front. He couldn't even use the excuse that it was the blood of an enemy—their little ragtag army hadn't been caught in a skirmish for almost a week, now. That fact alone made the situation seem all the more pathetic.
He tilted his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose. All Lowen had to do now was find a cold, wet piece of cloth (ice was a luxury in these parts) to put on his nose to stem the flow of blood. The only problem was asking someone for a cold, wet piece of cloth without describing exactly what had happened. He could already picture it in his mind.
"Oh? You want to know why my nose is bleeding? Well, I guess I got distracted when I heard Rebecca singing—by the way, did you know that she sings really well?—and I tripped over my own feet and landed on my face in the dirt. I guess I hit my nose on the ground rather hard, because the next thing I knew, there was blood everywhere. So no worries; that's all that happened. Oh, and thanks for the cloth, by the way. What? Why was I listening to Rebecca? Well, she's really pretty, and I really, really like her a lot."
Oh, how mortifying.
Getting mauled by one of the giant mountain lions that roamed the great peaks of Bern sounded more appealing.
With a groan, Lowen stood up and awkwardly (he was, after all, still tilting his head back and pinching his nose to stem the flow of the blood) made his way to the center of camp, praying to St. Elimine that anyone—anyone!—but General Marcus found him.
"Sir Lowen?" a soft voice asked. Lowen recognized it instantly.
Mentally, Lowen kicked himself. In the head. He should have added Rebecca to the list of people he didn't want to find him. But it was too late to do anything, now. Oh, he could already feel his face turning red, and he imagined how he must have looked to her, with his flushed face and the awkward angles of his body and his bloody bevor and the epically embarassed expression on his face.
Lowen looked at her out of the corner of his eye and gave her a small, lopsided smile. "Er, h-hello, Rebecca," he managed to say. "H-h-how are y-you today?" Of course, because he was still pinching his nose, it came out sounding terribly nasally, and Lowen just wished that the earth would open up and swallow him whole.
She blinked her beautiful eyes at him. "Sir Lowen," she said again, "how did this happen?"
Like always, he was struck by just how soft and gentle her voice was. "It...Uh, it's nothing."
"Really," Rebecca said as she took her hand in his, "if that is nothing, then I'm the queen of Bern." She led him away from the camp, towards a small cluster of trees, and made him lie on his back in the dirt. "Just relax," she told him, "and you'll be fine in a bit."
Soon, a wet cloth was pressed against his nose, and Lowen watched Rebecca as she hummed softly to herself as she played with the grass. It was a very lovely song, he thought, and vaguely familiar, too. And her voice... It wasn't the best singing voice in the world, he had to admit, but it was still pretty, in a sort of you-can-still-be-happy-while-helping-to-save-the-world-from-a-crazy-evil-wizard kind of way.
He didn't even realize that the bleeding had stopped until Rebecca asked him how he felt.
"You're pretty..." he began, but he managed to catch himself just in time. "Er, I mean that I'm pretty good, now. Yes, I'm fine." He sat up and smiled at her, the bloody, wet mess of cloth held tightly in his hands. "Thank you very much." Rebecca giggled, and Lowen let out a breath that he hadn't realized he had been holding.
"It was my pleasure," she said as she stood up and brushed off her skirt. "Just don't move a lot for a while, in case the bleeding starts again."
He nodded and watched her walk away for a moment before something inside him made him cup his hands around his mouth and call out to her. "Rebecca," he shouted to her, "I'm making dinner tonight. Would you like to help?"
When he saw her nod and heard her say that it be her honor, Lowen felt like that happiest man on the planet.
At least until General Marcus found him a few minutes later and asked Lowen why he was grinning like a stupid fool when instead he should have been practicing his lance thrusts.
Xirysa Says: Yeah for crappy 'fic! XD This was utter lameness, so sorry if this burned your eyes as you were reading it. Anyway, there's a semi-funny story behind this... I had pretty bad a nosebleed last night about 15 minutes before we were scheduled to go on for a dance program. In my mind, at least, hilarity ensued. When everyone was freaking out over me, my mind suddenly wanted to write a 'fic about a nosebleed. So there you go—'fic inspiration. Plus, Lowen and Rebecca make such a cute pair... Feedback is welcome! (And very much needed, I'm afraid...)