(514-05-21) Hidden Feelings
Summary: … are bound to be revealed, when a battered Baverstock Lord Knight returns the lady's favor to Lysanor de Dinton.
Date: May 21st, 514, after the Grand Melee
Related: Logs of the Grand Melee, and the talk of Cyndeyrn and Bryce prior to the contest.
bryce lysanor 

The Grand Melee was finally over, a lengthy spectacle not unlike a real battle, and as such, there had been captives and ‘casualties’. Bryce de Baverstock counts among the latter category, as he was driven off his horse shortly before the conclusion of the battle, and spotted by a marshall, then sent to the sidelines to wait till the end of the contest was declared.

Half an hour later, the young knight with the angular features is in the Baverstock tent, just arrived with the help of his squire Carl. Should anyone choose this exact time to pop by and enter the tent, this someone will find Bryce standing, as his squire assists with getting him out of the ringmail armor, the tabard already removed and placed on a chair, the tourney sword sheathed and leaning against the same. The battered shield not far away, but for now ignored by both knight and squire, with the latter being busy with unfastening straps that keep the ringmail in place.

Since the beginning of the Grand Melee, the crowd cheered and applauded the chaos on the field. Many had family or friends competing for honor and glory out on the field; each wanting to prove themselves not only to their own Liege Lords but to the watchful eyes of King Arthur and his beautiful Queen as well. Standing amidst the company of her mother and many cousins, Lysanor is among those applauding and enjoying this spectacle, simulating what real battles feel like in the hopes of giving this experience to some of the new knights. The air was filled with excitement and win or lose, the event itself proved to be a great success, even if there are talks of rematches or rivalries for the next time that several of these armies meet.

Sometimes it was difficult for the audience to make out who was who when armies clashes up against one another and swords are swung to meet with shields. So even as Lysanor may have tried to watch the event unfold with attentive eyes, just seeking out individual knights proved far from an easy task. She would, at times, catch sight of her brother or one of her many cousins, but then there is this moment when Sir Edryd is captured that her eyes linger to observe every little detail that had let up to that point and beyond.

Eventually, even the spectacle of this melee comes to an end and knights and audience alike begin to disperse. Moving quickly, she hopes to meet up with her brother first, but with the bustle of people pushing their way through to where the tents are, she, instead, makes a path to where their own tent it pitched rather than fight her way through such a thick crowd. Tending to her brother and her family is her first and foremost duty, but Cyndeyrn for all his size and strength barely comes off with more than just a mere scratch.

So only once she is excused from these duties, does she find herself at the entrance to the Baverstock tent with all of her healing supplies in tow as seems the norm with her. Wearing one of her better outfits as to make an impressive showing at the grand event, the long, flowing tunic beneath is a dark crimson which makes a bold and contrasting trim for the shorter bliant which she wears over it in a royal blue: Dinton Colors. Her auburn curls are somewhat tamed and done up into a loose braid which hangs down behind her. Rather than entering the tent unannounced, she lingers just outside, though she does make herself known, "Sir Bryce, I thought that both you and your brother might be in need of some healing attention. If you do not mind my intrusion at this moment. Or else, I shall return later."

While his squire is busy with unfastening the straps at his back that keep the maille in place, Bryce is fidgeting with the favor, the braided ribbon of blue and red with the pendant twined about it that is still wound about his arm. It is from this task that he looks up when he hears the oh so familiar voice of Lysanor de Dinton. Still he inquires: “Is that you, Lady Lysanor? Please come in! It’s just me here at the moment. And well…” His gaze flits to his squire in a glance shot over the shoulder, “Carl. Landon is not in need of ‘healing attention’, but… I’d be grateful if you could at least take a look at some of my bruises.” He gestures for the squire to pause in his task to go and open the tent flap, and when Lysanor should enter, she will see him standing there, still in his maille, the favor he has just managed to unfasten held in his left hand. A minor scratch at his left cheek, acquired probably through the madness of the melee, but so far no blood or other visible injuries apparent.

The Lord Knight regards her, and there is a warm flicker in his gaze. “How kind of you to come by and check on me.”, Bryce de Baverstock says with a smile that may look faint to others but by his standards is actually a real smile.

"I'm afraid that I couldn't find your brother through all of that. It was difficult to discern individuals, but I'm pleased to know that he is faring well after everything you both must have gone through." Lysanor speaks just as she steps into the tent, lowering herself into her usual polite and quick curtsy. "I had just seen to my brother prior to this visit, though, I am a little concerned that Kamron had not shown up to our tent yet." There is concern in her voice regarding her cousin, even as her mind is on other things at the moment.

For the time being, all that she can do is wait patiently for the man's armor to be removed. She had caught sight of the small cut upon his cheek, but makes no mention of it. Of course, her eyes keep attentive and watchful, ever assessing what damages she can find from mere posture or movement alone on the young Lord's part, but it is here that she notices that he toys with her favor, though her gaze never lingers on it for very long, nor does she make mention of it just yet. "In this last melee, did you not have the honor of assisting in taking down your opponent's leader? Despite the chaos, I was able to catch a few things."

“Landon looked pretty much unharmed to me when we spoke briefly after the Melee,” Bryce says before he adds with a slight rolling of his eyes: “He is such a tall fellow, and he’s much harder to unhorse. But so is Cyndeyrn. I hope he is well?” A hint of concern flashing in his gaze, that stays there when Lysanor speaks of her cousin. “Kamron?” The Baverstock considers, as his expression goes distant for a moment. “On what team did he compete…? I lost completely track of who was where and how the melee went in other parts… as I had to focus on where I was in all of that chaos.” Even so, her remark on seeing him down a leader brings that faint smile back to his features. “It was Sir Catryn de Burcombe - of all – and I who took down Sir Edryd, thanks to the odds turning in our favor, and us outnumbering the Cameliard team.”, he clarifies. “So, yes… Your eyes did not betray you.” He shakes his head with a chuckle, but whether this is due to him in fact scoring some sort of victory, or the odd fact of assistance by a knight of a rival manor remains unclear.

Carl is finally done, and helping the Baverstock out of the maille, unveiling the padding worn beneath of it. It will be now that Lysanor might glimpse signs of discomfort in the knight who so far has not shown much of it, through their brief exchange. There is a slight grimace now, that he raises his arms, and a flinch as he changes his posture to allow the ring mail to be drawn off his arms, one after the other, the favor shifting from one hand into the other as required, as Bryce does not wish to discard it yet. With the maille finally removed, the padding will be next, and then the maille leggings. When Bryce finally walks over to the cot to have a seat there, he does so with a slight limp, attired as he is still in leather leggings and a shirt. The favor he places beside him. Not returning it yet.

Still lingering nearby, Lysanor almost asks if she ought to assist Carl in removing his knight's armor, but she refrains from doing so. Perhaps, if the knight were bleeding profusely, she very well may have taken a hand in removing his armor just to get it down more quickly. Here, however, she puts on this patient facade, even if her eyes continue to look the man over, especially once the maile is gone. Immediately, she takes in his every expression, noting his strained movements and to which side he favors. "Kamron was part of Count Ioan's army, alongside my brother. Cyndeyrn had mentioned seeing him on the field, but quickly lost track of him. I believe he may have been captured or taken out of the melee at an earlier round. Still, I was hoping he'd return to our tent so that I may at least ensure that he is in no need of bandaging or anything more."

"Sir Catryn de Burcombe?" The name does come as a surprise when Bryce makes mention of it, perhaps not having taken notice of the Burcombe knight in all that was going on. "You and your team did wonderfully, from what I could tell, even assisting Cyndeyrn's group at the very end." Her voice is warm and light, though quickly grows all the more concerned when she asks, "I was hoping that you could inform me of what pains you, My Lord. My eyes can only see so much, but only you will know where this pain comes from and how much or in what way that they hurt." Her favor is noticed, but very much like before, she tries to shut it out of her mind, knowing that she must tend to far more important things than that.

"Hmmm….", Bryce nods when Lysanor speaks of Kamron and Cyndeyrn being in Count Ioain's team. His brows furrow ever so slightly, and he shoots her a glance. "He should be fine, I think. He's a good knight." Even if of similar short stature as this Baverstock knight. As if he were aware of the attentive gaze of the Dinton lady, his smile becomes a bit more pronounced, as if he wanted to soothe her concern. "Maybe…" A slight flinch there, as he attempts a shrug. "Maybe he is checking on someone…" Aware as he is of some verbal exchanges between Kamron and a female Laverstock knight who accompanied them on the Tilshead mission, Bryce cannot help to add that rather vague assumption.

"Yes, Sir Catryn de Burcombe," he confirms with a chuckle. "Some odd twist of fate saw to it that we reached Sir Edryd at about the same time… But I suppose, in the Grand Melee and being part of the Logres team required us to work together… Old family grudges aside…" A second, more careful shrug, to emphasize that, Bryce lifting his gaze as Lysanor asks him of where he is feeling pain. "I fell off four horses. I have aches everywhere," he confesses as he lowers his gaze, and his right hand moves to check on his side, his back, and he frowns. "Bruises everywhere… maybe a broken rib?" From one dulled tourney blade thrust against his side. His gaze shifts to his left foot, where his squire is removing a boot, and Bryce flinches. "Careful there, Carl!" The squire completes his task, taking care not to twist the foot overly much, while the dark eyes of his knight shift to the lady standing before him. "And a sprained ankle." Half statement, half question. And yes, he too is for now not paying attention to the favor. At least it appears that way.

Though Lysanor often times is good about keeping her emotions in check, that doesn't mean that she is completely unreadable. Even as Bryce tries to reassure her of her cousin's fate, there is this gentle furrowing of her brow that may more than hint that she still worries, even when she speaks these words, "You very well may be right and I am fretting needlessly. For all we know, he is out celebrating this victory somewhere with some friends." Her lips, too, lift upon seeing the Baverstock's smile upon her. "Still, if he were truly in need of attention, then it is his fault for not returning to our tent for healing to begin with!"

Finally, Lysanor steps in closer, when the knight explains to her his pains, watching him shift and move to better pinpoint exactly where he aches and kneeling down besides where he is now seated. Even with his shirt still on, she extends a hand to add gentle pressure to the areas which he mentions, especially near his ribcage as she gauges any oddness there. "I will have a splint prepared for you and some poultices to help relieve some of the pain." Just then, her gaze lowers to the man's foot, just as his squire removes the boot from it. "And I'll do some extra bandaging for your ankle, though I do recall telling you to ease the pressure upon it the last we spoke after the… joust." She does not bring up the fact that Bryce had lost that one against Selivant, but she does remind him of her warning from earlier. Pulling away gently, the ends of her braid brushing against the knight's arm when she turns, Lysanor works to prepare the various poultices, soaking them in herbal concoctions, before putting together a splint for his ribs. "Are you relieved that the tournament is finally over? It's been exciting and festive and though I would say that I'd hate for it to end, we all do have our manors to tend to and return to our normal lives."

What more could he do to calm her worries, than offer a reassuring look? Bryce nods his head to her remark about Kamron's absence meaning him not being in need of tending to. "If something grave would be the matter I am sure word would have been sent to you," the Baverstock knight muses, even though he does notice Lysanor's concern as he studies her thoughtfully. "I could send Carl to look for him…?" A thought that suddenly passes his mind and leaves his lips in the next moment.

Then it is about his bruises, and the lady kneeling down beside him will spot more of the discomfort in his angular features when she probes the various areas with her hand. "Ow!", this uttered with a flinch when she administers pressure to the left side of his ribcage. Then another groan when the foot is finally freed of the boot, and the bandages there become visible. "The same damned foot," Bryce grumbles as he eyes the source of his discomfort. "And I did relieve the pressure off it, as I was riding. Intending to, at least. I didn't plan to… get unhorsed four times, after all!" A slightly stubborn tinge there to his otherwise so calm and polite tone. Seeing Lysanor prepare the splint he takes off his shirt - an action that would usually not require much time nor effort. But as it is, he needs the assistance of his squire who still lingers inside of the tent. Once the task has been dealt with, his torso is revealed, and with it several fresh bruises, on the shoulder, his back, and the larger bruise on his left side, already darkening.

"In a way, I am relieved, yes," Bryce de Baverstock replies to her question. "While it is a required spectacle to entertain the crowd - and the High King and his Queen, of course…" His expression shifting ever so slightly at the mention of Guenevere, "I hope my uncle has taken good care of Baverstock while I am gone. As for returning to our normal lives…" His dark eyes find hers as he raises his gaze. "There is something I need to speak with you about." The tone casual. almost, were it not for the slightly odd expression flashing briefly in his gaze.

With Bryce taking her concern to heart, Lysanor will say no more about her cousin. While she may be slightly worried as to Kamron's whereabouts, the Baverstock lord is probably right and that her cousin were out celebrating in one way or other. She also knew that it was probably best if she did not bother an injured knight with what very well may be trivial things and thus her features warm up as a show that no, everything is fine, hoping her smile would say it all.

Not so unused to the annoyance that knights sometimes exhibit after these tournaments, perhaps, due to their own beliefs of how they fared during the event or even merely grumbling out of pain, Lysanor remains quiet, allowing for the man to let off some steam in his own mild way. And her features would remain light and even a touch amused as she tends to look, but once realizing how badly battered the young Baverstock was, that same worry which felt earlier for her cousin creeps back into her mind. This time it is not Kamron who she concerns herself with. Even as she finishes some of her preparations, she half-turns to observe how Carl assists his knight in what should be a simple task of removing one's shirt. "Your fine squire will be of better use for us here than wandering about the tourney grounds or even beyond to seek out my cousin." And only then does a soft smile begin to form upon her lips again.

Lysanor checks her firstaid at 14, she rolled 2.
Lysanor rolls 1d3 and gets (2) for a total of: (2)

Now that the man's torso if fully revealed to her, she gets to work on soothing the discolored section of Bryce's shoulder with a cooling ointment. Though she does finally speak to the man's squire directly in a kind voice, "I believe that Sir Bryce could use a drink right now, something to calm his nerves and sooth his mind." Those words spoken, she works to carefully wound a bandage over his shoulder and under his arm until she has it neatly wrapped and secured. With the change of topic and the man's mood lightening somewhat, she would have made mention that the man's uncle, Lorcan, had never disappointed him before, if not for Bryce bringing up not the King, but his Queen that anything she was about to say is quickly and simply dismissed. In fact, she makes no sign of acknowledging any of it, even if her body tenses for the briefest of moments before rising so that she can tend to the bruise on the man's back. Their eyes do meet in a passing moment, but she seems distracted by something and to his request that there is something that he needs to speak with her about, she quickly nods, taking up a position behind him, before murmuring, "Of course, My Lord, what do you wish to speak of..?"

Bryce checked his Awareness at 10, he rolled 8.

It is little more than a low displeased grumble, the rather tempered displeasure Bryce de Baverstock allows to slip from his lips. Especially in Lady Lysanor's presence. He nods when she says that Carl's help won't be needed in locating her cousins and holds still when she applies her cooling ointment to his shoulder. Her request to his squire has him lift a brow though, and he shoots her a surprised glance before he backs up her words with another incline of his head. "I could use a drink, yes. Go and fetch some ale, for me."

That ever so slight stiffening in her posture when he mentions the Queen Bryce notices with a hint of surprise, even so, he will not comment on it, as she does not pursue the topic at all. Instead, he will reply to her question, and in doing so, reaches for the favor that had been there all the while, beside him on the cot. "Now that the tournament is over… I believe the custom requires me to give you back your favor you've granted to me. It has brought me luck, I believe. At least," and here his angular features soften into a smile, "it has inspired my courage, and determination to carry through with the challenges, the joust and the Grand Melee. For which I am grateful. Most grateful, indeed." He exhales, pausing for a moment as he considers, his gaze going distant for a moment, before it finds hers again. "This morning, before the Melee… I've had a talk with Cyndeyrn. He informed me that… a knight has made a proposal of marriage to you. Sir Acwel de Woodford." Again there is a pause, as Bryce studies her, and his smile fades somewhat from his features. "Still… you've offered me your token of luck for the mission to Tilshead… And you've accepted my request for your favor…?" The latter statement as well as question, as he reaches for her hand to place the favor there, his gaze lingering on the braided ribbon of blue and red with the pendant.

Lysanor checked her firstaid at 14, she rolled 4.
Lysanor rolls 1d3 and gets (1) for a total of: (1)

Even as she begins to cleanse and then slather the dark bruise on Bryce's back with the same ointment which she used on his shoulder, the smile on Lysanor's lips when she speaks can be heard within her tone, "I felt that you would want for something to help in easing your pain. While my herbs and ointments tend to help with just that, the comfort of a good drink can do wonders to lift a person's spirit."

As for any mention of Queen Guenevere, perhaps if Cyndeyrn were with her now, she might very well engage him in such a conversation regarding the Queen. However, Cyndeyrn is not here and Bryce is, so that makes the moment even more inopportune in Lysanor's eyes and thus she does not bring up her own thoughts, knowing how many feel towards the Queen and despite her best efforts there is a rising jealousy that she can feel building up from within even now. There is one thing which she is pleased for, however, and that is for the duties which she performs now in aiding and tending to the injured knight. And while it may not always entirely occupy her thoughts, it does force her to focus on her attentions on her work than on some of the conversation at hand.

You check your firstaid at 14, you rolled 10.
Lysanor rolls 1d3 and gets (3) for a total of: (3)

So with the Baverstock's back covered in a soothing ointment, Lysanor makes her way to his side so that she can better inspect and deal with perhaps the most serious of his three injuries from her perspective. Just like before, she applies pressure to his side, this time adding a little more force. "This will definitely need to be set." She informs him, before cleansing the discolored flesh and then applying a poultice there before she even works on his splint. The conversation at this point has turned to something more personal. At first, she seems pleased when her favor is brought up and as she can better face him now, not tending to the wound on his back, her expression does not hide this fact. It is when he continues that she even takes pause in her work, just as she begins to work a bandage around the man's torso to cover both the wound on his back and at his side.

"Cyndeyrn… told you that?" She starts, almost about to say something in regards to Acwel's request, but what follows does remind her of her own actions to this day, despite the proposal offered. Slowly, she wisely decides to continue on with her bandaging even when the conversation makes her heart beat rapidly at the questions posed, though she does honor the man with a brief response, "That I did, My Lord." With how flustered she now feels, she could put forth any sort of excuse to justify or better explain her actions, but for now she continues to refrain from saying any more even if her skin burns hot at her cheeks.

"How very considerate of you," Bryce comments on her remark about him needing a drink, and she can most probably hear the slight hint of surprise in his voice. His head turns just so that he sees her form behind him at the corner of his range of vision. But then he falls silent and his gaze shifts to Carl who rummages through their belongings, and then excuses himself for a moment to get the required stiff drink from some obscure source in his established underground network of squires and servants. "It's fine. Carl!", the Baverstock calls, but his squire is already past the tent flap and away on his self-imposed errand.

While her current occupation seems to keep Lysanor nicely on track, it is the tenderness of his bruises, the subtle pains caused in the moment the soothing ointment is applied to his back with gentle and smooth fingers that reminds the knight of the healer's purpose. There is a flinch when Lysanor appears at his side and applies pressure to where a broken rib causes him pain, and a slight frown appears on his features in the moment he hears her verdict. The favor in his hand remains there, as her own are busy with applying the bandage. Bryce lifts his eyes to meet hers, but she averts her gaze. "He told me," he replies when she is done with her brief and rather vague confirmation, "and he told me you told him…" gosh, who was letting his words spill out in such simplistic manner…? His gaze flickers, noting her flustered state, the blush creeping up her cheeks, and Bryce de Baverstock clears his throat, trying to pick up where he left off. "Cyndeyrn said you asked Sir Acwel for time to consider. That you are favoring another… Lysanor!" His voice is raised ever so slightly, with a certain urgency now entering his expression. Still, Bryce has to voice the evident. "Can it be… I will ask this only once, but I need to know." A pause, and exhale as his gaze shifts briefly towards the tent flap where Carl might reappear anytime, then back to Lysanor's angelic face. "You gave me that luck charm, after you spoke with Sir Acwel.", Bryce states then. "It was because… you are favoring me?"

Lysanor did not care to look upon her favor when it was offered to her. It was her task which saves her from doing so or even retrieving the thing from Bryce's grasp. In fact, this act of bandaging and securing both poultice and splint is all that she can do to keep her gaze from ever meeting his now. Still, even though their eyes no longer meet, she still hears his voice, his words and the more which the knight reveals, the quicker she attempts to finish her task; not for its completion, as that would leave her with little to do than to hear him out, but more so that she is trying to focus in her duty to try and keep her heart from racing that she feels as if she very well may swo—

At the very end of his statement, the Baverstock's words ending in a question, the poor girl cannot help but feel so overwhelmed by what is expected of her now. Finally, her work stops, though she comes so close to tying off the end of the bandage. "Of all the questions which you could ask of me, My Lord," she starts, her words wavering as her voice trembles, those blue eyes looking glassy and unblinking as she fights not to simply faint right here and now with this pressure placed upon her, "This one is the most difficult of all." She cannot help but feel overcome by a strong sense of embarrassment, leaving her flustered and near the brink of tears that she wished she could simply hide away. "Y-.. You are correct in your assumption, My Lord and I hope that you will forgive me my.. silliness…" Only after those words are spoken does she finish off the bandaging with a renewed purpose. There was no way that her gaze could meet with his now.

It is odd, the agitation apparent in the lady's demeanor, it finds an echo in the Lord Knight as well, even if it shows differently; the way in which he seems to hold his breath as he awaits her answer; the way his fingers tighten about the braided ribbon still held in his hand; the manner in which he leans forward as if that would facilitate catching those words that hold as much meaning to him as to her. Dark eyes linger on Lady Lysanor de Dinton in an intense stare, the tension obvious in his posture as he takes in her reluctant reply.

It does take a moment before its meaning manages to dawn upon him. But when it does, Bryce de Baverstock relaxes and a smile breaks through his usually so sombre and polite facade, the wall he had been building about him, since the news of his father's death reached him as a boy of eleven years of age; a wall that had grown through necessity, and with the burden of impending responsibilities he had to shoulder once he was old enough to pursue the interests of his manor, as its head and leader. The moment Lysanor confesses her feelings towards him, it marks a turning point in a long history of denying a fact that had become more and more obvious in the few months that had passed. A truth that he had felt boiling deep within, but because he could not really imagine his feelings would be returned, had been kept there, beneath a protective barrier of calm and polite courtesy.

Air leaves his lungs in a relieved exhale, a soft chuckle escaping Bryce at the choice of her words. "Silliness…?", he echoes, shooting her a warm glance. "Why? It is not silliness at all. So there is nothing to forgive." His gaze flits to her fingers that are about to finish the task of tying off the bandage, but once she is done the Baverstock knight catches her hand finally, his fingers closing gently about her wrist; his eyes locked with hers, waiting for her - willing her - to meet his gaze. Then, and only then will he continue. "It is more than I dared to hope for," Bryce de Baverstock states in a confession of his own, the voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't lie when I spoke about what your favor meant to me; I understated perhaps, a little… but…" Mirth dimmed by now completely as the usually so stoic Baverstock allows some sentiment to show on his features. "This has meant much to me. And even more what you've told me just now."

His brows twitch ever so slightly upwards as Bryce considers for a moment. And then he straightens - carefully - and draws a deep breath. "Do I have permission then, to speak with your father, and ask him for your hand…?" Words uttered with optimistic determination, were it not for that faint - almost indiscernible tremble in his tone.

Even as her own words trickled off her lips, Lysanor felt far from being relieved. The heavy burden which should have lifted from her shoulders only felt heavier now under the weight of her confession. This is the boy who she had known from childhood and yet she remembered a time where he may have been happier and far more carefree than the man he became. She was there when her father returned home from the Battle of London with the news of Sir de Baverstock's death and was witness to the change in the Baverstock Lord's son in the process, the very boy who she had attempted to try and cheer up over the years, because she missed seeing that warm smile on his lips.

And that boy is here before her today as a man, a knight and the Lord of Baverstock. With the bandaging done, Lysanor is surprised when Bryce's fingers touch upon her hand before taking her wrist in a gentle grip. Aside from her tending to his wounds, there had been little in the way of physical contact between the two. Never had he taken her hand nor placed a kiss upon the back of it as some knights do. So with this in mind, just this lone touch captures her full attention, yet leaving her rather stunned as her gaze settles upon such a beautiful sight, the act alone leaving her slightly breathless. Then suddenly, though she is afraid to do so, her eyes lift, her gaze being suddenly drawn to meet with the man's head on. "More than you ever dared to hope?" Her lips move quietly to repeat and whisper his words.

"I.. I cannot find the words to express my emotions just yet." The usually proud and confident young woman now stammers, these very emotions, in complete and utter turmoil now, though the more than man speaks, that burden upon her shoulders only now begins to lift while a flush of warmth washes over her. "Your very words fill my heart so that I feel that it may burst with an overflowing warmth. "I was always curious as to what was on your mind, your thoughts, your dreams, but I had a thought that you may have.." There is some hesitation here and she feels foolish for saying this now, "felt that I was like a sister to you, with your being very much like a brother to Cyndeyrn. I am glad that I was mistaken."

Still in a gentle state of shock, the reality of it all hits her, one which brings just the tiniest smile to her small lips. "I would want for nothing more than for you to speak to my father for I would be both honored and elated to be your wife." She is surprised by her own words now, having only imagined saying this exact same thing only in her dreams.

It certainly was a thing that had not happened in a long time, Bryce reaching for her hand – seeking a physical contact in such a way that must catch Lysanor’s attention. At least in this he is successful; when his words apparently leave the petite Dinton Lady almost speechless and stammering as she searches for the right words. Curiously enough, this does not put him off at all, on the contrary, his fingers loosen about her wrist, shifting to just support her hand while his other places the braided ribbon on her palm, his gaze caught there for a moment as he listens. The smile is still there when he looks up, his brows lifting as he replies: “No… you were never like a sister for me. A good friend, yes, when we were younger.” And before all of this happened. “Like Cyndeyrn still is.”

His index finger runs over the structure of the favor in her hand that is still resting on his palm, and when the Baverstock raises his voice again it seems it is now his turn to stammer. “I can’t tell when this friendship shifted into something else… But when I realized I admired you, I was… in no position as to… And well, I was your father’s squire… And I…” He sighs, lowering his gaze once again to the favor his finger keeps toying with, and a faint line appears between his brows. “I doubted you’d ever see me as anything else, but a childhood friend.” Air leaves his nose, as the corners of his mouth lift into a somewhat bitter smile. “Your beauty was and is bound to attract the attention of many; I’d somehow assumed you’d wish for a more imposing… more handsome husband.” There. He got it out, in all honesty. That faint hint of bitterness fades at once from his angular features in the moment he lifts his gaze again to meet hers. “Sir Cynfarch will hopefully remember me as the trustworthy and dutiful squire I was to him,” Bryce intones with a confident smile that is only in part caused by the slight jest in his tone. “As soon as we are back, I shall pay Dinton Manor a visit.” He adds, warmth flickering there in his dark eyes as he leaves the favor be and lifts his vacant hand for another move –audacious by his standards – when he places his fingers against Lysanor’s cheek, if allowed, losing himself in her gaze for a moment.

All of that heaviness and tension which surrounded her, and filled her with this dreadful idea that she had just embarrassed herself greatly, have now completely vanished, leaving the young Dinton with this airy feeling of giddiness. And yet, she fights to keep these feelings in check before they overcome her and who knows what she would do and say. The young woman's eyes though, so bright, so expressive can hardly hide the joy she feels despite her subdued expression. The smile which she gives in return, may hint of her nervousness still, but her gaze no longer avoid the intensity and honesty within the man's eyes.

Feeling the warmth of her pendant, a trinket from childhood, now pressed into her open palm, it is only then that she finally admires the colorful stone somewhat as she listens to the soothing tone in Bryce's voice when he speaks, before his hand gently covers over her own when the man's fingertips trace along the stone's length and shape. "All this time," Her voice comes out in a soft whisper, "I thought that perhaps you had taken interest in another, for you had never asked me for my favor. Not for any tournament or competition. And yet, I had never seen any sign of a favor on your person, on your lance or your sword and I thought that it could very well be that a special lady had yet to capture your attention."

The young woman's gaze lifts to look directly into the Baverstock's dark eyes, this abashed look upon her fair features, "Why would I want a husband who were imposing?" She looks surprised by this, though she continues now, those cheeks picking up color once more, "But, I… I've always thought that you were handsome, soft spoken, yet ever firm and confident when such traits are called for. And unlike many of the others, who speak so sweetly in attempts to gain a lady's attention or affection, I have always found you to be so reserved in such actions… perhaps, this is what fascinated me the most." Her eyes shy away for the moment as she goes on, "It almost felt as if you were unreadable, that your heart was a mystery and even if you did love, the world, your family, your friends, would never know." Here, the young maiden pauses, before laughing gently at the truth within her own words, "Perhaps, I had been right all along."

The sensation of the man's touch, so foreign to her, when he grazes her cheek has her gaze lifting to meet his once more. "I know that he will. I am confident of it and that my father remembers you fondly in all of your diligence and good work ethic." Then, she too, falls quiet to simply enjoy this moment shared between the both of them. This day has been everything she could ever imagine and more, but even still, though she must break the moment, she does remind, "I will need to see about tending to your ankle once again, before I even allow you to make the trip home."

Bryce looks surprised at her words. "No! There has never been another. I am not the paragon of charm and pretty words, and well, never was interested in such sport, some other knights like to pursue. Such asking for favors on a mere whim, or in the hope to gain something. To impress the lady in question for the reward of a kiss or more of the kind…" A faint smile there, the expression in the Baverstock's dark eyes amused, as his thoughts drift to a remark he caught earlier in the day. "No. The only favor I would have wanted to wear… was yours, at this tournament. Before that, it would have been a pityful request of an rather plain squire, or a fresh knight who barely knew he would be able to honor the favor by a good showing. So yes… I lacked the courage. But something in how things developed lately, it gave me hope that my request would be accepted, this time around."

The usually so quiet Baverstock suddenly displays a talktativeness Lysanor may have seldom witnessed in him, his smile deepening when she actually tells him he thought him handsome. "It was the fear to be laughed at and rejected," he states plainly. "And after that, I wouldn't have been allowed to stay friends with Cyndeyrn and you, it would have made things rather awkward." He pauses, as he looks into the Dinton lady's deep blue eyes, indulging in the sensation of the soft skin of her cheek beneath the touch of his fingers. "I may have been a little afraid as well, what your father would have said.", he admits then with a bit of awkwardness flashing in his dark gaze. "Even if I may have been a good and dutiful squire… It is different when it comes to that squire wooing someone's daughter."

It is Lysanor's remark about the ankle that indeed breaks the moment, and Bryce nods slowly, before he withdraws his hand almost reluctantly from her features and reclines in his seat. His gaze shifts to the bandage about his left foot and he frowns ever so slightly. "And I shall be grateful for your tending to it. I shall avoid any tournament in the next two months. I promise." Said with a slight twinkle in his eyes.

Her fingers now closing in over the pendant within her palm, Lysanor is quiet, contemplative as she considers everything just spoken and revealed within these mere few minutes. For now, this is put aside to be kept safe within one of the pouches which hangs at her belt. "I must confess that I do find it all rather charming in a sense. How one's feelings for another may grow over time and yet, no matter how closely we were raised with one another, our true feelings have remained hidden for so long."

A frown forms quickly on her lips, the maiden's head shaking lightly, "We would never have laughed at you." That color on her cheeks brightening ever more now when she speaks, "I know that I never would," Then quickly adds, "Nor would Cyndeyrn. In fact, I know my brother to love and respect you in a way which he rarely feels towards just any knight, even those he may be friends with." She then reveals with a soft sigh, "He may not have noticed, but I just know when Cyndeyrn has his eyes on someone, usually a knight in my company. He's always been protective of me and can be distrustful of other knights in his protectiveness. And still, I have yet to see him turn those eyes on you. He puts his trust in you, I'm sure, and always had."

Of course, Bryce's sudden chattiness is not only noticed but greatly appreciated by the woman who continues to look deeply within his eyes and even when he withdraws his hand from her cheek, she can still feel the gentle touch burning against her smooth skin long after the hand is removed. This little talk has inspired her and filled her heart with a warmth and lightness which she has never felt before. Surely, being in love was one thing, plagued with the worry that your affection would not be returned, but this was so much more.

Lysanor checked her firstaid at 14, she rolled 6.
Lysanor rolls 1d3 and gets (2) for a total of: (2)

Shifting in her position upon her knees, she works to undo the old bandage already wrapped about the man's ankle and with a gentle hand, she applies some pressure to test the tenderness of the sprained section, her eyes lifting every so often to gauge the man's reaction to this. "I will not hold you back from entering any such tournament once you are fully healed." She says with with a soft laugh as she works to clean out the wounded area before applying that cool ointment, allowing for it to penetrate through the man's skin somewhat before she works to rewrap even more tightly, to keep the ankle sturdy. "Again, I would advise that you remain off of your feet when you can help it. I do know that the journey back to Salisbury and especially to our homes is a long one, it would be best to stop and rest more often than not along the way."

“It would have complicated things,” Bryce insists, “and I know Cyndeyrn has been and still is very protective of you. This… has been another reason for me to keep quiet about this, as I didn’t want to disappoint him, as a friend.” Air leaves his lungs in a soft sigh, but the smile remains on his features. “When we spoke this morning, and he told me of Sir Acwel’s proposal to you… I asked him as well about how he felt about me carrying your favor, and from his reaction, which was… slightly dimmed but so like Cyndeyrn,” the smile grows momentarily in warmth, “I gathered he wouldn’t be opposed to a hypothetical match between you and I. And yes, the way our conversation went, I asked him about that as well.” Dark eyes are lowered in a slight astonishment. “It seems I was rather successful on various battlefields today.”, the Baverstock murmurs then as he shakes his head. Even if, technically, he had turned into a ‘casualty’ towards the end of the Grand Melee.

His gaze lifts again to meet Lysanor’s, and with her going back to the task of tending to his various bruises, it will linger on her in slightly perplexed amazement, a lightness there in his manner, with that last bit of uncertainty about the lady’s feelings finally out of the way. Even so, the treatment of his bruised foot has a certain sobering effect on the Baverstock knight, and he inhales sharply when Lysanor probes the extent of the fresh swelling at his ankle. He flinches, then joins into her chuckle, but moderately so. “I’d better rest and limit my activities to the duties of leading a manor,” Bryce states with a sigh. “And lend my sword to causes that are absolutely required; when I am able to.” Like fighting bandits, Saxons and the like. “As I’ll be travelling with my Baverstock kin, I suppose they won’t object for us delaying a few days, before embarking on that journey back to our home.” Watching her wrap the ankle anew, after applying the cooling ointment, Bryce regards the petite lady with fondness laced with a hint of desperation. “You require me to tarry when all I want is hurry home to have that talk with your father, Lysanor… Yet, I shall heed your advice.”

Summary of healing rolls: Wounds treated in order of appearance:

  • 2 HP -> 2 HP healed
  • 4 HP -> 1 HP healed
  • 4 HP -> 3 HP healed
  • 2 HP -> 2 HP healed

Leaving one wound at 3 HP and one at 1 HP

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