Manon's Ascension

Lingering Feelings

Lingering Feelings

Morning brought with it a strange, tense sort of peace.

Ambraude had nearly torn itself in half through the night. The mob at the front gates had turned violent which, in turn, only prompted more parts of the city to turn violent. People wearing purple were fighting with people wearing red - the old color of the military. The two groups had come to blows, leaving the streets covered in blood, more than one building on fire, and the hospitals and clinics of the city overloaded.

And now, this morning, soldiers had to take to the streets to make sure that no more violence broke out from either side.

"Jacques, are you okay?" Manon asked her brooding husband where he stood at the window of his childhood bedroom. Unlike the royal suite that looked out over the brilliant blue ocean, his childhood bedroom looked out over the city.

Dark smoke was still rising in some areas.

At her question, Jacques turned, his brow furrowed. "Me? Manon, you ask after me right now? You're the one who was nearly killed."

"But I wasn't." She smiled from the bed. He wasn't letting her out of it, and not in the fun way either. Her injuries, he had decided, were too much. Honestly, she just thought he wanted her in a place where he could always look over and see that she was okay.

The night had been long. Manon had fallen asleep thanks to the medicinal tea, but she didn't think she would have been able to otherwise. Jacques could not bring himself to leave her side, so he had instead coordinated the efforts to calm down the riots from her bedside.

His short brooding session at the window was the furthest he had gone from her side. He wasn't leaving the room, he wasn't letting her out of his sight, even to relieve himself, and every so often, he would just reach over and gently touch her. As if he had to remind himself that she really was okay and safe.

Sore and aching and a bit dizzy from blood loss, but safe.

He returned to her, a pinched expression on his tired face. She lifted her uninjured arm so he could take her hand as he sat beside her.

"You're okay?" He asked, not for the first time.

"Wonderful," she promised, smiling as much as she could. She was tired too and she could feel the thud of her heartbeat around her wounds, but the medicine in the tea she had been drinking had dulled the pain in her head and face allowing her some small expressions.

Jacques' brow drew down further as he looked her over.

"Is it really that bad?" She reached up but didn't touch her cheeks. Her entire face was throbbing and she knew it would be worse if she applied pressure.

"You're beautiful," he promised, taking the hand she held up.

"So, yeah, it's bad."

He chuckled, but the sound was tired and weak.

Manon cocked her head curiously. "Jacques, seriously. Are you okay?"

He didn't answer this time. His jaw clenched tight as his gaze moved over her carefully. Cataloging each of her wounds, every bruise, every cut.

Jacques hadn't allowed Manon to look into a mirror yet. He had helped her to the toilet when she needed to go, but had stood between her and the mirror and escorted her back out immediately. He didn't want her to see.

As she said, it was bad.

Both of her eyes were blackened and swollen, her lip was broken and puffy, her nose had been broken and forced back into place. There were a multitude of bandages covering various parts of her body. There were places where blood had dried because it had been missed when they had tried to wipe it away.