bullshitologyst

He hates to see you suffering, dark circles and hair undone, not gracing him with your company for lunch or tea. He finds it unfair that you have all that pain every few weeks, that you feel sad and your belly and back hurt: he wishes he could take away all that pain from you and throw it to one of the idiots he has to deal with daily.

So, one morning when you wake up bleeding and rush to change your small clothes and fetch your clean cloth, he gets up from the bed and hugs you from behind, the warmth of his bare torso engulfing you.

“Are you in pain, my love?”

You nod, sighing. He caresses your abdomen with a warm, massive hand, and the heat instantly makes you feel better. You are so sensitive now, body and soul, that you cry. Ormund has a soft side he keeps well guarded, revealed just for you in moments like that. He notices your tears and dry them up with his rough thumb, kissing your hair. Then, he lifts you on his arms as you weigh nothing, and puts you carefully back on the bed, fixing the furs over you, kissing your forehead.

“Are you comfortable, my love?”

“Yes. Thank you, Ormund…”

He smiles, politely taking your hand to his full lips.

“I have many duties to attend to today, but I will take care of you. Stay here today and rest. I will make your servants prepare something warm for your pain, tea and some sweets. Can I be certain you will do as I said and rest?”

You smile, confirming your intent to follow his order.

“I will.”

“Good.”

He kisses your mouth, plush lips warm and inviting, your hand still held by his huge one. You forget about your cramps for a moment, caressing his soft hair and not letting him go away so fast. He parts the kiss, kissing the tip of your nose, touching it with his own, his eyes just slightly softer than usual.

“Rest, love.”

“I will. Promise.”

Servants bring you fruit and sweets, golden buns covered in honey, sweet cinnamon tea for the cramps, a towel filled with hot stones to apply warmth on your lower belly. They put fresh flowers on the table, inside a giant antic green vase. They give you a massage with aromatic oils on your feet and legs. You fall asleep comfortably, and wake up by midday to a table set for one, with wine and a hot meal waiting for you. When you wake up, your maid brings the tray to your bed, so you don’t need to get up. You find a small note in Ormund’s pretty but rushed calligraphy, some lovely words and his initials. You feel better after your meal, so you finally get up to fetch something to do, maybe read or embroider. Your fireplace is lit, and there are some blankets over your favorite chair. Both the books you had been reading and your embroidery basket are set on the table by the chair. You curl up and grab a book. You feel so cozy you end up falling asleep again, the warmth of the fire and the blankets making your cold feet comfortable again. Ormund finds you like that a bit later, laughing at you napping, but he doesn’t wake you up. He leaves a note, asking if you want him to send your friends to your chamber to have tea with you. He says that maybe, being with other women could be helpful in your state? An hour later, when you wake up to find his note, you laugh. As soon as you open your eyes, your maid asks if you need anything (orders from your husband).

The note in your hands smells like him: cedar and musk.