For His Kingdom (part 34)
Masterlist
Content: caretaking, haircut, panic attack, aftermath of whump, caretaker x whumpee
It was two days later when Cinn’s fever broke. He spent most of those days half-asleep, vaguely aware of the kind hands feeding him tea and broth or placing cool cloths on his forehead. Every time the tankard or bowl was brought to his lips a part of his mind protested, tempted to clamp his jaw tight. But the smell was enticing — floral herbs or meaty broth, not the iron and cold water of his torture. And the hands offering it were patient, not forcing his mouth open.
The day his fever broke, he woke to the sound of late spring rain pattering against the wooden shutters. Maira was dozing, finished mending beside her. Dark curls tumbled around her face, fallen free of the low braid she kept her hair in.
His whole body ached. Pangs from his stomach made him wince, hunger demanding attention. Carefully, he checked the wound on his arm that had been the cause of all this. The swelling was gone, the skin tender and pink with healing. He moved his arm experimentally. While the muscle was sore and the wound still twinged with pain, the deep shooting pain was no longer present. Slowly, he pushed himself to sitting. He still lacked a tunic and the sheets had become tangled around his legs with his thrashing in the throes of the fever. They had kept the sheets off his upper body, it seemed, ensuring his hands were free. Once he could untangle himself, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, reaching for the low table to pull himself to standing.
Maira stirred, the motion catching the corner of his eye. She had been watching over him the most, from what little he could remember. Worry had left her face as she slept. He stilled, staring at her for a long moment. How he would repay her kindness — all of their kindness — he did not know. Hopefully his former status would be enough for them to be granted protection and favor in his kingdom.
Grumbling from his stomach cut off that musing. Cinn dragged himself to standing. His legs were weak from days spent in bed. A pallet on the floor caught his foot and he crashed down onto it, a curse erupting as he fell to his hands and knees.
Maira jolted upright, eyes wide, then saw him out of bed as he struggled to stand again.
“Cinn!” Relief filled her voice, followed by a flush that reddened her whole face at the realization of her outburst.
“Forgive me, I was trying not to wake you… I…”
She sprang to her feet and crossed the small room, offering her hand to help him up.
“I will go let Mother know, she will be so relieved.” She looked him up and down, eyes fixing on the mess of his hair. “Perhaps we can arrange for you to bathe, and I can help make your hair… presentable.”
Cinn reached a hand up and found a matted tangle of hair from his tossing and turning in the bed. In his captivity, his hair had become scraggly and long, accompanied by a scruffy beard slowed by malnourishment. “I… yes, that would probably be a good idea…”
He let her help him back to the bed, then listened as her steps echoed down wooden stairs. Voices rose and fell, sounding excited, and two sets of footsteps returned up the stairs. Martha threw open the door, her whole face showing relief as she saw him.
“Thank the heavens, I’ve been worried to death about you!”
He dipped his head in a bow to her. “I… think I will be well enough for us to continue soon.”
Martha harrumphed. “Give it a few days, you need to regain your strength. We’ll get some real food into you.”
She strode over and took a look at his arm. He flinched involuntarily as she reached for it, and she waited a moment until he forced himself to relax. Cool fingers prodded along the wound.
“It’s healing well. We’ll make sure we get some wine for the rest of our journey, make sure nothing else gets that bad.”
He nodded. “Is… is there anything I can do to aid you while we remain here?”
She crossed her arms. “Focus on healing. Once you’re a bit stronger you can help me with the kitchen work until you’re ready to travel.”
Behind her, Maira looked scandalized at the thought of him working in the kitchen. Martha turned towards her. “Get him a basin so he can wash all the sweat and grime off himself. I’ve got to get back to the bread before it burns.”
Despite her brusque manner, she gave him a genuine smile before leaving the room.
Maira stepped forward, a pair of iron scissors in her hand. “If you don’t mind, si— Cinn, your hair?…” When she said his name, an apologetic look came to her face.
He nodded, pulling himself to stand again and gesturing for her to sit on the bed as he gingerly knelt on the pallet where Akon slept.
Kneeling like that — he had to take a deep breath as he lowered to his knees so she could reach his hair. Even now his knees protested the motion and his mind bucked against it.
He made himself kneel anyway.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Maira paused next to him and he looked up at her to see a question in her eyes. “Would you not be more comfortable sitting instead?”
He flushed. Right. He didn’t have to kneel. His buttocks and legs were no longer covered in bruises and open wounds.
Damn them for all of this.
Face flaming, he shifted to sit cross legged. She was right. It was much more comfortable. More dignified.
The bed creaked as she sat and he felt her fingers touch his hair to gently comb and untangle what she could. It was a strange sensation. A shiver went through him and he sighed. It was pleasant, having kind hands working through his hair.
At times her hand caught on a nasty tangle and the locks of hair tugged against his scalp. He winced, biting his lip so he would not concern her with a sound of discomfort.
Scissors snipped and hair began to fall around him.
“There are a lot of tangles, I fear I may have to cut off a good bit of hair…” Maira’s voice was apologetic.
“It will grow back. Do what you must.”
She continued to cut, tangled clumps of hair falling to the floor. Every time she snipped, he could hear her muffling apologetic noises.
Cold metal brushed the back of his neck.
His entire body seized up. Fear that he could not control lanced through him and a whimper escaped his lips.
He was back in the dungeon, collar harsh against his neck as men bowed and died for it.
Back in the palace, kneeling in humiliation.
“Please… no…”
Maira froze behind him. “Si— Cinn? Are you… did I hurt you?”
He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms as he fought to return to the present. “No… I'm sorry… I… it’s alright…”
Hesitantly, she resumed snipping, blessedly keeping the scissors away from his neck. Tears of shame pricked at his eyes. Had they so broken him that even this could send him into a panic?
When she was done, she circled him, offering a hand to help him stand. He took it, brushing hair off his torso. She tilted her head, examining her work, then gestured at the bed. He sat.
“I… is it alright if I trim your beard? It’s gotten a bit rough.”
He nodded. His throat was too tight to speak and he feared if he tried he would burst into sobs at the frustration and humiliation of his reaction earlier.
Maira moved close, leaning towards him and gently beginning to snip at the edges of the hair. Coarse strands began to gather in his lap as she snipped. Her fingers brushed against a scarred spot under his chin and froze. The touch stilled him too, his heart racing as he forced himself to remember it was her fingers and not the collar pressing against his jaw.
“The… that was where…” He swallowed.
She moved her hand as if flinching away and her face reddened again. “I… I am sorry… what they did to you was…”
“It is over now. It is not your fault. You… it is alright.”
Maira nodded, lips pressed tight. Her hands were gentle as she touched his jaw to finish trimming the coarse hair.
It was pleasant, unexpected, to be touched with such gentleness. Tears welled up again. Cinn had not been touched with painless kindness in— his mind quelled to think how long it had been. But now he was here. Whole, unfettered, his wounds healing, with kind hands trimming his beard as if he were truly a person once more.
Eventually and yet somehow all too soon, she stepped back. “There. I think that will do, at least for now.” She curtseyed, face still flushed. “I will return with things for you to wash, you rest until then.”
After the door closed, he ran his hand over his face. His beard was still rough, but neater. Locks of hair just brushed his jaw and his head felt lighter. He brushed the trimmings off and swept off Akon’s pallet as best he could.
Tears — tears of relief, even happiness — slipped down his cheeks and he brushed them away.
