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[Eclyse Christian]

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Kaylor gasped as he shifted to drop his gauntlets on the table.

“Yer hurt, Sir Kaylor.” Eclyse’s brow furrowed, her intense green eyes severe with concern.

“I took a few blows.” The adoration of the masses after the joust still lingered on his skin, despite the humility he wore like a mantle. Still, his deep blue eyes were alight with ale and the exhilaration of the night.

“Can I ‘elp ye?” Eclyse picked up his gauntlets and watched him protectively as he winced just turning to her.

Kaylor considered a moment, and gave a nod, turning to face the stairs to his room. He caught his breath again, and she knew that something was wrong beyond a glancing blow. Carefully, she steadied him and helped him up the stairs. Without a second thought, she unbuckled his chestplate and helped him out of it, unfastening and removing sleeves, and the shirt that was rent and soaked in his blood. A lance had found the chink in his armour.

The gash was huge, from his shoulder diagonally down to his side. She gasped, reaching immediately for a bottle in her pack and some clean bandages. She quickly uncorked the bottle and soaked the bandages with spirits that smelled bitterly of herbs.

“This is gonna sting a bit, Sir Kaylor. But jus’ at first. It’ll help numb afterward, for th’ needle. I need to stitch this up.”

He nodded, closing his eyes as she began to clean the wound. Gently, she traced her fingertips beneath it, examining and blowing lightly to ease the sting of the medicine. Without a word, his eyes flew open, and he caught her hand with his. He stared at her wide-eyed, his expression cold and unreadable, as he held her touch at bay. Eclyse had seen the look before, upon startling a hind in the forest. Fight or flight? Face down a lance without fear, but a caring touch is just too much?

She nodded gently to him and spoke reassuringly to negotiate the release of her hand. “Sorry, Sir Kaylor, I din’t mean to hurt ye. Just let me sew this up, aye?”

Kaylor sighed and released her hand. “Fine, just get this done.”

[Eclyse Christian]

---

“Sorry I hugged ye, Sir. Especially in front of everyone else. I got carried away…” Eclyse trailed off apologetically. She laced the wound deftly and delicately as Kaylor rested his forehead in his free hand, eyes closed.

“And what would you have me do to stop you? Discipline?” Kaylor spoke without removing the hand that masked his face and closed eyes. “Would it help to make you stand for hours, feeling nothing but the cold? Would it change you?”

Eclyse bit her lip thoughtfully as she finished lacing the wound up and knotted the thread. “Wouldn’t change my heart.”

Kaylor raised his head and opened his eyes. “Right. Compassion.” He looked down at her handiwork. The gash was sewn neatly into a straight line.

Eclyse nodded and added quietly, “Always.”

Kaylor seemed to approve of her work, and rolled his shoulders to relax the tensed muscles and test his range of motion. “Very well then. You’ll spend two nights, midnight to sunrise, on my front steps. You’ll guard the manor in silence.”

Eclyse nodded obediently, lowering her gaze in shame. “Aye Sir Kaylor.”

Kaylor watched her narrowly for a moment, then dismissed her from his sight.

[Eclyse Christian]

---

Half past two. And six more hours till sunrise. Eclyse sighed with a shiver as the wind whipped her dark velvet cloak up around her, fretting the edges with icy fingers. The sky was unfathomably dark and deep this far from the city lights, and the stars shone brightly, twinkling as the winds tore across the top of the canyon.

There had been no sound but the nearly imperceptible footfalls of a white wolf that skulked around the manor from time to time, undoubtedly using the clear and snowless night to hunt hare. The silence was nearly maddening, but she took solace in the fact that Sir Kaylor slept soundly inside while she kept watch. The silence was, after all, his purpose behind this. And her own fault for having allowed herself to slip up and and hug the Black Knight after his victory.

Willow jus’ shook his hand firmly. True warrior fashion. Why couldn’t I ‘ave jus’ bowed to him and congratulated him? It wasn’t at all that she had pulled two nights of sleep and sensory deprivation for her ignorant blunder. What bothered her was that Sir Kaylor had been so disappointed in her. And that she was disappointed in herself.

Eclyse swallowed painfully past an unexpected lump in her throat, remembering the look in Sir Kaylor’s eyes when she tended his jousting wound. Frozen, as he threw up a wall between them. As frozen and unyielding as the urgent winds this deep and dark night. What’s so wrong with lettin’ someone care about ye? Yer human after all, Sir Kaylor. ‘Tis what humans do. Well, most humans.

Eclyse blinked as her eyes hazed, and the tears that had been welling up spilled hotly down her cheeks in the darkness. Tears for a knight who wouldn’t allow himself to feel. Tears for all those he pushed away. Tears that’d pull me another two nights’ o’ guard duty if he saw.

Quickly, she wiped her face with her frozen sleeve and sniffled lightly. She wiped away any vestiges of sorrow, leaving her face as blank and emotionless as his. In’t that ironic? In a world where people mourn the dying, I weep for them that are still alive.

[Kaylor]

---

The moon shone down with icy radiance, its silver beams slicing harshly through the night's pervasive darkness. Clad only in a pair of hastily donned trousers, a white swath of bandaging draped over the wound he'd suffered jousting, Kaylor stepped out onto the balcony, oblivious of the wintry gales that greeted him. With halting deliberation he allowed his midnight gaze to wander downward to where Eclyse stood diligently at her watch. No doubt she believed him a bastard, ordering her to endure the valley's freezing clime at such an unnecessary task. It was no greater duty than that which he would have any squire serve for such a misstep as she'd taken. In actuality, he'd shown her more grace than was his custom, cognizant of the fact that her congratulatory hug was given with heartfelt gladness. He meant no offense, had no wish to make it seem he was unappreciative, for certainly such could not be farther from the truth. It simply was not proper for a squire to exhibit such undignified behavior.

He'd been hesitant in his response, finding the thought of punishing a woman loathsome. Thus he’d sought to question her prior to coming to his final decision to proceed, satisfied by her answer that, no matter the sanction, she possessed the necessary forebearance to withstand the trial unscathed. ”Wouldn’t change my heart,” she’d confidently replied, yet was that a tear he noticed glistening suddenly upon her cheek?

“Compassion,” he moaned, closing his eyes and returning to his bedchamber. Would he ever be capable of it again?
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*Even if you be otherwise perfect, you fail without humility. ~ The Talmud*