Darling & Commander

The Nymph: 16

Gallaleigha POV:

"Brock? Commander, can you hear me?"

After a painful two days of his unconsciousness, I am beginning to scare. I stand too weak to row back to his kingdom and find help; and it certainly would not help if I was attacked by another shark.

My calls go unanswered, and so I survey the situation to ground myself.

Alright. We are in my cabin. He is in my bed, with his injured foot wrapped and propped up. He has been asleep for two whole days.

Okay, yes, I admit this is terrible. Watching Brock shrivel, unsure of how to be of assistance is agony. He has slept for two days, and I have been awake the entire time. I almost feel self conscious of the dark circles rimming my eyes he may find if- when he wakes up. But I know Brock does not care, so I stay by his side and do not get a wink of sleep.

I decide I will make dinner again today. After caressing his face for a sum of time- which sounds weird, I must admit- I walk carefully over to the kitchen to begin prepping.

I commence chopping onions, which naturally cause me to tear up, and then the actual tears begin to seep through. 

What if Brock does not wake up? I could not save him, and I know there must be something more I could have done, something more I could have said to ease his pain away-

I could not live with myself if I did not avow my love for him.

Because he believes no one can.

But I do.

"Darling..."

My head snaps up from my tear soaked cutting board to see Brock's fingers twitching, tapping the bedframe for my attention. I gasp, bounding over to his side, kneeling by the bed.

"Commander." My voice breaks, and I cry onto his chest, grasping his hand like it is the only thing bounding me to this earth. "You're awake."

It is stronger than gravity.

Brock's wry smile is tired and half grimace, but it is undoubtedly there.

"I... I did not lose my leg, did I?" He timidly rubs my back.

"No, just a portion of your calf." I wipe my tears away, cupping the harsh edges of his face.

"God-" Brock growls to himself, tears filling the brims of his own eyes before he shakes them away. "Have you slept?"

"Yes." I lie.

"That answer was too simple. You have not closed your eyes once." He states to himself, almost annoyed with his own getting hurt. "Galla, I'm so sorry."

"It is alright, Brock." I can only find this to say. 

The rest of my words feel wrong, so I stick to the truth.

"You read to me..." He blinks, suddenly remembering. "You were reading. You are not illiterate."

"No, I am illiterate." I nod, accepting my fate. "I was telling you a story."

"Telling- Galla, that is incredible. I do not recall much of it, but from your own mind- you are incredible." His eyes widen, pulling my hand up to kiss each of the knuckles softly.

"I thought you were dying. I did not know what to do. I felt like an fool, sitting there making up stories while you were on your way to the above." I cry again, stroking the side of his face. "I am sorry I was stingy on the boat. I just- I hated the idea of you with the princess, and I could not control my emotions- gods, I am such a fool. I am sorry. Yet again."

"Darling." He murmurs. "It is fine. I was ready to prepared to duel that waiter ogling you at one of our previous dinners..."

"Duel? What, for my honor?" 

"What else?"

My heart bubbles up in happy rays of sunlight, stroking the hair falling into his eyes. Brock really isn't the monster those vile citizens make him out to be, and it is cruel to me that they would discriminate him for doing his job correctly. They segregate him callously and call him atrocious things, but he is truly just a broken lover.

I find my first aid kit I held close by him all this time, and come to the edge of the bed for his foot. 

"Is it alright if I unwrap this and survey the situation? I need to gauge the wound." I settle a hand on his knee in a reassuring gesture.

"Yes." Brock nods, closing his eyes. "Go ahead."

I peel away the bandage and expose the raw injury. It appears to have stopped bleeding, but a large segment of his foreleg has been hacked and severed off. Brock doubtlessly knows this, and I am glad he has chosen to look away.

"Oh, Brock..." I susurrate. "You are not going to be able to undertake your role as general for quite some time after this..."

"Is it terrible?" He makes a noise when glancing at it, and I rub his knee consolingly.

"It is not well... But you shall get better. If you had not shaken that shark off, it would have taken your entire leg." I wince. "I am to put on some willow bark tea. It is a good natural painkiller."

"Are you going to leave me?" Brock laments, and my heart ruptures at his distressed eyes.

"Only for a little while. I am off to the market for cinnamon and honey." I console him, sweeping his hair away from his face.

"I shall accompany you." He sits up, face immediately etiolating at the sight of just how much leg he forfeited.

"You shall do no such thing." I join beside him on the bed after grabbing my basket, squeezing his hand in a silent promise of care. "You just woke up. Rest until I return, commander."

"Please, Galla." Brock begs, prominent hands on my feeble berms.

"No." I say, my word final.

"Please be safe..." He exhales deeply, searching my eyes.

"I will, commander." 

Brock insists on braiding my hair, so I permitted him for a juncture until he began to lean in close. An evident diversion of his own beguilement, so I pulled away, laughing before wrapping my cloak around myself. I straighten the basket on forearm assuredly, and look to Brock once more.

"All right, Brock?" I rub his shoulder. "I shall be back prior to dusk, to finish our meal."

"Yes, darling." He sighs, upset with my disabling him to move from the bed. "Please do be quick."

"Positively." I kiss his forehead after tucking him back into my bed.

And the beautiful man falls asleep.

Oh, Brock.