Whitney Writes…

He sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. His steel helm sat haphazardly at his feet, tipped on it’s side. Melora looked at him, her arms folded before her. She never knew what to do when Murdyn returned in such a state. Her father had been the old king, she had never seen a day of battle in her life. Even though King Rahim, a dear friend of her father’s, had skipped over her elder brother for the throne, it had largely been done peacefully. She could never understand the burden he carried.

She moved across the room, slowly kneeling at her husband’s feet. She undid the buckles of his steel boots and brought them over to the base of his armor stand. Remembering the order he put them on, Melora quietly worked at stripping him of each piece of blood-stained armor. Who’s blood? She would not ask.

When all the pieces were off, she sat beside him on the bed and took his hand. His skin was dark against her pale hand, a blueish tint to his Elven skin. Quietly she sat, willing herself to think of other things and pacify her thoughts so as not to intrude on whatever he was lost in.

As the sun began to set, Murdyn’s dark head leaned against Melora’s shoulder heavily. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Inktober 2024, Prompt #3: BOOTS🧡🖤👻🎃