[D8 EE] The Wounded Dragon

[Ser Lorent Tyrell]

Lorent made his way to the Feyther Pavilions. Cradled in one hand was the small token he'd bought at the Market Stalls, a rose made of silk and cloth-of-gold, it's pale silver heart delicately turning to the ostentatious Tyrell gold. A servant pointed in the direction of one tent, and Lorent approached with oblivious cheer concealed behind a mask of quiet composure. "Lady Alicent? It's Ser Lorent, I wanted to apologise."

[Alicent Feyther]

Alicent nearly jumped when she heard a male voice at the tent's entry but, recognizing it, tried to calm her racing heard. She looked over to the dress... it would be hard to get it back on with the broken wrist... and she had used illness as an excuse. So, much as the night the girl fell, she pulled a blanket around her and shook her hair forward until she hoped it covered the bruise on her face. She didn't want to risk the consequences of him seeing her like this. Caim would find out, and... and... She swallowed and shook away the thought, heading to the tent opening and moving it to the side with her shoulder. "Ser Lorent," she greeted with a weak smile, voice sounding more fragile in contrast to her normally confident tone. "I'm sorry for missing our lunch..."

[Ser Lorent Tyrell]

Lorent's stomach dropped like a stone. A veteran of jousts, melees, and scuffles, he recognised the posture, saw the swelling of her face. Her fragile voice ripped through him like a jagged blade. He glanced about quickly, gently urging Alicent back into the tent before the dozens of servants and guards could see her like this. His tanned complexion was pale behind the olive tones of his Dornish heritage.

[Alicent Feyther]

The gentle urging brought back immediately memories from hours before and she sucked in a breath and backed up rapidly into the tent, suddenly feeling her heart pound in her throat again. She tried to calm her breathing. Lorent wouldn't do that to me... She licked her lips, keeping her head down. She doubted her wanted to see her face as it was right now. "I'm sorry..."

[Ser Lorent Tyrell]

Lorent stepped inside only far enough for the flap to settle closed behind him, shrouding them in privacy. "Alicent, who did this to you?"

[Alicent Feyther]

She squeezed her eyes shut, her shoulders pulling in until she sucked in a breath with a wince. "It's... I..." She swallowed, then sniffled uncontrollably, trying to hold in crying again. She thought she'd run out of tears earlier...

[Ser Lorent Tyrell]

"Alicent..." There was a lump in his throat, and the words wouldn't come easily around it. He'd been clenching his hands into fists without realising, and he forced himself to relax them, the silk rose fluttering unheeded to the floor, crushed. His voice was still soft, gentle, "Alicent, please, may I?" he indicated gently towards her, "I would never so much as touch you if you didn't wish it, but you're hurt."

[Alicent Feyther]

She nodded after a moment. "It's ugly... If you don't mind looking at it, it's okay," she agreed, finally, setting the blanket aside with her functional hand. She looked over. "Oh... You dropped something..."

[Ser Lorent Tyrell]

Carefully, Lorent stepped closer. Slowly, so slowly, he raised his hand to gently lift her chin and look fully into her face. There was pain in his eyes, etched in lines about them. His eyes fell on her dislocated shoulder, and his jaw clenched, horrified. Swallowing hard, he chewed his lip. "I- I think I can put your shoulder back in, but, oh, Seven Hells," he shook his head sharply, "I don't want to hurt you like the bastard that did this."

[Alicent Feyther]

A dark bruise discolors the left side of her face, the swelling worse at the joint of her jaw and on her cheekbone. She half-smiled at him. "I can't imagine you hurting me... It's okay. With the shoulder, I can't do it myself... Do you think you can make it quick?" She asked, looking up into his eyes with hers, red-rimmed from tears.