xregicide-deactivated20140812:
”No, Summer I need to go to training.”
“You /need/ to stay in bed. If you go out there, I assure you, you will be flat on your back in five minutes.” She takes the coif away from him and puts it back on the table. “I will send for Gaius, and I will send to the king that you are ill.”
Mordred groans, falling back against the bed, his curls falling over his face. “No, Summer, please,” he mutters, resting his arm against his forehead. “I’m not sick.”
“Is that why you’re so flushed and hot then? Because you are not sick?” she scolds. “Don’t be more foolish than you must.” She stalks to the door, skirts rustling, and beckons, sending the serving man running for Gaius.