The Assassin (Anakin Skywalker x Reader) - Medieval AU

1 - Black Ice

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Word Count: 3.5k

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Anakin POV:

"I'm fine." I shrugged off one of my doctors who attempted to apply a healing poultice to the wound on my shoulder for about the hundredth time. Not only did it smell like ass, but the gel itself burned my skin more than the actual wound.

He sighed as he reluctantly pulled back, "With all due respect Your Highness, it will help finish the healing process much faster."

The poultice he was using contains honey to prevent infection, and a large amount of cerate–which is some sort of wax mixed mainly with oil and lard–to treat the wound. The only thing I know about these substances is that they're something called styptics, meaning they have the ability to staunch blood flow and bind flesh. The only issue is that it hurts like actual hell.

"Maybe I would be quicker if you weren't so incompetent." I snapped, holding in a wince as I jerked my arm away once more.

"Anakin." A stern, yet gentle voice scolded me. I reluctantly turned my head towards the doorway of the medical room, and saw my mother standing there, observing, and dressed as elegant as ever. Her gown color and appearance was as gentle and regal as her; a pastel lilac shade, rimmed with soft shimmering jewels around her chest and down her sleeves, perfectly mirroring the dawn light streaming through the windows.

"What? It hurts." I muttered indignantly.

She sighed and stepped further into the room, her half-cut bronze colored boots echoed against the floor with each step. "John, would you leave us for a moment?" She asked the doctor politely.

He bowed his head, and proceeded to place his tools down on his tray and move it to the other side of the room, "As you wish, Your Grace."

My mother shook her head, smiling as her long, braided dark brown hair fell in front of her shoulder, the small crystal jewels in her hair shining brightly as the rays of sun landed on them, "We're friends, John. I've told you before that in these informal settings you can just call me Shmi."

John laughed softly, nodding once more as he tipped his cap, "Of course, Shmi."

I watched in silence as he left the room from where I sat on the medical bed, and mentally prepared myself for another one of my mothers lectures.

"Anakin," Turning her attention back towards me, she spoke my name once again in a stern voice. Her expression told me that she was not at all pleased. "He has done nothing but help you ever since you returned with that wound last week. Why is it so difficult for you to be kind to him for all that he has done?"

"Because I'm fine." I repeated, shrugging my arm away once more like a petulant child as she tried to inspect it. I hopped off from where I sat on the medical bed and walked over to one of the tables to grab my long-sleeved, gold tunic and gently put it on so as to not irritate my wound. It' s mostly healed now, but my skin is still more sensitive than usual.

"Clearly not, since you're choosing to be so rude to your doctor." She responded from behind me, her tone laced thinly with annoyance. "You know, the one who's been helping you heal you all week?"