WAR | Timothée Chalamet

2 | Valor

Y/N

_

"He will be fine," Kent said, "but I don't advise his travel for at least another week."

My mother had returned as she promised, Kent Woods in tow. He was a fairly new doctor in Lourdes, but we were grateful for his help. Word had already spread among the townspeople, everyone wondering who and why this boy was here.

I didn't tell them he came from Valor. For all they knew, he came from the North.

"Another week?" my mother scoffed, "it's dangerous enough to have an outsider living here, and now we must care for him?"

"Unless you want his dead body on your hands," Kent replied, tucking his tools away, "I'm afraid you'll have too."

"When will he wake up?" I cut in.

"I doubt it will be long," the man said, "but stay alert. If anything else happens, inform me at once."

"Of course."

He shook our hands, before being ushered out of the house by my mother. As she left, she gave me a cautionary glare, and shut the door. I was left in my room, an unbearable silence surrounding me. Walking over to the bed, I sat down gently beside the boy, examining him. His hair was long and unruly, the waves shiny with grease. His pale skin, adorned with faint freckles on the bridge of his nose, was rosy around the cheeks, matching his cherry lips. I hadn't seen a boy as delicate as him before, his difference strikingly beautiful.

His chest was left bare, the wound underneath his left rib covered by a thin bandage. My eyes trailed down his neck, to his shoulder, and to the brand on his arm. I furrowed a brow in interest, gazing at the ink stain. Two arrows were crossed against each other, bound together by a lettering seal. Not thinking, I reached out my hand towards the boy, my finger pressing against the tattoo to get a closer look.

In the slightest fraction of a moment, his eyes fluttered open, and his hand jutted towards me defensively. I let out a muffled cry as he gripped my wrist, twisting it upwards and bearing his teeth.

"Don't touch me," he growled, his eyes spitting daggers.

As his nails dug into my skin, I felt a tear escape and run down my cheek. His breath was heavy, as he stared at me in rage. When our gaze met, I saw something flicker in his eyes, and he quickly let go of me.

"I-I'm sorry," he stammered, his voice suddenly quiet.

My wrist was red, and I clutched it towards my chest, backing away from the bed. It stung, the feeling of his previous clutch still lingering along my skin. He didn't look away from me, as he pressed his back against the headboard in panic.

"Did I hurt you?" he whispered, glancing at my arm. I didn't know what sparked this sudden change, but whatever possessed him to hurt me, was gone now. The boy in front of me was scared, his green eyes watering.

"A little bit," I answered, "I'm sorry for touching you."

"No, no-" he said, finally looking away, "it's not your fault. I thought you were someone else."

"Who?"

He shook his head, avoiding the question. He noticed the bandage pressing against his injury, and placed a hand over it in confusion. As he did so, I noticed a line of rings around his fingers, all of them different.

One of them had the same image as the brand on his arm.

"Why did you come?" I asked, changing the question, "you are from Valor, are you not?"

He hesitated before answering, as if what he was about to say was too important to be shared. "I am."

"Then you know you will be killed if the Frey find you here," I stated, "war is not something you can discard."

"I know."

"Then why did you come?"

He sighed, a curl falling over his face. He brushed it off to the side, and it was then I realized how gracefully he held himself. Perfect posture, chin held high, and lips pressed into an emotionless line. I had heard rumors that the kingdom of Valor trained their children to be the essence of perfection, and it showed greatly on the boy.

"I am looking for Julian Lourdes," he said.

My heart weighed heavily, as I took a step closer to the bed again. Surprisingly, he didn't flinch, but somewhat accepted my approach.

"Julian Lourdes is dead," I explained, "he died twelve years ago."

"I was not aware of this."

"I wouldn't expect you to be. No one outside of the city has ever ventured here since the divide."

He let out a disappointed puff of air from his nose, wincing as soon as he did. His ribs were still in no condition for excessive action, and I doubted they would be soon.

"Did he have any children?" the boy asked.

"Yes, he did."

"Then who is running the town?" He questioned, "it is dire that I speak with them."

"For what reason?"

"A reason I can only discuss with said person."

I nodded, turning towards the door. It was obvious he was unwell, and continuing the conversation would only venture to hurt him more. He needed rest, and I could only guarantee that by leaving the room.

"Very well then," I said, twisting open the handle, "and if said person wished to speak with you, they would be interested in knowing your name."

He cleared his throat, once again debating whether or not to respond. Whoever this man was, he did not indulge much information at will.

"Timothée," he said, hanging his head.

"Of what family?"

He flinched, shaking his head, "no family. Timothée is all."

I cocked a brow, before stepping out into the hallway. When he noticed my departure, he called out again.

"Wait," he said, his tone demanding, "what's your name?"

I smiled, amused by our circumstances. He wished for an audience with the leader of this town, and although I was not confident in my ability to assume that responsibility, I decided to take the title up for a day.

And only, for a day.

"y/n" I answered, "y/n Lourdes."