Morning Comes Too Soon.

You come to. You're not sure if it's the light streaming into your tent, or the ringing in your head does it. You extricate yourself from a dozing Khaliq, and blink, letting your blurry vision slowly come into focus.

Kara is by your side, the sheets cast off, welcoming the slight chill of the air on her pale, naked flesh. You're a little surprised by her presence at this hour. By the fact you're awake before her, even more so.

“Kara.” you say, lazily shaking her with your good hand. “Kara, wake up.”

Still not fully conscious, the Beathan shrugs off your touch. Finally, with more effort than you'd like, you're able to rouse her.

“Spirits... Just let me die.” Kara says, blearily blinking. She wasn't averse to an ale or three, but you had really put her tolerance to the test with last night's fit of debauchery. The princess might just think twice before trying to go cup for cup with you. After all, your liver wasn't crippled... yet.

“Beathans might do that for you.” You slur. “I mean the Beathans.”

“Huh?” Kara says, with monumental effort managing to swing her legs over the side of the bed and sit up.

“The Deanians.” you correct yourself, hiccoughing right after. “Fuck me, I think I'm still drunk.”

“Lucky bastard.” a very hungover Kara mutters.

Reaching across to her, you put your good hand on her back. You find the coolness of her skin comforting, the interplay of corded muscle and feminine grace most appealing.

“We should smarten ourselves up.” you say. “Donald, the war council, remember?”

“Oh fook me...” Kara curses.

-

Pausing to rouse Khaliq, pass him his usual clothes and send him blearily on his way, you and Kara stagger out into the camp, making to find Donald.

“Apologies for our lateness, brother.” Kara says, glad of some respite from the early morning sun as you enter his tent.

“How can you be so irresponsible?” Donald says, his voice high, a note of mock consternation ringing in it. “Showin' up over an hour late, stinking of wine and sex. You cannae act like this and be a king worthy of our da!”

“...What?” Kara blinks, made stupid by wine.

“Ach, it's just you were doin' such a good impression of me, I assumed I was Kara now.” Donald smiles wryly.

“Enough.” Kara says plainly. “Tell me what I missed.”

“Right, I'll keep this brief, sister. Try an' get through it before you spew.”

“Then hurry.” Kara says. From the sweat beading on her brow, you get the feeling she's not quite being sardonic.

“Deanians are locked up tight behind Blahem's walls. Luckily, Madeleine's been working on something that should break them down before nightfall, Spirits willing. Mad woman does have her uses, I'll give her that.”

“Should?” you interject. “You're basing your entire battle strategy on one of Madeleine's untested inventions?”

“If it fails, we'll chop down a free trees, plenty of 'em around a ship-building town, build ourselves a siege engine.” Donald states.

“It's the acid, aye?” Kara asks, taking deep breaths, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Just the one.” Donald nods. “Our honoured guest says she's got enough alchemical odds an' ends on hand to melt the town gate apart. Once the way's open we hit them hard. We go in, the Oro Elide too.”

“I'll be there, brother.” Kara insists.

“Y'sure you're up to it?” Donald asks. “If you're no', Gordon can-”

“I'll be fine.” Kara insists, steeling herself. “When it's time to act, I'll be ready.”

“Well, I know better than to doubt you.” Donald says, his usual mocking tone absent.

“With your approval, Edward, we'd like to keep your forces in reserve, should any nasty surprises present themselves.” Donald continues.

“Of course.” you say. In all honesty, you'd much rather leave these matters to him and Kara, but to openly say so would be improper.

Finalising the plans, you and Kara exit the Beathan king's tent.

“Normally, I'd go check on Maddie. Donald's asking a lot of her, an' I'm not sure she can deliver.” Kara says.

“But?” you prompt her.

“I need a moment.” Kara says honestly. “To get myself sorted.”