Part of a longer piece that I wrote for a Dresden Files RPG, which may or may not fit into one of my plots for the next campaign (so it’s definitely non-canon right now). I have put it here as an example of the writing I’m doing – hopefully it makes enough sense as a stand-alone!
She was still bleeding. Requests for more bandages had been ignored; the Winter Knight’s reasonable attitude had devolved into logic, cold sarcasm and then furious desperation, but the wizard flatly refused to lower the Circle that was their prison, and now hadn’t been into the room for a while. The man had watched his fellow-Knight grow paler and paler as the time ticked by, aware of the spreading pool of blood that had soaked through the pad pressed futilely against the wound in her leg. She was curled up against him, her breathing shallow, and he found himself hoping that she was still conscious.
“Come on, you can’t sleep.” he said for the fourth time. “Tell me another story.”
“What about?” the tired voice said from his shoulder. The sun was sneaking across the floor towards them, but he hadn’t seen any more flickers on the curtain that suggested someone was outside. Their hopes of rescue were fading…he couldn’t hear any noise from the rest of the house, though, so maybe the wizard was gone. There had been a lot of opening and closing of the front door…but the Circle that trapped them was still holding, worst luck.
“Tell me about Warren.”
That got a breathy laugh. “I was…negotiating. He met me…and then walked down to the lake. Asked how I got my nickname.” There was a pause. “Petrichor. That’s the word for the smell of rain. I wish…I’d had more time with him. But someone like that…isn’t really there. There’s never enough time. And then he was dead, and I’d…taken his place.” She paused again, and he felt her shiver. “I’m cold. I haven’t been cold since I joined the Court.”
“You live in Summer now.” the Winter Knight said, trying to work out what he could do. His t-shirt was sodden with blood, and he had nothing else to give her. He tightened his arms, trying to give her as much of his body heat as he could. “Heat, and light, and warmth.”
“I’m dying, aren’t I?” Her voice was quiet and tired.
“I don’t know.”
“At least the Court…will know…”
“Come on, wake up.” the man said bluntly. “No sleepytime. Who’s your favourite Faerie?”
There was a long pause that made his heart catch in his throat, and then, “The Little Folk,” the thin voice whispered.
“You.” He felt her cheek move in what he hoped was a smile.
“Someone you wouldn’t want to meet on a dark night.”
There was a pause, and then, “The Malks.”
“Damn furry bastards. Best moment at Court?”
“Summer dances.” She gave a breathy laugh. “Although I’m not…very good…”
Her voice was fading again, and the Winter Knight gave the enemy in his arms a worried shake. “Don’t sleep. Wake up. Talk to me-”
And the room filled with sunlight.