"Muori la feccia del Nord!" 

I awoke from my slumber and possibly the best night I had experienced in many years to the sight of a large, black bearded Tilean raising a sidesword up so he could swiftly end my life. I would have thought I was dreaming, but the yell was too loud and Camilla's body was too warm and comfortable. Instantly, I recognized Camilla's naked form was still on me and right in the path of danger, her face snuggled into my chest. Her arms, normally very welcome to be clinging to my form, added her weight to myself in my suddenly panicked state. I did the only thing I could, reaching back and ripping the heavy pillow from behind my head to cushion the savage chop from the would-be assassin. Feathers flew everywhere and a Tilean curse followed. 

"Camilla!" I cried, echoing my cries of passion just hours before. The slightly different cadence likely tipped her off to the seriousness of the situation, because she lifted her head and only one blink of her eyes was enough for the woman to know something was very much off. The muscled Tilean ripped the pillow out of my hands and pointed his sword at Camilla, hoping to skewer us both in one. I grabbed the sheet and did what I could when his sword point shot forward, turning the blade aside with my hand obscured by the sheet. 

Blood spurted from my opened palm, but aside from the sudden wet I only felt adrenaline coursing through me. Camilla scrambled off me and I shuddered as our lower halves separated, my other hand now grabbing at the hilt of the embedded sword, the point of the blade thankfully misdirected into the mattress by a mere inch. Sigmar must have kept watch over me, because that was twice I had cheated death in as many moments. I kicked out, my bare foot hitting the Tilean in the face, scraping him across the mouth. He grunted and fell back, loosening the grip on his sword. 

"Sigmar take this sinful blood," I intoned, rising from the bed and squeezing my ruined hand. Blood seeped from my wound and dropped heavily to the floor. "Imbue me with power and show me your might, engulf this pagan scum in light!" 

I shrieked in pain fear as my arm was suddenly not of myself anymore, growing rigid as my fingers uncurled. From my wound a flame roared to life, and a projectile in the shape of the blazing twin tailed comet erupted from my hand and hit the recovering assassin, immolating him as surely as a dwarfen drakkthrower. He screeched in horror, wailing to Myrmida as he was engulfed, the flames clinging to his skin as if they were cloth. He hit the floor, writhing on the carpet as his nerves were singed and his life was taken from him. 

I gripped my arm, my hand scorched, but my wound now cauterized. Pain surged from the tip of my fingers to my forearm, and I knew right there I would not be able to use my hand for anything for many days unless I performed a healing rite, and I did not have the time or preparation for that. Outside of the bedroom, screams echoed and the clash of steel on steel was ringing across the halls. 

"Is this a traditional morning or have I caused a stir?" I joked weakly, glad to see Camilla was unharmed.