“Hurry, I can not feel the strength of her pulse,†Lanceloix hissed as her body is rested on a cot and the healers quickly began to remove her leather jerkin, allowing them view of what they had to deal with. The arrow was rigid within her breast, and they needed not her brother to stand vigilant over them. He was not composed, flustered he appeared, as he paced the space of this small clinic. There were cots with inhabitants in them, and he knew it would be selfish of him to inhabit the, already crowded, area. His men were told to remain at the cavern, to seal it shut. Inside, he buried his brother Marceloix, who would finally find the embrace of the Fury, and his mother, who would not be graced with bliss. Troubled thoughts occupied his mind, for he would have to face the truth that those bound by blood, were ill-fated. He would think she, Rivienne Juliette Delacroux, would share the same fate this night. But she fought; he had not given her much hope.
“Thou hast been through much, have rest, I will summon thee,†there came a quiet voice behind him when the oak door opened slowly. Her gentle words eased his heart, for he knew the fair maiden that spoke all too well. “Anabella,†he pivots on his heel and offers a bow of the head to the chirurgeon that quickly approached the area where others were gathered. Her dark hair was kept up away from her face, allowing Lanceloix to meet her eyes of the lightest blues. He spoke of his family to her, of his brothers and youngest sister. How her hair was spun by the beams of the sun, how her eyes shone like gold. Upon seeing her face, Anabella knew who she was, the features were unmistakable.
His wife cupped his cheek and ran her fingers over the scars that cut deep into the flesh of his lips. The warmth of her hand melted away the icy grip that anxiety had on him, but it lasted not long. He took her hand into his hand, still adorned in a gauntlet, and turned to Rivienne.
“She hast lost much blood from what was reported, we needeth to replenish her,†Anabella parted from his side and whispered while a smile spreads 'pon her pale lips. There was compassion in her gaze, and as he watched her walk past him, he knew what she meant. He would offer her what she needed, without a second thought. The blood transfusion had to succeed, he prayed for such, atleast.
The bells had passed, night soon turned to daylight, or what they could make out as day. He was watching her as she slept, the serene look that painted her visage. Golden hair was pushed aside, allowing his lips to fall on her warmed forehead. Feverish was her skin, but was told not to worry. But worry was all he could do as her lifeless hand was taken into his own. It was so small, calloused, bruised. Guilt took the reins of his heart and pulled taut; he could have protected her if he had returned; she would have never needed to fight.
“I am sorry,†his baritone voice filled the expanse of the room. Blood he had given her, but he didn't think it was enough. He wanted to shield her from the nightmares, free her from the troubles that stirred her. His fingers delicately squeezed her own and tresses of gold spilled over her face, a veil as he pressed his forehead to her own and began his prayers to Halone. She could not be taken, not this day, nor the next.
“Will thou tell her?†He felt his heart lodged in his throat when Anabella's voice filled his ears; he languidly straightened himself and turned to see her worried expression, the touch of sorrow found in the sea of her eyes. He had not heard her come in, lost in his own thoughts of melancholy.
“No, I can't.†He responds while placing Rivienne's hand over her abdomen. The arrow was long removed and she was bound by bandage. Her body was draped over by the clean linens; soiled habiliments were replaced on her person by none other than Anabella.
“..She has to know, why would thou depri--â€
“Because it is best she does not seek me, that she does not involve herself in our war, this is not her fight. Already she hast lost a mother, two brothers, Ana . .†He stood to walk to Anabella and take her by the hands. She was warm, always so warm.
“But she found you.†she replied quietly while his face was brushed with her knuckles. “Now let her find a flame of hope that everything is not lost.â€
“Thou hast been through much, have rest, I will summon thee,†there came a quiet voice behind him when the oak door opened slowly. Her gentle words eased his heart, for he knew the fair maiden that spoke all too well. “Anabella,†he pivots on his heel and offers a bow of the head to the chirurgeon that quickly approached the area where others were gathered. Her dark hair was kept up away from her face, allowing Lanceloix to meet her eyes of the lightest blues. He spoke of his family to her, of his brothers and youngest sister. How her hair was spun by the beams of the sun, how her eyes shone like gold. Upon seeing her face, Anabella knew who she was, the features were unmistakable.
His wife cupped his cheek and ran her fingers over the scars that cut deep into the flesh of his lips. The warmth of her hand melted away the icy grip that anxiety had on him, but it lasted not long. He took her hand into his hand, still adorned in a gauntlet, and turned to Rivienne.
“She hast lost much blood from what was reported, we needeth to replenish her,†Anabella parted from his side and whispered while a smile spreads 'pon her pale lips. There was compassion in her gaze, and as he watched her walk past him, he knew what she meant. He would offer her what she needed, without a second thought. The blood transfusion had to succeed, he prayed for such, atleast.
The bells had passed, night soon turned to daylight, or what they could make out as day. He was watching her as she slept, the serene look that painted her visage. Golden hair was pushed aside, allowing his lips to fall on her warmed forehead. Feverish was her skin, but was told not to worry. But worry was all he could do as her lifeless hand was taken into his own. It was so small, calloused, bruised. Guilt took the reins of his heart and pulled taut; he could have protected her if he had returned; she would have never needed to fight.
“I am sorry,†his baritone voice filled the expanse of the room. Blood he had given her, but he didn't think it was enough. He wanted to shield her from the nightmares, free her from the troubles that stirred her. His fingers delicately squeezed her own and tresses of gold spilled over her face, a veil as he pressed his forehead to her own and began his prayers to Halone. She could not be taken, not this day, nor the next.
“Will thou tell her?†He felt his heart lodged in his throat when Anabella's voice filled his ears; he languidly straightened himself and turned to see her worried expression, the touch of sorrow found in the sea of her eyes. He had not heard her come in, lost in his own thoughts of melancholy.
“No, I can't.†He responds while placing Rivienne's hand over her abdomen. The arrow was long removed and she was bound by bandage. Her body was draped over by the clean linens; soiled habiliments were replaced on her person by none other than Anabella.
“..She has to know, why would thou depri--â€
“Because it is best she does not seek me, that she does not involve herself in our war, this is not her fight. Already she hast lost a mother, two brothers, Ana . .†He stood to walk to Anabella and take her by the hands. She was warm, always so warm.
“But she found you.†she replied quietly while his face was brushed with her knuckles. “Now let her find a flame of hope that everything is not lost.â€
