The waiting, the not knowing, was terrible.
For two days, Lucien and Nostariel had not left this room, save when he went to fetch food or potion deliveries from Rilien on the Keepās doorstep. Only the regularity of these kept him aware of what time of day it was, else he might have lost track entirely, the way the curtains were drawn over the windows like this. Heād entered the place immediately after Nostariel had told him it was fine to do so, and heād been intermittently assisting her ever since. Fetching things she asked for, timing her naps such that she was able to wake every three hours to check on things, making sure she ate, and mostly just sitting by Sophiaās bedside, not in the way but feeling about as useful as a stone.
He was quite sure he could never remember feeling this miserable in his entire life. This utterly wretched. At least when heād managed to let his friends get hurt before, heād tried to stop it. But here, he had not, could not, and he was regretting that now. He wasnāt sure if he should have lied and said she was unworthy, or dishonored them all by interfering in the duel itself, or what else, but he should have done something differently. Because no outcome where she was in this kind of state, hanging on the razor-thin precipice between life and death, could possibly be the result of doing the right thing.
As miserable as he felt, however, he was also still angry. Mostly, it turned out, at Sophia herself. It was something that made him feel guilty, because he shouldnāt be feeling it, especially not right now. But he was, and the guilt for it only made it worse, a rather vicious circle of emotions he was not quite sure how to handle. Guilt, he knew very well, but not like this. It certainly didnāt help that he had so much time with nothing else to do but wait for some sign of one outcome or another. It meant he stewed in his thoughts, especially when Nostariel was asleep in her cot in the corner of the room, like now. He dare not disturb her until the appointed candlemark, howeverāshe needed all the rest she could possibly get.
Some people admired the Chevaliers for their strength. He could say now with utmost confidence that there was simply no one stronger than a healerāat least one who could do what Nostariel was doing. He didnāt need to understand exactly how it worked to understand how difficult it was. She slept very little, only daring a few hours at a time, and drew the rest of her energy from potions supplied by Rilien. Sheād also been exhausted to start withākeeping Sophia alive was doubtless costing her everything she had and then some. He could not express how grateful he wasā¦ nor could he try, however gently, to get her to rest a little more. Because he couldnāt risk what that might mean for Sophiaās chances.
He glanced back up at the taper in the holder on the desk beside him, and realized that it was finally time to wake her for another check. Stepping past his discarded armorāheād have to remember to send it back with Ril next time he came byāLucien moved as quietly as he could over to where the Warden slept. He didnāt know why; the point was to wake her up, and Sophia wasnāt sleeping so much as she was comatose, so it didnāt make any difference to her, either. But heād not been able to shake the reverential quiet from himself since he entered, and he was no longer trying. Gently, he laid a hand on the elfās thin shoulder and shook. āNostariel. Nostariel, itās time.ā
Nostariel stirred at the contact, though it took her several more moments to shake off the heavy weight of fatigue from her limbs and the fog from her mind. She knew this was going to be an extended process, and so she was doing her best to keep herself in working condition for the long haul, but it was not easy. She couldnāt let herself fail further down the line any more than she could afford to fail now, but the temptation was always there to keep working long past what she could really handle, which at this point was mostly keeping Sophia stable and trying to make slow progress on the wound itself. In the meantime, she was keeping all the more minor ones treated with poultice and bandage, hoping they would not get infected, and occasionally stopping her work on the main injury to fight off burgeoning problems with that. It was slowing her down, but even a minor infection would kill her just as easily as the final blow the Arishok had dealt, as weak as she was.
Honestly, the prognosis was very bad, but she could not bring herself to say that, especially not to Lucien. She slept little, but he seemed to sleep not at all, and from the expressions on his face sheād catch from time to time, he wasnāt thinking pleasant thoughts. She could hardly blame him for that, of course, and in fact despite everything she was grateful for his company. Right now, she needed someone to be around, someone who understood. Working on her friends had always been harder than healing strangers, and that combined with the exhaustion and emotional remnants from all that had happened in the last several days would almost certainly have been too much for her to handle all on her own.
Rising blearily, Nostariel chilled the water in the washbasin near her cot, splashing some on her face and neck to help herself wake up, then tied her hair up and out of the way, padding over to where Sophia lay.
Several hours later, she collapsed into a soft chair, something Lucien had moved in here from a study or something when sheād asked for one, and she leaned her head back against it, closing her eyes and concentrating on keeping her breathing steady. As sheād feared, thereād almost been an infection, and sheād spent quite a while fighting it off. Normally, she could use a patientās own immune system to help with something like that, but Sophia was so weak she dare not risk it. Everything she was doing had to come from her alone, and it was a daunting task on the best of days, which today certainly was not.
āHow are you feeling?ā The question was directed at Lucien. It was largely obvious what the answer was, she supposed, but she needed the conversation, the comfort of another personās voice, or she might lose her mind, here in a room that smelled like blood and death. She had to remind herself that someone else was alive in the world, something that was historically surprisingly easy for her to forget.
Lucien snorted, the sound bitter rather than amused, though of course it wasnāt Nostarielās fault. So he managed to keep most of his current rancor from his tone when he replied. He supposed it might be helpful to her, to have someone to speak to, and it was really all he could do for her, paltry though it was. There wasnāt any way heād refuse, even though he didnāt feel much like speaking to anyone at this moment. As usual, he was honest, though perhaps his fatigue blunted his delivery where he might have otherwise attempted to keep it softer. āTerrible. Angry. Guilty. Useless. Helpless.ā He paused. āAfraid.ā That was the predominant one, without a doubt. He was afraid, more than anything, that this would not be enough. That Sophia would die. He wondered what would become of him if she did, but the thoughts were too disturbing to ponder for long. Not now, when so much was uncertain.
Now that heād said it, he felt the need to explain a little. āI understand why she did it, I justā¦ I wish she hadnāt.ā He knew what that feeling was, the strange need for vengeance cloaked in the color of justice, but he also knew that the shading was only for show. What sheād wantedāwhat sheād gottenāwas revenge, and look at what had come of it. The Arishok was dead, but it meant nothing. Perhaps heād deserved it, perhaps not. There were so many complications that Lucien found it impossible to pretend to have the answer. But whatever the case there, his death had brought only the very shadow of her own, and he wasnāt handling it very well.
āWhatā¦ what do I do, Nostariel?ā He felt even worse for asking her, because he knew exactly which experience of hers this would call to mind, but it was one of the few they did not somehow share, and he needed to hear something, to hear anything, from his friend. He needed to feel like there was something he could do, something he could be, that would solve this problem, rectify Sophiaās error and his own. It was hard for someone accustomed to power and strength to accept that there was nothing, even when he knew it. Heād not felt so superfluous since he was a child, and the woman in convalescence had been his own mother.
It did indeed cause her to remember the death of her first love, but Nostariel didnāt resent that. She thought she understood enough of who Lucien was to make sense of why heād asked, and of course there was nothing malicious or even careless about it. She refused to believe, however, that those answers were the ones he needed. She could not let herself believe in the chance, however great, that Sophia was going to die. Perhaps he only meant right now, in this moment, but there honestly wasnāt a lot. At least, not much that an action-oriented person would appreciate as a lot. But maybe it would help a little even so. āTalk to her.ā Nostariel cracked her eyes open with too much effort and looked over at him, smiling wanly. āIāve always found that in cases like this, the presence of familiar voices can help the patientās responsiveness. It doesnāt have to be anything profoundājust let her hear you speak. Hold her hand sometimes. Believe that sheāll get better.ā
She dropped her gaze to her friend, and the smile disappeared. āAnd you knowā¦ Iām being a little hypocritical here, butā¦ā The Warden trailed off for a moment, then shook herself back to wakefulness. āBut, when she does wake up, maybe tell her how you feel. I speak from experience when I say that sometimes, even when it seems obvious to everyone else, itās not real until you say it.ā Reaching from her chair to his, she put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.
If talking to her would really help anything, heād do it until his voice was entirely gone. He wasnāt sure what heād say, but perhaps there were books around the immediate proximity that he could read from. In the meantime, he supposed there might be a use for all that poetry heād been forced to memorize in his childhood. Still, it seemed soā¦ inadequate, to the task at hand. He found it very hard to take a dim view of magic when he wished now that he had it with the fervor that he did. But he would have to trust in Nostariel for that. There was nothing greater he could imagine having to trust someone with, but if there was anyone who could rise to this occasion, it was the Warden, he was sure of it.
It wasnāt a great confidence booster, but it was something, and he felt a little better than he had before. At least until he properly considered what else sheād said. It had occurred to him to regret not having said something sooner, yes, butā¦ it wasnāt that simple, not anymore. Heād been so close to telling her before Saemus had been killed, but there had been no right time after that, given everything she was going through, and he truly wasnāt sure there would be a right time after this, either. Like it or not, the entire experience had taught him some things he would rather not have known about the people they both were, and he wondered if he could find it in himself to forgive either of them for what had transpired. For what might yet transpire. He couldnāt let himself decide, though, because he hadnāt been able to speak with her, and he would never make up his mind on something so important without knowing where she stood afterwards. Besides, he didnāt like the way the balance of things was leaning.
āI supposeā¦ I can do that much,ā he said. One way or another, he would speak to her after this was done, and she would survive. He could believe in herāor more accurately, he still did. He just had to keep doing it. Giving Nostariel a tired half-smile at the touch, he patted her hand gently with his own, then reached forward, daring to touch Sophia for the first time since heād been holding her innards in while he moved her from the floor of the throne room to here. It wasnāt much, nothing more than placing his first two fingers to her palm and his thumb to the back of her hand, as though he were afraid any more than that might break something important.
āThank you, Nostariel. I could never begin to repay you for what youāre doing.ā
āThen I suppose itās a good thing you donāt need to, isnāt it?ā The Wardenās expression was soft as she took in his unusually tentative manner, and she wondered for a moment just what was going through Lucienās head. For a man so honest, he could be surprisingly enigmatic sometimes. He seemed rather uncomplicated, but the longer she knew him, the surer she was that the opposite was true. It was not everyone who could live like he did, take on the burdens he bore. She had almost been expecting him to somehow interfere with the duel, or offer to fight it himself, but he had not. He hadnāt even hesitated to tell the Arishok that Sophia was fit to fight it, and the words themselves had been deeply-moving, almost a sentiment of poetic character.
Nostariel had always loved stories, and she supposed that in some ways, sheād expected him to be the fairytale knight-gallant, moving to the rescue without so much as needing to be asked. Often, he did just that. But in this case, heād stood behind rather than in front, and allowed someone else to fight her own battle. Someone he loved, and at steep cost. It could not have been easy. Imagining doing that herself was difficult, and she was no knight. She was used to watching others get hurt, and patching up the damage afterwards. But even she would prefer to step in front of a situation like that for the person she loved. She couldnāt doubt he had his reasons, and she knew that if he explained them to her, she would believe they were the right ones. He was like thatāso very good. She was just glad she could look him in the eye now.
āSheās lucky, to have you.ā He was fortunate to have her, too, of course, but she meant right now specifically. Strange thing to be saying about someone so close to death, but true nevertheless.
āI expect that at the moment, she is quite a bit luckier to have you,ā he replied, the humor thin at best. But it was necessary; he couldnāt really deal with the implications of that statement right now, or the trains of thought it brought up. Because really, he couldnāt help but think that she wasnāt lucky at all, with regards to him.
But he could only stew in thoughts like that for so long before they drove him mad, and so true to form, he decided to make himself as useful as he could. āIāll go get something to eat.ā As it was unwise for Nostariel to leave the room, heād bring her back her meal, as well. And perhaps a book of some kind, while he was at it. It might not be very useful, but it wasnāt useless, and that was the best he could do right now.
For two days, Lucien and Nostariel had not left this room, save when he went to fetch food or potion deliveries from Rilien on the Keepās doorstep. Only the regularity of these kept him aware of what time of day it was, else he might have lost track entirely, the way the curtains were drawn over the windows like this. Heād entered the place immediately after Nostariel had told him it was fine to do so, and heād been intermittently assisting her ever since. Fetching things she asked for, timing her naps such that she was able to wake every three hours to check on things, making sure she ate, and mostly just sitting by Sophiaās bedside, not in the way but feeling about as useful as a stone.
He was quite sure he could never remember feeling this miserable in his entire life. This utterly wretched. At least when heād managed to let his friends get hurt before, heād tried to stop it. But here, he had not, could not, and he was regretting that now. He wasnāt sure if he should have lied and said she was unworthy, or dishonored them all by interfering in the duel itself, or what else, but he should have done something differently. Because no outcome where she was in this kind of state, hanging on the razor-thin precipice between life and death, could possibly be the result of doing the right thing.
As miserable as he felt, however, he was also still angry. Mostly, it turned out, at Sophia herself. It was something that made him feel guilty, because he shouldnāt be feeling it, especially not right now. But he was, and the guilt for it only made it worse, a rather vicious circle of emotions he was not quite sure how to handle. Guilt, he knew very well, but not like this. It certainly didnāt help that he had so much time with nothing else to do but wait for some sign of one outcome or another. It meant he stewed in his thoughts, especially when Nostariel was asleep in her cot in the corner of the room, like now. He dare not disturb her until the appointed candlemark, howeverāshe needed all the rest she could possibly get.
Some people admired the Chevaliers for their strength. He could say now with utmost confidence that there was simply no one stronger than a healerāat least one who could do what Nostariel was doing. He didnāt need to understand exactly how it worked to understand how difficult it was. She slept very little, only daring a few hours at a time, and drew the rest of her energy from potions supplied by Rilien. Sheād also been exhausted to start withākeeping Sophia alive was doubtless costing her everything she had and then some. He could not express how grateful he wasā¦ nor could he try, however gently, to get her to rest a little more. Because he couldnāt risk what that might mean for Sophiaās chances.
He glanced back up at the taper in the holder on the desk beside him, and realized that it was finally time to wake her for another check. Stepping past his discarded armorāheād have to remember to send it back with Ril next time he came byāLucien moved as quietly as he could over to where the Warden slept. He didnāt know why; the point was to wake her up, and Sophia wasnāt sleeping so much as she was comatose, so it didnāt make any difference to her, either. But heād not been able to shake the reverential quiet from himself since he entered, and he was no longer trying. Gently, he laid a hand on the elfās thin shoulder and shook. āNostariel. Nostariel, itās time.ā
Nostariel stirred at the contact, though it took her several more moments to shake off the heavy weight of fatigue from her limbs and the fog from her mind. She knew this was going to be an extended process, and so she was doing her best to keep herself in working condition for the long haul, but it was not easy. She couldnāt let herself fail further down the line any more than she could afford to fail now, but the temptation was always there to keep working long past what she could really handle, which at this point was mostly keeping Sophia stable and trying to make slow progress on the wound itself. In the meantime, she was keeping all the more minor ones treated with poultice and bandage, hoping they would not get infected, and occasionally stopping her work on the main injury to fight off burgeoning problems with that. It was slowing her down, but even a minor infection would kill her just as easily as the final blow the Arishok had dealt, as weak as she was.
Honestly, the prognosis was very bad, but she could not bring herself to say that, especially not to Lucien. She slept little, but he seemed to sleep not at all, and from the expressions on his face sheād catch from time to time, he wasnāt thinking pleasant thoughts. She could hardly blame him for that, of course, and in fact despite everything she was grateful for his company. Right now, she needed someone to be around, someone who understood. Working on her friends had always been harder than healing strangers, and that combined with the exhaustion and emotional remnants from all that had happened in the last several days would almost certainly have been too much for her to handle all on her own.
Rising blearily, Nostariel chilled the water in the washbasin near her cot, splashing some on her face and neck to help herself wake up, then tied her hair up and out of the way, padding over to where Sophia lay.
Several hours later, she collapsed into a soft chair, something Lucien had moved in here from a study or something when sheād asked for one, and she leaned her head back against it, closing her eyes and concentrating on keeping her breathing steady. As sheād feared, thereād almost been an infection, and sheād spent quite a while fighting it off. Normally, she could use a patientās own immune system to help with something like that, but Sophia was so weak she dare not risk it. Everything she was doing had to come from her alone, and it was a daunting task on the best of days, which today certainly was not.
āHow are you feeling?ā The question was directed at Lucien. It was largely obvious what the answer was, she supposed, but she needed the conversation, the comfort of another personās voice, or she might lose her mind, here in a room that smelled like blood and death. She had to remind herself that someone else was alive in the world, something that was historically surprisingly easy for her to forget.
Lucien snorted, the sound bitter rather than amused, though of course it wasnāt Nostarielās fault. So he managed to keep most of his current rancor from his tone when he replied. He supposed it might be helpful to her, to have someone to speak to, and it was really all he could do for her, paltry though it was. There wasnāt any way heād refuse, even though he didnāt feel much like speaking to anyone at this moment. As usual, he was honest, though perhaps his fatigue blunted his delivery where he might have otherwise attempted to keep it softer. āTerrible. Angry. Guilty. Useless. Helpless.ā He paused. āAfraid.ā That was the predominant one, without a doubt. He was afraid, more than anything, that this would not be enough. That Sophia would die. He wondered what would become of him if she did, but the thoughts were too disturbing to ponder for long. Not now, when so much was uncertain.
Now that heād said it, he felt the need to explain a little. āI understand why she did it, I justā¦ I wish she hadnāt.ā He knew what that feeling was, the strange need for vengeance cloaked in the color of justice, but he also knew that the shading was only for show. What sheād wantedāwhat sheād gottenāwas revenge, and look at what had come of it. The Arishok was dead, but it meant nothing. Perhaps heād deserved it, perhaps not. There were so many complications that Lucien found it impossible to pretend to have the answer. But whatever the case there, his death had brought only the very shadow of her own, and he wasnāt handling it very well.
āWhatā¦ what do I do, Nostariel?ā He felt even worse for asking her, because he knew exactly which experience of hers this would call to mind, but it was one of the few they did not somehow share, and he needed to hear something, to hear anything, from his friend. He needed to feel like there was something he could do, something he could be, that would solve this problem, rectify Sophiaās error and his own. It was hard for someone accustomed to power and strength to accept that there was nothing, even when he knew it. Heād not felt so superfluous since he was a child, and the woman in convalescence had been his own mother.
It did indeed cause her to remember the death of her first love, but Nostariel didnāt resent that. She thought she understood enough of who Lucien was to make sense of why heād asked, and of course there was nothing malicious or even careless about it. She refused to believe, however, that those answers were the ones he needed. She could not let herself believe in the chance, however great, that Sophia was going to die. Perhaps he only meant right now, in this moment, but there honestly wasnāt a lot. At least, not much that an action-oriented person would appreciate as a lot. But maybe it would help a little even so. āTalk to her.ā Nostariel cracked her eyes open with too much effort and looked over at him, smiling wanly. āIāve always found that in cases like this, the presence of familiar voices can help the patientās responsiveness. It doesnāt have to be anything profoundājust let her hear you speak. Hold her hand sometimes. Believe that sheāll get better.ā
She dropped her gaze to her friend, and the smile disappeared. āAnd you knowā¦ Iām being a little hypocritical here, butā¦ā The Warden trailed off for a moment, then shook herself back to wakefulness. āBut, when she does wake up, maybe tell her how you feel. I speak from experience when I say that sometimes, even when it seems obvious to everyone else, itās not real until you say it.ā Reaching from her chair to his, she put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.
If talking to her would really help anything, heād do it until his voice was entirely gone. He wasnāt sure what heād say, but perhaps there were books around the immediate proximity that he could read from. In the meantime, he supposed there might be a use for all that poetry heād been forced to memorize in his childhood. Still, it seemed soā¦ inadequate, to the task at hand. He found it very hard to take a dim view of magic when he wished now that he had it with the fervor that he did. But he would have to trust in Nostariel for that. There was nothing greater he could imagine having to trust someone with, but if there was anyone who could rise to this occasion, it was the Warden, he was sure of it.
It wasnāt a great confidence booster, but it was something, and he felt a little better than he had before. At least until he properly considered what else sheād said. It had occurred to him to regret not having said something sooner, yes, butā¦ it wasnāt that simple, not anymore. Heād been so close to telling her before Saemus had been killed, but there had been no right time after that, given everything she was going through, and he truly wasnāt sure there would be a right time after this, either. Like it or not, the entire experience had taught him some things he would rather not have known about the people they both were, and he wondered if he could find it in himself to forgive either of them for what had transpired. For what might yet transpire. He couldnāt let himself decide, though, because he hadnāt been able to speak with her, and he would never make up his mind on something so important without knowing where she stood afterwards. Besides, he didnāt like the way the balance of things was leaning.
āI supposeā¦ I can do that much,ā he said. One way or another, he would speak to her after this was done, and she would survive. He could believe in herāor more accurately, he still did. He just had to keep doing it. Giving Nostariel a tired half-smile at the touch, he patted her hand gently with his own, then reached forward, daring to touch Sophia for the first time since heād been holding her innards in while he moved her from the floor of the throne room to here. It wasnāt much, nothing more than placing his first two fingers to her palm and his thumb to the back of her hand, as though he were afraid any more than that might break something important.
āThank you, Nostariel. I could never begin to repay you for what youāre doing.ā
āThen I suppose itās a good thing you donāt need to, isnāt it?ā The Wardenās expression was soft as she took in his unusually tentative manner, and she wondered for a moment just what was going through Lucienās head. For a man so honest, he could be surprisingly enigmatic sometimes. He seemed rather uncomplicated, but the longer she knew him, the surer she was that the opposite was true. It was not everyone who could live like he did, take on the burdens he bore. She had almost been expecting him to somehow interfere with the duel, or offer to fight it himself, but he had not. He hadnāt even hesitated to tell the Arishok that Sophia was fit to fight it, and the words themselves had been deeply-moving, almost a sentiment of poetic character.
Nostariel had always loved stories, and she supposed that in some ways, sheād expected him to be the fairytale knight-gallant, moving to the rescue without so much as needing to be asked. Often, he did just that. But in this case, heād stood behind rather than in front, and allowed someone else to fight her own battle. Someone he loved, and at steep cost. It could not have been easy. Imagining doing that herself was difficult, and she was no knight. She was used to watching others get hurt, and patching up the damage afterwards. But even she would prefer to step in front of a situation like that for the person she loved. She couldnāt doubt he had his reasons, and she knew that if he explained them to her, she would believe they were the right ones. He was like thatāso very good. She was just glad she could look him in the eye now.
āSheās lucky, to have you.ā He was fortunate to have her, too, of course, but she meant right now specifically. Strange thing to be saying about someone so close to death, but true nevertheless.
āI expect that at the moment, she is quite a bit luckier to have you,ā he replied, the humor thin at best. But it was necessary; he couldnāt really deal with the implications of that statement right now, or the trains of thought it brought up. Because really, he couldnāt help but think that she wasnāt lucky at all, with regards to him.
But he could only stew in thoughts like that for so long before they drove him mad, and so true to form, he decided to make himself as useful as he could. āIāll go get something to eat.ā As it was unwise for Nostariel to leave the room, heād bring her back her meal, as well. And perhaps a book of some kind, while he was at it. It might not be very useful, but it wasnāt useless, and that was the best he could do right now.