So, I haven't been updating my Benicity for a while...I'm sorry, I've been writer's-blocky and exhaustedly-busy and...yeah. I've been missing fanfiction like the Dickens, and my fellow fanfiction-er, tin2lo, whom I wrote this for, prompted me to post this...here you go! Set after the huge enormous ending battle.
Battle Wounds
After the first thrill of victory has worn off, then you have to think about cleaning up the mess.
The High Queen was bleeding.
It had taken a while for him to notice. In fact, he was surprised that he had seen it at all; she was doing an admirable job of hiding it. Perhaps, thought Caspian rather guiltily, he'd been sneaking glances at her so often that he could now tell what her normal state was, and so understand that this was not it.
Three times he had almost walked up to her and asked her if she was injured, and three times he had taken a step, opened his mouth, and lost his nerve. He tried to convince himself that he was mistaken, that his eyes were playing tricks on him, that it was aftershock from the battle. It could no longer be denied, however, there was a distinct trail of red droplets that could be traced (if one was looking) back to Queen Susan's left foot. Caspian had examined this for longer than he probably should have before coming to this reluctant conclusion; he had also, before he had realized he was staring and turned away, spotted her slight limp.
From where he stood, her face revealed nothing. She was walking among the wounded, winding bandages, grasping hands, and thanking soldiers for defending their country. She sat on the ends of the makeshift pallets and spoke in a soothing voice to those who could not be saved. Though he did not doubt her sincerity, Caspian wondered if she was secretly grateful for the chance to take the weight off her injured leg, though the reason was horrible.
Caspian himself was unsure of how to treat those which lay around him, those that were still able to carry themselves hovering around them with potions and damp cloths. The How had been converted into a crude hospital, every available room stocked with such medicines as were available, and with the injured. These . . . Narnians had offered their lives to him, watched their fellows die for him. And what of those, those who had fallen in the fray? It was doubly cruel now, in victory; for them it had been so tantalizingly close . . . he could never forgive himself for the loss. His hands would be forever stained.
But now, here was something that he could change, and he would. Steeling his resolve, he made his way past the rows of blanketed forms to the shadow of the Stone Table and knelt beside Susan as she carefully cleaned a gash in a soldier's side. "My Queen," he said quietly. "You are hurt."
The Minotaur she was tending immediately tried to sit up, thudding back down to the straw in his weakness. "You shouldn't be wasting yourself on me, Majesty," he managed. "Get yourself to a healer. I'll survive. I always do." He tried to smile reassuringly, but his breath caught in his throat and he rolled over, coughing. A globule of blood shot from his mouth and hit the stone floor. He winced. "Begging your pardon, Majesty."
"Nonsense," Susan replied. "You've got five ribs broken, probably punctured a lung. You couldn't help that. What, did a horse step on you?"
Though the gore that streaked the fur on his face, the Minotaur grinned. "One of them Telmarine rock-throwers landed on me, Majesty. I was trying to knock it down, and it just fell the wrong way."
"Well, then. I'm most thankful that you disabled one. They were destroying my archers."
"Two, Majesty." He closed his eyes. "Me 'n' my mates. If you'll excuse me, I think I'll sleep a bit. I don't think I'll be able to stay awake."
"With my blessing." Touching her forefinger to the tip of one of his horns (a gesture Caspian remembered to be an expression of respect for strength among the people of the soldier's race), she rose and started to reach for the next pallet. Caspian stayed her with a hand on her forearm.
"You're doing no one any good if you bleed to death," he murmured. She frowned and tried to pull away, but he held her fast. "Susan, you're bleeding. The Minotaur was right; get yourself to a healer."
"I'm fine," she snapped, trying again to move off. Caspian grabbed her other arm.
"You cannot save them all." Her eyebrows drew together into a scowl. "Susan, Narnia needs you."
"And so I'm helping it!" Beads of sweat stood out on her forehead, glistening in the lamplight. "Leave me alone, Caspian." She jerked herself out of his hands and strode ahead.
"My Queen," Caspian said, hurrying to keep up, "I know wounds in battle. Insignificant ones do not make a path on the floor after you."
"I understand war better than you could ever hope to," growled Susan. "I'm fine." As she spun to leave, her foot caught on a bit of rubble and tipped her off balance. She landed heavily on her injured leg. A gasp escaped her lips before she could stop it, and she began to collapse. Caspian threw his shoulder in front of her and braced her, keeping her from hitting the stone. For a moment, while she caught her breath, her cheek pressed against the front of his shirt. He had removed his torn hauberk at the first opportunity, and now he was fervently glad that Susan didn't have to cut herself on the broken metal. Then he felt the heat of her flesh and blushed, quickly shifting her to a position more suitable for a lady. When she drew back, spots of pink had appeared on her cheekbones.
"Thank you," she said formally. "Now I must be on my way." Yet when she tried to walk again, her knees folded and she clung to Caspian's arm reflexively. "Ahh!"
"I told you so." With one fluid motion, he lifted her and set her on the Table, gently lowering her head so that it wouldn't knock and bruise. Her skirt had been dragged up slightly on her left shin, exposing a thin, dark stream. Caspian followed it to just below her hip, where a clumsy wad of cloth was tied. With practiced fingers he peeled the soaked fabric away, showing the wound to the air.
The breath whistled out of his lungs. A long, jagged laceration stabbed through skin and muscle, digging sideways at a painful angle. Swiftly, he clapped a palm over the bleeding, dropping the now-useless cloth to the steps. Frantic eyes darted around for something else to use as a bandage.
He caught sight of a healer a few rows away, pulling a sheet over the head of a faun. Caspian forced himself to ignore the implications. "You there! The Queen is hurt!"
Susan stirred. "Caspian, there's no need-"
"You've got a six-inch wound here, Susan. Deep." He glared at her, trying to force the gravity of the situation on her. "Do you know what that means?"
She stopped struggling. "If it gets infected, they're going to amputate," she said quietly. Then she pushed herself up on her elbows. "This is ridiculous. I'm perfectly capable of-"
"Lie down." Caspian pushed on her shoulder until she, glaring, conceded. "You don't want to put your heart above-
"I'm aware of that, dirt-brain," she hissed. Her eyes were glassy. "If you think that I'm going to-"
"Your Highnesses?" A Mouse hopped up near Susan's ankle. His gaze traveled from her, to Caspian, to the injury. Caspian felt his ears burn as he realized how this must look; he was standing at the Stone Table with his hand on the High Queen's thigh.
"Yes, I . . ." He stammered, and then cursed mentally. What are you, a boy being scolded for stealing sweets? "As you can see, good mouse, the Queen is in need of medicine."
"I can't tend Queen Susan when she's lying down!" The Mouse squeaked, scandalized. Then he dropped his head and shuffled his paws. "I mean no offense, Majesty. But it simply isn't seemly."
Caspian rolled his eyes, out of patience, and then gently pulled Susan into a sitting position. Lying down would do her no good if she couldn't get a healer, and he was in no mood to argue with this creature, not now. "If you would, good Mouse?"
"Oh . . . of course, sire. Right away." As he rummaged in the human-scale satchel that he had somehow been able to drag behind him, Caspian wrestled Susan to a more comfortable pose. This was difficult as, every time he let go, Susan began to slump down. Finally he abandoned the prospect and settled for letting her lean on him, arms locked around his neck for support.
"My liege." Caspian looked down to see the mouse hesitating over Susan's leg.
"If you wish your Queen to continue living, I suggest you begin working, good Mouse."
"It's not that, sire. It's . . . it's that the bleeding, it isn't stopping."
"Because you haven't bandaged it yet-"
"No!" The Mouse yelled, and then quailed at the thought of shouting at his near-enough-to-king. "I mean, no, highness. This wound, it's like it's fresh. Like it just happened a few seconds ago. But the battle was over-"
"-hours ago," Caspian finished. Trying to quell his rising alarm, he peered down at the cut. White lines, so pale he might have missed them, spider-webbed out from the slash. He swore.
The Mouse was shocked. "My liege!" He remembered himself. "What does it mean, my Prince?"
"Soyina." The word was itself poison on his tongue.
"My Prince?"
Caspian sighed. "It's a weapon. From Telmar. The venom of the sea-snake. If it's gotten her . . ." he trailed off. "But I can't be sure. I've never seen it, only read of it, I . . . Susan!" He put a palm on either side of her face, turning it to him. As he did so, he couldn't help but notice that it was unnaturally warm. "Susan, can you recall what gave you this injury?"
She moaned and tried to shake her head. Caspian held it firm. "Susan, I need you to think. For me. Please!" Something in his voice must have gotten through to her, for she paused. "Good girl. What was it?"
"A . . ." her eyelids fluttered. "A spear, I believe." Her lips curved in a small smile. "The idiot thought that if he threw from a distance, he'd be able to kill me. He forgot that arrows can also travel over a distance."
Caspian furrowed his brown in worry. "Good Mouse, you need to listen carefully to what I'm about to tell you."
Whiskers twitched attentively.
"Take my knife. It's on my belt, here-"
"I've got one, highness."
"Good. Make an X over the wound." All he could hear was the throbbing of his own heartbeat.
"Then what?"
"Suck out the blood. Suck and spit it on the floor- I haven't time to get a bowl."
"But sire!"
"Quickly!" Caspian broke his gaze away from Susan and glowered at the mouse. He trembled. "Soyina is a special kind of poison. It works slowly at first, and somehow stays mostly near the wound, though the small amount that doesn't is enough to cause certain effects- some sort of witchery. But then under . . . certain circumstances, such as heat or moisture, it speeds and spreads through the entire bloodstream, and I'm not exactly sure what it does but the person suffocates. Telmarines put it on their spearheads so that, if they lose the battle, the enemy will die anyway. Hurry!"
The Mouse needed no further encouragement. He set to immediately. The groans of the other fallen swelled in Caspian's ears, crashing over each other in a frantic cacophony, louder and louder and louder.
"Finished, Your Majesty!"
"Now you have to sew it closed. Make sure the stitches are tight! It will be prone to infection until it heals. I won't take any unnecessary risk."
Susan didn't cry out, but Caspian could tell how much it hurt because her fingers tightened on his shirt, twisting up fistfuls of fabric. Her breath was strained and ragged against his neck, irregular. He prayed she wouldn't lose consciousness. Then she would be beyond anything any mortal being could do.
It was an eternity later the Mouse completed his work, jumping down and running off towards another summons. Susan stayed without moving within Caspian's embrace for a while more, muscles clenched in pain. Caspian stroked his hair with one hand, softly crooning a lullaby. At last she unknotted and relaxed.
"I . . . I apologize," she said. She shuffled backwards on the Table so that there was space between them. With fingers that shook, she smoothed her skirt back over her legs. "That was unseemly. I must beg your pardon."
"I cannot give it, as nothing needs pardoning." Caspian got to his feet, grimacing. Until now, he hadn't realized that he had been sitting behind Susan on the lip of the Table, holding her up with his entire torso. "We must get you to your room, My Queen."
"Stop that."
"What?"
She picked at the laces on one of her wrist guards. "That 'My Queen.'" I don't call you 'My Prince,' now, do I? It's not like I yell at you when you say 'Susan.' And Aslan as good as named you King anyway." She glanced up at him, and then became very engrossed in the way her chain mail lay on her elbow.
"As you wish, Susan."
"Thank you."
He stared at her, head pounding. The air between them seemed to have become thicker. It made him think…things. He looked up and around to break the frightening new feeling.
"Well, then," he said, keeping his voice determinedly light, "As I've just pointed out, you have to go upstairs to your chambers now. You'll certainly be of no more use down here."
She tried to suppress a grin. "I was walking around here not fifteen minutes ago. I'll be-
"-fine, yes, I know, you've mentioned." Caspian smiled innocently. "And then you collapsed and nearly died of poison. You can barely sit upright by yourself, much less tend these others."
"So if you're so knowledgeable, how do you expect me to get up to my room? Surely you're not planning on having me fly?"
"Of course not." Caspian laughed. "I'll carry you."
"What?" Something akin to fear flashed across her face.
"You don't trust me?"
"Well, sure I do, but-" Susan yelped as Caspian scooped her up. "Now that's a bit unfair!"
He juggled her back and forth gently so that she wouldn't crash to the floor. "Naturally."
Her right arm seized him around the shoulders, fingers splaying wide as if she thought she'd slip off. "If you drop me, Caspian, so help me but I will personally break every bone in your body."
"Is that so?"
"Yes." They had come to the stairs. She eyed them with trepidation. "Furthermore, for this indignity, I am going to force you to go through the same thing."
"All of it?"
"Exactly. Only instead of carrying you like you're carrying me, I'm going to throw you over my shoulder. That's more embarrassing." She curled herself up to Caspian, shrinking from the walls. He hoped she couldn't hear his heart rate increase.
They climbed in amiable quiet for a while, until Susan finally stopped flinching at every turn. She took a deep breath and let it out, leaning her head back. "I'm sorry I called you a dirt-brain," she mumbled.
"I've said worse." Caspian chucked. "I called my nursemaid a bear-stomached old chicken, once."
Susan giggled. "Bear-stomached?"
"I thought it quite the cutting remark at the time," Caspian said in mock offense. "I was quite proud of myself."
"What did she do?"
"She kissed my forehead, and told me that I had better get into my nightshirt before she called the King's Guard to do it for me."
They passed under an archway. Without a sound, Susan looked away and up at the carved pictures. "My mother used to kiss my forehead," she whispered. Then she swallowed. "I didn't mean to say that. That was cruel to you, to remind you."
"I don't mind." Softly, Caspian pressed his lips to the space below Susan's hairline. She closed her eyes.
"Caspian?" He snapped his chin up, angry for a reason unexplained. Edmund stood in the doorway, arms crossed, raising an eyebrow suspiciously. Caspian scrambled to form an answer.
"Your sister, she . . . she's hurt, I was just taking her . . ."
The younger king's stare eased. "Thank you." He reached out and took Susan into his own arms, turning towards the upstairs hall.
Caspian felt a lump in his throat. Edmund had understood, and he had approved.
.
(author's humble entreaty for review) Please? You know it means so much to me. And thank you for reading. (/author's humble entreaty for review)