A/N: Why the hell do all my Oscar fics come out so horrifically depressing?
I wasn't surprised that our little ragtag group of knights cheered and applauded when their captain emerged almost exactly an hour after dawn. Their captain did look a little startled, but he grinned, one hand on Erk's shoulder to be guided to his horse, and held up the other hand in acknowledgment. I moved away from my horse to see, and clapped briefly with everyone else. A breathless silence suddenly ensued as we all waited for Kieran to mount: but evidently his dastardly horse (having fled the day before during battle) was feeling guilty, and merely stood waiting.
Even when he couldn't see what he was doing, and his head was spinning in circles, Kieran still managed to look graceful as he hooked a foot into the stirrup and leapt onto his horse. I sighed in relief as he called out in a clear voice, easily hiding his discomfort. I wondered if any of the other men knew that he had no idea whether or not he was even facing our direction. "I'm handing over command to Erk for awhile; you're to follow his instructions as if they come from me."
Heads nodded, and the knight next to me, Sean, grunted in approval; he rarely spoke, so the noise was clearly an approbation of pleasure. "Good to know he's all right, huh?" I said, and Sean nodded.
"Ha," said Ferron, to my left. "Nice to know that that whack on the head bashed some sense into him." We turned to her, and saw that she was grinning widely. "Don't get me wrong. I love the captain. But stab him in the arm and he insists that it's nothing. I guess head wounds are something different."
Sean chuckled, and I couldn't help but burst out laughing at her correct observation. "Yup," I agreed, after a moment, still laughing. "D'you know, he can't see a thing? That same whack on the head apparently put his eyes out for a couple of days."
"Really?" she said, interestedly, and looked more closely at Kieran and Erk, talking between themselves. "Huh. I would never have guessed."
No, it wasn't easy to tell: that answered my question about whether anyone else knew, too. Whatever anyone said about Kieran's overactive sense of honor, at least sometimes you had to give him credit for using common sense. Not if he could help it, of course, but when acting as captain he occasionally he remembered his responsibility to others before himself. Generally that supported his inclination to act like a hero, always appearing confident and strong for the troops. Much as I scolded him... it was times like these that I was happy for his pride.
"The captain and I are going to go out and scout ahead, see where the rebels are," called Erk, throwing back his blue mane in the breeze. "In the meanwhile, everyone tear down the camp. We'll leave as soon as that's done."
"Yes sir!" yelled Ferron, and a chuckle ran through the others before they chimed in seperately, "Yes, sir, Erk!" "Of course, lieutenant!" "By Ashera, we will, sir!"
Erk grinned; as he'd mentioned before, he really didn't like taking Kieran's place as commander, but when when the men could joke about him being in charge, he downright loved it. "Ashera's blessings be with you - long live Crimea!"
"Long live Crimea!" we roared back, seriously this time. The two of them turned; I saw Erk take his captain's reins surreptitiously as they rode away, their horses cantering in tandem.
We all moved away from our own horses to start tear-down and pack-up. "I wonder where they're going off to?" mused Marcl, nearby, ripping a tent pole from the ground. "There doesn't seem to be much of a need to scout for the rebels, after all. They haven't moved, only we have."
We all shrugged, but Brand spoke up quietly. "I wouldn't doubt that they're off burying Mari and Jain. Erk had a spade hidden under his saddlebag."
"What?" I exclaimed, turning to him.
"Oscar, did you really think you'd talk him out of it?" Brand paused to eye me, and I couldn't help it - I blushed. Apparently he'd just been guessing (and I'd swallowed his bait) since he said, with some satisfaction, "So you did try to convince him, too. Don't worry, I tried to do the same thing this morning. On top of that, Erk said he was going to, too. But Kieran's the captain, and if he wants to go back and bury our soldiers, it's his business... and come to it, his responsibility."
I suddenly remembered Kieran's words the night before; how guilty he had felt for Mari and Jain's deaths. How guilty we had all felt, but especially the soldier most responsible for keeping us all alive. "Yeah. It's probably better this way." Not all of us had to go, after all: just enough people to mark the graves that our enemies had certainly dug apart from their own.
We were all silent for a while; I knew that Ferron and Mari had been close, two of only three women in the scouting party (the third being Ferron's much quieter sister Nessa). And Jain was friends with everyone: hell, he was probably the person other than Erk and Kieran that I knew best, having been in the same recruit class with him. Now both of them were gone. I couldn't help but feel bitter, but I wasn't sure at whom. Certainly not Kieran, who had done the best he could. I couldn't even be angry with Geoffrey and Elincia: all of us had thought fifteen men would be more than enough. It had just been underestimation on everyone's part.
Our commanders returned just as the camp had been completely packed up: both of them were covered in dirt and exhausted. The tension was palpable; everyone already knew where they'd been, but when Kieran spoke, everyone seemed to snap into a sort of attention, though it had never ben called.
"Mari and Jain have been decently tended to and interred. Our enemies, contrary to usual custom, left our soldiers untouched, in the middle of the roadway." A collective sigh, something like a gasp, made its way around us. Kieran's voice was unusually sharp as he continued. "Are we prepared to move out?"
"Yes, sir," we answered together, somewhat more unevenly than usual. I could see Marcl's face, white with surprise. I felt as sick as Erk looked.
"Mount and follow," was his only command.
The goddess, was all I could think as I mounted. What if we hadn't gone back for them? Our own soldiers would have been lying there to rot! These rebels we were fighting against were clearly much more of savages than we'd anticipated. But then, nothing we'd anticipated about them is coming true, I added bitterly to my repertoire of angry thoughts.
Suddenly spurred by annoyance at myself, for my predictability, I rode forward, up beside Kieran. "Sir," I said quietly, and he turned to me, eyebrows raised. My mind briefly ran through the concept that I could really never get tired of looking at his face, then shook itself and got back to business. "I apologize for trying to talk you out of going back for Mari and Jain last night."
He immediately shook his head, and Erk smiled bitterly. "No. Don't apologize. I was just struck earlier by the realization that everything civilized we expect from these rebels has been wrong. So expecting them to bury our dead..." He shrugged, face dark. "Not so much."
"Not so much," Erk agreed. The thought was so like the one I'd had earlier than I had nothing to add. The three of us rode side-by-side for awhile in silence, each brooding. Kieran's brows were like thunderclouds, over his tight face, and I desperately wished to kiss him. He had surely taken turns with Erk in digging the graves - his head must be killing him.
"So have we decided where we're off to?" I asked finally. It really wasn't my place to ask, but with only thirteen of us left, two of my good friends in joint charge of the company, and a full rout threatening, the chain of command seemed somewhat more relaxed at the moment.
And apparently Erk just didn't care who knew. "Melior. We're heading straight back home. We've successfully drawn the rebels after us: they're following us now."
"You saw them?"
"Yes. Well..." Erk couldn't resist. "I did, anyway." Kieran remained stonily silent, and the lieutenant commander's face fell. "Uh... yes. There were several of them watching us bury Mari and Jain. It's only reasonable to assume they'll follow us."
"Craven dastards," I said, without thinking, and my heart wrenched. This mission was wreaking havoc on us all, for certain: I was angry and impulsive, while Kieran was quiet and thoughtful. More than anything else, that frightened me.
"Do you think we should- " Erk began, somewhat pensively: but he was interrupted by Kieran, between us, stiffening and inhaling. "Sir?"
It took a moment before my eyes could adjust to the arrow buried in Kieran's chest, wedged just under where his armor stopped; his face was imperturbable, eyes fixed straight ahead, but I could hear him struggling to breathe. I hadn't even heard the arrow approaching.
Erk gasped, but almost immediately roared to the other knights, "It's an ambush! Retreat! Follow me!"
Chaos reigned. We hardly had time to comply with his words before other arrows reached us, the archers ostensibly hidden in the forest. Two of our men fell from their horses, and were soon left behind. The fools, they'd fired before they could even reach us; half a dozen lance-wielding soldiers popped out of the woods and started chasing us from behind, while myrmidons struggled to catch up. But as a vicious rout battle plan, it had its perks. As I looked over my shoulder, they hewed the bodies of our already-dead knights.
As Erk wheeled back to catch up those who had been less quick to respond, I leapt down from my horse and immediately vaulted onto Kieran's behind him, panic giving me wings. Just as I reached around Kieran and grabbed the reins from his weakening grasp, my lance in my other hand locked around his midriff, his dastardly horse of legend threw back his ears and ran for his life: it was what he was good at, after all. And I wasn't about to argue; around me, the Knights were in full retreat, fleeing after Erk. It took all of my strength just to keep from falling off the horse, but I had only one thought in my head: get my captain to safety. Nothing else mattered.
Kieran was trying to tell me something, turning his head, but even if I'd been able to hear him above the din of screams and whistle of arrows, I wouldn't have understood it. "Shut up!" I yelled in his ear. "We're getting out of this mess!" His mouth moved, but I heard nothing.
Things got messier: cavaliers charged from behind us, bad riders but skillful with their weapons. One came close to me swinging a sword, and I wrenched my lance from in front of Kieran and stabbed the woman viciously. An arrow struck Brand, riding next to me; though he yanked it out and threw it from him, I could see the droplets of blood flying, and his teeth, gritted in pain.
It seemed as if we galloped on forever; but Erk was keeping an eye behind us. "Slow!" I heard him scream, and abruptly the fervor went out of the retreat, as he wheeled back once more. "Keep riding: we have left the enemy behind. In ten minutes' time we'll be out of their reach for the moment." Then he turned and led us onward.
Kieran was almost limp in front of me; now that we had left behind the noise, and the gallop of hooves was lessened, I could hear him coughing, breathing bubbly and horrid. I kicked his feet from the stirrups, unable to believe for a moment that I'd ridden this dastardly horse without them, and dropped my lance to get a better hold on him. "Hold on," I said to him, and this time he didn't answer. "If you die, I'll kill you!"'
The utter rout of our troops completed, we rode as close to the cliffs nearby as we dared, concealing our horses in a copse of trees and dragging everyone to an overhang. "How many are left? Name yourselves," Erk said, in a voice streaked with utter exhaustion. He'd been cut by one of the myrmidons on his fall back to regain the troops, but it was a superficial wound, almost caught by the armor on his biceps. Amazing how much wounds like that bled.
We called our names one by one. "The captain, and Oscar," I said, when the silence reached me: including the two of us, we numbered eight.
"How many wounded?" Four, out of the eight, had needed help dismounting. Brand and Kieran were the most seriously injured, and once we'd helped him down Brand fell senseless to the ground. Kieran wasn't yet unconscious, but his face was tight with agony, and he merely shook his head when asked if he wanted water. Marcl's leg was badly broken from an axe's sideways swing, splinters of bone showing even through his trousers; in a spurt of insistence much like his captain, he insisted that it didn't hurt much. As I tried to dismount my hand suddenly exploded with pain; dully, I noticed that the swordsman had, after all, gotten to me. Blood ran all the way down my arm from a slash across the back of my hand, and I couldn't feel my fingers. The rest of the company had superficial wounds all around.
No one knew what to do next, besides the application of a few vulneraries. Even field medicine, which I was fairly knowledgable about, just didn't suffice for chest wounds and compound fractures. To add insult to injury, we discovered that most of the weapons used had been venin-coated. My hand burned like fire, but I ignored it; that was the least of our worries.
Brand came to after a few minutes, eyes glassy with shock but able to give us some rudimentary instructions. Someone found his healstaff, and he managed to get rid of the worst injuries (the arrow in Kieran's chest dislodged, his own gaping wound mostly healed up, Sean's arm repaired) before passing out again. Marcl had declined treatment, saying he could hold off for long enough: we all knew better. His leg wasn't any better than my hand. But neither of us wanted to push our only healer too fast and for him to die.
Ferron was quietly weeping off to the side, head in her hands. Her sister had been one of those who fell behind.
As the shock of the morning passed, and it became clear that the rebels were satisfied with their small victory, we helped our captain sit up against one of us (three guesses as to whom) so that he could see everyone. Then we wanly and unwillingly began the task of deciding what to do next.
"How far is Melior, still?" asked Kieran, eyes burning fiercely, though his voice was somewhat faint. Brand had obviously done what he could, but there was nothing like an arrow to the chest to leave lingering effects. I was constantly on the edge of breaking into hysterical laughter over such things; though I knew it was still just shock and hysteria, I couldn't help it, and held my breath.
"At least five leagues," Erk answered. We'd managed to salvage one map, and clung to it like a beacon of hope. "It would take the better part of this week to have someone ride there."
"A fast rider might make it more quickly," Kieran argued. "I remember one time I-" he stopped, hastily covering his mouth to cough violently. As he continued, he lowered the hand to sit flat on the grass; but we all saw the blood on his lips. "I've made it from the capital city to Gallia and back in less than three days before."
"Forgive me, sir, but you were probably in prime shape and had the energy to not sleep for three days," countered Erk quite baldly. I could tell that he was in no mood to argue with Kieran, Hero of Crimea.
"Well, we have to do-" The Hero dissolved into another coughing fit, and this time I had to steady him in my arms as the gurgling coughs bent him in two. Everyone else averted their eyes from the flying blood. It was hell.
Finally, as he gulped for air, he finished, "Something. We have to do... something."
"What we have to do first is get out of this location," said Ferron quietly, lifting her head. A sudden burst of admiration went through my heart at her grave, pretty face, the bandage around her forehead stained with blood. The thought had not escaped me that I would probably be curled up in a sobbing mess if it had been one of my brothers that died back there. "As bad of an idea as it seems to move Brand and you, sir, we have to. Normally I would assume that these rebels are happy with their destruction up to this point, but... I just have this sick feeling that they're going to burst out of the trees and slaughter us to a man."
A nod of assent passed around the circle, with the exception of Kieran; he had closed his eyes and was leaning back against me silently, resigned. Evidently Brand hadn't done quite enough - I could hear him drowning in his own blood with every breath. Little bells of panic started to ring at the back of my mind.
Erk breathed out heavily. "Okay. So we move to another location - perhaps one closer to Melior. Once we've managed to set up there... I think it all hinges on... well..." His eyes turned to Brand, who was unconscious but already shaking with the chills of poison under the few blankets we'd scrounged for him. We had carried antitoxin at some point, but apparently it had all either gotten lost in the precipitous flight from the rebels, or it had been accidentally left behind at our last camp. "Our situation really depends on whether or not Brand is able to help himself and subsequently can do any more healing. I think it's been established that we can't go back for those we just lost... not yet." This time all eyes were averted from Ferron. "I suggest that we take as much care of our healer as is possible, and plan a course of action based upon that."
"Hear, hear," said Marcl in a rather faraway voice, and the general assent was made to move immediately, before anyone's condition deteriorated or, worse yet, the rebels attacked once more.
Marcl and Donne, both victims of leg wounds, managed to convince us that they could ride alongside us, if helped into the saddle and led slowly. We hastily hung up a travois for Brand between Balian's and Ferron's horses; Kieran, on the other hand - just barely conscious and drawing each breath between gritted teeth like it was his last - had other ideas. "If I... lie down I'll die," he said succinctly. "Oscar already... got the gist of it... during the r-rout. He'll... ride with me."
At the moment, nothing could have made me happier than to have my arms around him, protecting him. It was barely noon when we set out again, this time at a vastly depressed pace. Half of our supplies had been left behind, and most of us (especially the injured) had dumped our armor in favor of being able to breathe freely. Sean, followed by Erk, led the way, his sure-footed stallion picking its way carefully through the woods; he was an exceedingly good guide, always managing to find a way for Balian and Ferron to pass through side-by-side, and avoiding snags that might further aggravate Donne and Marcl's wounds.
My own horse had managed to keep up with us in the flight, and I tied her reins to Kieran's saddle. I'd managed to shove most of Kieran's armor into my saddlebags (even when we were in this bad of a state, we hadn't sunk low enough to leave behind the blessed finieries our captain had worn in his war against the goddess), and his body became more and more warm against my own as he grew increasingly feverish. He frightened me unduly at one point; "Oscar," he said weakly, turning his head. I put my own chin on his shoulder so he didn't have to turn (and because it gave me the chance to rest my cheek on his.) "I don't... want to make this seem... like I'm saying good-bye or anything. But... I do love you."
The statement chilled me more than I could express; to be perfectly frank, Kieran expressing his feelings for me so freely made me panic at the true seriousness of our situation. I swallowed, feeling the blood drain from my face.
Then, abruptly, something - maybe indignation? - surged up in me. "Damn well, you'd better not be saying good-bye," I said quietly, but angrily. "I love you too, but like I said before, if you've got the nerve to die I'll kill you, you obstinate, red-headed fool!"
I realized how Kieran-esque my words sounded just as he chuckled; which of course sent him into another coughing fit. By this point he was almost limp in my arms; but he managed to pull himself up a little and whisper, "Good. If I don't get to sleep with you before I die I'll be pissed."
What anyone else cared ceased to be important to me, and I kissed his cheek. "Me too. Now shut up. Go to sleep or something." The thought passed through my mind that it was really a miracle he wasn't already dead: but then, I knew of no one more stubborn.
In the end, we had to stop after less than five miles. Kieran's weight suddenly shifted against me, and I realized he'd finally slipped into unconsciousness. I attempted to catch him, pull him back against my chest, but as fate had it he fell the wrong way, and I inhaled in agony as I caught him with the wrong damn hand. After a moment of realizing that I wouldn't be able to hold him and stay on the horse myself, I yelled, "Help!"
Everyone stopped immediately; Erk and Balian leapt from their horses to catch Kieran as he slid from my arms and to the ground. I got down as quickly as I could (not very fast, since blood was once again pouring down my arm from the wound ripped open) and knelt next to him. "Kieran! Sir, come on, wake up."
His eyes fluttered open - quite pointlessly, I recalled, since he still couldn't see a thing. After a second, he said, in something of a bemused voice, but quite clearly, "Oscar." Then his eyes closed again.
Balian and I exchanged a glance over our captain's limp body. "I, uh... I guess this is where we stop," he said.
We decided against lighting a fire: our fear (paranoia, if you prefer that) of the rebels finding us was just too great. "So, what do we do now?" Erk asked miserably, head sunk almost to between his knees.
"Damned if I know," replied Ferron tiredly. Blood had once again started to seep down from under the bandage wrapping her forehead, red slowly making its way through her eyebrow and down her cheek. Since she, too, was staring at the ground, I didn't feel too bad staring at her face. It was a welcome distraction.
She really was quite pretty, I reflected in an offhand sort of way. I'd never really paid much attention, mostly because I didn't know her as well as some of the others - and besides, when it came to the Knights, the only one I usually had eyes for was Kieran. I should tell her after this is all over, I thought. She deserves to know that she's pretty, especially from a colleague, someone who has no hold over her whatsoever.
Vaguely I heard my name mentioned, and looked up to see Erk gazing at me, eyes suddenly hopeful. "Do you think," he was asking, "that we could ask for help from the Greil Mercenaries?"
I started, and suddenly the air in the camp changed totally. There were only eight of us, and out of those, two were unconscious: but I felt all the others staring at me. The suggestion was completely viable; in fact, I felt somewhat stupid for not thinking of it myself. We were much closer to the mercenary fort than to Melior. I knew for a fact, having travelled the area so much, that less than thirty miles distant were Titania, my brothers, Mist, Rhys, and the others who had been my constant and most trusted companions for so long. I hadn't seen any of them for over three years, since Mist and Boyd's wedding, but I felt certain that even if Titania, now the 'interim' commander commander of the Mercenaries (she claimed that she was just holding the position for Ike), had led the team out on a mission, she would have left at least two or three to guard the fort.
"Well," I said slowly, "That's probably the best thing we could do at this juncture."
"And they would help us, right?" Marcl asked eagerly, shoving himself upright. "They knew you and the captain, they would have to!"
"Lie back down," Erk said, and gently knelt to make Marcl subside. The younger knight barely had the strength to resist: his leg was going to be a thorough mess soon, we could all see that. "From what I hear, it wouldn't matter even if they didn't know any of us."
A general mumble of assent was heard from everyone, and I nodded. "Definitely the most feasible plan of action. Who..." I looked around, biting my lip. I certainly didn't want to say it, but only one or two of us could really be spared to go. Marcl and Donne were out of the question, as the trip required speed: that left four who could ride. Thank the goddess our horses were still healthier than us.
Everyone instantly understood, and after a brief silence Erk sighed. "I hate to say this, Oscar, but you're the only one who actually knows where their base is."
"No," I said firmly. "We have the map. I can locate it on there for one of you."
Erk and Ferron exchanged a significant glance, but I didn't care. Neither of them had seen me kiss Kieran during the ride, but he was still supported on my chest as I myself leaned back against a tree, and perhaps their suspicions had been aroused by his single conscious word having been my name. I would be damned if now was the time to worry about it. "You already said it doesn't matter who asks Titania for help," I continued steadily. "Erk, you're a faster rider than me - don't argue, you know it's true - and you're in better shape for riding." I held up my almost-useless right hand as evidence. As he opened his mouth, I added, "And don't say that you're the lieutenant commander and can't leave your men, because we're not going anywhere or doing anything. And you know it."
He had apparently been ready to say just that, and subsided. He'd already lost the argument, and we both knew it.
After a short silence, Ferron said tiredly, "All right, fine." She rummaged for the map. "Here, Oscar." She spread it out before me, tracing it with her fingertip to find where we were. "Erk, he's right. Besides that, he's better at keeping people alive than you are."
Behind her, I saw Erk's face, stricken; she turned, suddenly realizing what she'd said, and flushed. "I didn't mean that, I meant that Oscar knows more about healing than you do, not that... not..." Not that he commands us better, she clearly wanted to say, but for some reason she didn't.
Fortunately Erk seemed to understand, his shoulders slumping in relief. And it was true: I was better with field medicine than either of them were. "All right," he said finally, and came over. The map was spread across Kieran's lap, and the absurd urge to giggle once again struck me, the three of us grouped around our unconscious commander, reading the map. "Show me. I should leave as soon as I can, before nightfall at least."
Everyone nodded. "We're here, right? So the fort is almost due north," I said, pointing with my good hand. "If you ride straight towards this pass - it'll be completely visible in daylight - you should keep to the fields, on the very edge of the trees. You should come across a copse of trees just about... here... and go to the east of it. It's pretty distinctive this time of year, all maples and silver oaks turning for autumn. Then once you enter the woods on the east side, keep your face a little east of north, and you should come across it in a few miles. A path through the woods starts pretty soon once you pass the copse of trees, so once you get to that point it's easy."
He nodded grimly, studying the terrain ahead of him. "Don't mark it on the map, in case..." I couldn't finish the statement, so I cleared my throat and lamely added, "It's just here," pointing.
"Okay," Erk said finally, very quietly resigned. He rolled up the map, stood, and started buckling on his armor, having been one of the only knights among us to retain it. "If I haven't returned by day after tomorrow, Oscar, you ride on to Melior and tell Queen Elincia where everyone is. That's a direct order."
"Yes, sir," I replied authomatically, and a smile, however brief, flitted across his face. He turned and vanished into the trees where the horses were, and moments later rode back, saluted, and left.
As his hoofbeats faded, Ferron said quietly, "What do we really do if he doesn't come back?"
"I don't know," I said, my hand tightening on Kieran's midriff. "I really don't know."