A/N: No, I'm not dead. Surprising, I'm sure. I do feel bad for not updating through August, so I'm going to try and make September a two-update month. Don't hold me to it though; you never know what life throws at you.
Healing - Part I
"It's not a fatal wound," Chrom muttered through the pain. One glance over at Sumia told him exactly what fearful thoughts she entertained as she helped him off the battlefield. He clutched a hand to his chest; hot, sticky blood oozed between his fingers from a shallow slash.
"It still needs to be treated," replied his wife, urgency ringing through her voice like the clanging of swords from the battle. "And I can tell it hurts," she added as she helped lean against the side of a building, "I saw you wince." Chrom furrowed his brow. While he didn't want to admit that the wound ached and burned, he knew it would be a lie to say he felt no pain at all.
"It's just a scratch," he protested. The sound of his own voice made him cringe, as if even he didn't believe it. "And there are others who need more attention." He could still see Ricken's head almost falling to a Valmese axe, Tharja's side torn open by a swordsman's strike, and poor Frederick shot off his horse.
"I don't care," Sumia exclaimed. Chrom knew her words were not as heartless as they sounded; she valued the lives of all her comrades, but he was her beloved husband after all. "Keep pressure on that. I'll be right back."
Chrom found himself smiling at her needless worry as she scampered away. While he was in some pain, he could tolerate it, and the wound itself was hardly cause for concern. If anything, the wound to his pride was worse. His carelessness caused him to approach the battle like any other, but the soldiers of Valm fought like men possessed. All he could remember was a quick flash, a sudden sharp sting, warmth, and the smell of his own blood. Still, Chrom had fought on, and the fact that they had managed to repel the invaders from Feroxi lands brought some sense of relief. The thought that his assailant had fared much worse, with his head now lying on the ground was, also of comfort.
The pain lessened more when he thought of Sumia, atop her winged horse, swooping down to fight at his side. She was entirely different when she fought beside him, and he had to admit, his own strikes carried more ferocity as well.
"What a woman I married," Chrom muttered, smiling at the thought. The sound of frantic feet reached his ear, and he saw Sumia all but running towards him, clutching a staff. "Do you know how to use that?" he asked as she held it over him.
"I need to get that healed," she said. Chrom knew little of magic, but he did know the danger it posed when miscast. Tales abounded of even the simplest of spells cutting short the lives of inexperienced but promising mages, to say nothing of the lives of those nearby. Healing staves, from what little he knew, required years of training, and now his wife was preparing to use one.
"Maybe you should just let a healer tend to that," he objected, hoping that Sumia would not put her life in danger for the sake of his.
"If I don't heal it, it could get worse," answered Sumia as she held the staff over his chest. Chrom watched her eyes tighten, but no light came from the crystal. Her face squeezed. Her expression contorted. Her jaw grew taut, and he worried she might break a tooth at the very least. Her hands quivered, and a vein bulged in her brow. Still, no light appeared. It seemed she dared not even breathe, and Chrom found himself holding his own breath. He feared what might happen if he broke her concentration, but the fear that such concentration would overwhelm her body was greater. Finally, when he thought he could stand no more, a faint glimmer of blue light appeared. It grew, and flowed into his wound, drying blood and forming new flesh.
A weak smile appeared on her face, and she swayed on her feet, the staff clattering to the ground. Chrom was on his feet just as Sumia began to leave hers. Strong arms caught her, keeping her from falling.
"I've got you," he said, entirely of a mind to tell his wife never to do something so reckless again.
"Tell me you love me," his wife murmured, and he found whatever words he thought to say faded. Those words never ceased to make him smile, and his grip tightened.
"I love you Sumia," he replied with a smile, burying his face into her hair. "But don't do that again. At least get Lissa to teach you how to use a staff first."
Someone cleared their throat just then. Chrom looked to see his younger sibling standing nearby. Lissa's nose and brow wrinkled, and tight fists burrowed into her hips. At once, realization began to dawn on him. He shook his head, amused at the image of his wife all but tearing his sister's staff out of her hands. In fact, he began to laugh at the idea, too overcome from the battle, the wound, and the look on the blond girl's face to do anything else.