Chapter 2. In which nothing happens.
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Wil and Kent walked back toward camp slowly, their pace measured by Wil's tending to Sain's riderless horse. The archer prattled on about nothing in particular, trying his best to distract the paladin from his own despair, but the fact that Kent ignored him made it ineffective. Kent's silence only disturbed Wil further, and the youthful archer finally stopped his seemingly endless chatter. He regarded Kent with a practiced eye, noting how grim he looked. He rode professionally in his saddle, but Wil recognized the signs of severe emotional withdrawal.
Kent's emotions were such that he couldn't read them, and he struggled. The formerly care free day seemed bleak now, lost in a fog of anguish, and his thoughts returned to what he had done. He could see himself raising his lance, Sain's sprawled form, and he heard his twisted laughter echoing in his head. How...how had that happened? His gut churned, and Kent took a shuddering breath, trying to compose himself and his thoughts. If Sain lived, Kent would be unimaginably grateful. If Sain died, he would as well. It was that simple. He would not be able to continue knowing that he had killed the man he loved, whether he had been aware of it or not. The fact that he had been under a spell didn't matter to him, didn't even factor into his calculations of his own guilt.
As they neared camp, Kent's heart sped up, pounding in his chest. Did he even want to return? Anxiety flickered across his cloud of emotions, worsening his inner turmoil, and he stopped his horse for a moment, fighting an illogical urge to flee. His breathing sounded ragged in his ears, and he jumped when Wil tapped him on the arm, looking down at the archer with thinly veiled panic.
"Relax, okay?" Wil was worried, unsure as to what Kent would do. He did not know the older man very well, but from what he had seen, Kent was really unstable. 'Duh' Wil thought to himself. 'He practically killed his best friend.'
Kent worked to bring his breathing under control, and Wil sympathized, but failed to really understand how the paladin was feeling. He could not know of the way Kent truly felt for Sain, and thus left him to report to Lady Lyndis, leading Sain's horse as he went. He figured Kent would be okay, and was also unwilling to accompany him to see if Sain had survived or not. He didn't want to see any more of Kent's distress, the events of the day already having been more than the young archer could handle.
Kent felt no offense at his sudden abandonment, and in truth, felt grateful for it. He remembered also attacking Wil, though that memory was superceded by what he had done to Sain. Perhaps the archer was afraid of him? He laughed bitterly.
Kent worked up his courage, and rode into camp. He felt people's eyes on him, and figured that Wil had already told everyone what had happened. His shame was petty compared to his fear, however, and he rode quickly to the tent that the healer's shared, praying for the wellbeing of his friend.
He leapt off his horse upon arriving, and strode quickly to the entrance. He was stopped suddenly by Serra, who roughly shoved him backward, and his shoulder twinged painfully.
"Lucius and Priscilla are in there healing him, and you won't help anything." Her expression belied her tactlessness, however, and she added "I think he'll be okay." Whether it was true or she was saying it for Kent's benefit, he couldn't tell. Part of his panic did lessen, though. Sain was still alive. Kent's breathing began to return to normal.
Serra looked at him strangely for a moment. "You're bleeding. Badly." She motioned to his shoulder, and he followed her gesture, realizing that she was right. Blood oozed from his shoulder, and he recalled, sickeningly, pulling Wil's arrow from his arm. Serra picked up one of the heal staves that was leaning against the outside of the tent. "Hold still."
Kent suddenly backed up, covering the wound with his other hand. "It's...its fine, really. You don't need to." Kent's guilt at what he had done to Sain moved him, and he swallowed heavily. The pain would be penance for what he had done. Not enough, but a start.
Serra raised her eyebrows, looking at him like he was crazy. He retreated from the healer's tent, his heart pounding again. He was aware of the pain in his shoulder now, a throbbing that threatened to become worse. 'I deserve it' he thought, tears welling in his eyes. He wasn't sure if he ran because he might be healed, or if he ran because he didn't want to face the idea of what he had done, but he stopped only when he had reached his own tent-no, the tent he shared with Sain. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to fight the avalanche of sadness, guilt, and shame. He couldn't sit, so he paced, holding his shoulder with one hand. Panic rose in him in waves-what if Sain died? What if Sain was permanently wounded? What if Sain never forgave him? These thoughts were unbearable, but he would not, could not keep them from his mind. He removed his hand from his shoulder, and only stopped pacing when he noticed that his fingers came away bloody.
He sat down where he stood, on the side of his tent, transfixed by the blood. Unwanted visions of Sain's blood came to him, Sain's blood on his lance, and on the grass where Sain had fallen. How...how could Kent pay for that? He closed his eyes and dug his fingernails into the wound on his shoulder, losing himself in the pain, to distract himself from the memories and his own guilt. Blood flowed more quickly, further staining his red tunic, and Kent bit his lip as dizziness from the pain overcame him. It wasn't enough, though, not after what Sain had gone through.
Finally, he took his hand away from the bloody wound, now deeper and torn far more raggedly than an arrow could do. He stared at his bloody fingers, panting. He wanted to go back to the healer's tent, to see how Sain was doing, but he didn't want Serra's, or anyone else's, concern. He threw off his now blood soaked shirt, putting on another one to hide the now uglier wound. He made no attempt to bind it or alleviate the bleeding in any way, and dipped his hands in water to wash off the blood before going outside.
He realized that he had only left about fifteen minutes ago, but he needed to know, positively, if Sain would be okay. No one stood outside the tent when he got there, and he fought the urge to go inside.
He was beaten to it when Priscilla emerged from the tent, and his stomach lurched when he saw her carrying a blood soaked towel. She glanced at him for a moment before dunking the towel in water, and the shimmering aqua turned a dusty red. Kent swallowed, hard.
Priscilla turned to him, looking weary. "Kent?" Kent couldn't take his eyes off the bloodied water, and only half heard her.
Priscilla sighed loudly enough to get his attention, and he looked at her, eyes wide with apprehension at what she might say. If Sain was dead......
"Sain will be fine." The world nearly stopped for a second, relief spreading throughout Kent's body. His panic subsided, his heart rate and breathing becoming the closest to normal ever since he had realized that he had attacked Sain.
"He needs to rest, though. You are not to see him." She provided no reason for this, and the guilt and shame became sharper. Did she think he would hurt him? Why would she say that?
Probably noting his sickened expression, Priscilla elaborated. "No one is to see him. He needs rest, and he needs to be free of stimulus. He was......" She trailed off, wondering whether or not to add the last part, and then decided to lessen it. "Hurt badly."
Kent nodded slowly, but he had to see Sain. He wouldn't leave without doing so. He sat down heavily outside the tent, staring at the ground blankly, his feelings flooding and overwhelming him. His shoulder smoldered with pain, but he didn't notice it anymore. He would stay here until he could see him. He had to.
Priscilla seemed to be aware of his determination and left him, as if in empathy with the paladin. She couldn't do any more for Sain now, anyway.
Kent leaned his head against the tent, struggling to keep his eyes open. He felt wrung out, like the bloodied towel Priscilla had discarded, and now that his panic was gone, exhaustion replaced it. He wanted to stay awake, but his alertness bled out of him like the blood from his wound. He fell asleep against the healer's tent, his last thought being whether or not Sain would forgive him.
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To be continued, obviously. Leave a review, please. They make me happy.
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Wil and Kent walked back toward camp slowly, their pace measured by Wil's tending to Sain's riderless horse. The archer prattled on about nothing in particular, trying his best to distract the paladin from his own despair, but the fact that Kent ignored him made it ineffective. Kent's silence only disturbed Wil further, and the youthful archer finally stopped his seemingly endless chatter. He regarded Kent with a practiced eye, noting how grim he looked. He rode professionally in his saddle, but Wil recognized the signs of severe emotional withdrawal.
Kent's emotions were such that he couldn't read them, and he struggled. The formerly care free day seemed bleak now, lost in a fog of anguish, and his thoughts returned to what he had done. He could see himself raising his lance, Sain's sprawled form, and he heard his twisted laughter echoing in his head. How...how had that happened? His gut churned, and Kent took a shuddering breath, trying to compose himself and his thoughts. If Sain lived, Kent would be unimaginably grateful. If Sain died, he would as well. It was that simple. He would not be able to continue knowing that he had killed the man he loved, whether he had been aware of it or not. The fact that he had been under a spell didn't matter to him, didn't even factor into his calculations of his own guilt.
As they neared camp, Kent's heart sped up, pounding in his chest. Did he even want to return? Anxiety flickered across his cloud of emotions, worsening his inner turmoil, and he stopped his horse for a moment, fighting an illogical urge to flee. His breathing sounded ragged in his ears, and he jumped when Wil tapped him on the arm, looking down at the archer with thinly veiled panic.
"Relax, okay?" Wil was worried, unsure as to what Kent would do. He did not know the older man very well, but from what he had seen, Kent was really unstable. 'Duh' Wil thought to himself. 'He practically killed his best friend.'
Kent worked to bring his breathing under control, and Wil sympathized, but failed to really understand how the paladin was feeling. He could not know of the way Kent truly felt for Sain, and thus left him to report to Lady Lyndis, leading Sain's horse as he went. He figured Kent would be okay, and was also unwilling to accompany him to see if Sain had survived or not. He didn't want to see any more of Kent's distress, the events of the day already having been more than the young archer could handle.
Kent felt no offense at his sudden abandonment, and in truth, felt grateful for it. He remembered also attacking Wil, though that memory was superceded by what he had done to Sain. Perhaps the archer was afraid of him? He laughed bitterly.
Kent worked up his courage, and rode into camp. He felt people's eyes on him, and figured that Wil had already told everyone what had happened. His shame was petty compared to his fear, however, and he rode quickly to the tent that the healer's shared, praying for the wellbeing of his friend.
He leapt off his horse upon arriving, and strode quickly to the entrance. He was stopped suddenly by Serra, who roughly shoved him backward, and his shoulder twinged painfully.
"Lucius and Priscilla are in there healing him, and you won't help anything." Her expression belied her tactlessness, however, and she added "I think he'll be okay." Whether it was true or she was saying it for Kent's benefit, he couldn't tell. Part of his panic did lessen, though. Sain was still alive. Kent's breathing began to return to normal.
Serra looked at him strangely for a moment. "You're bleeding. Badly." She motioned to his shoulder, and he followed her gesture, realizing that she was right. Blood oozed from his shoulder, and he recalled, sickeningly, pulling Wil's arrow from his arm. Serra picked up one of the heal staves that was leaning against the outside of the tent. "Hold still."
Kent suddenly backed up, covering the wound with his other hand. "It's...its fine, really. You don't need to." Kent's guilt at what he had done to Sain moved him, and he swallowed heavily. The pain would be penance for what he had done. Not enough, but a start.
Serra raised her eyebrows, looking at him like he was crazy. He retreated from the healer's tent, his heart pounding again. He was aware of the pain in his shoulder now, a throbbing that threatened to become worse. 'I deserve it' he thought, tears welling in his eyes. He wasn't sure if he ran because he might be healed, or if he ran because he didn't want to face the idea of what he had done, but he stopped only when he had reached his own tent-no, the tent he shared with Sain. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to fight the avalanche of sadness, guilt, and shame. He couldn't sit, so he paced, holding his shoulder with one hand. Panic rose in him in waves-what if Sain died? What if Sain was permanently wounded? What if Sain never forgave him? These thoughts were unbearable, but he would not, could not keep them from his mind. He removed his hand from his shoulder, and only stopped pacing when he noticed that his fingers came away bloody.
He sat down where he stood, on the side of his tent, transfixed by the blood. Unwanted visions of Sain's blood came to him, Sain's blood on his lance, and on the grass where Sain had fallen. How...how could Kent pay for that? He closed his eyes and dug his fingernails into the wound on his shoulder, losing himself in the pain, to distract himself from the memories and his own guilt. Blood flowed more quickly, further staining his red tunic, and Kent bit his lip as dizziness from the pain overcame him. It wasn't enough, though, not after what Sain had gone through.
Finally, he took his hand away from the bloody wound, now deeper and torn far more raggedly than an arrow could do. He stared at his bloody fingers, panting. He wanted to go back to the healer's tent, to see how Sain was doing, but he didn't want Serra's, or anyone else's, concern. He threw off his now blood soaked shirt, putting on another one to hide the now uglier wound. He made no attempt to bind it or alleviate the bleeding in any way, and dipped his hands in water to wash off the blood before going outside.
He realized that he had only left about fifteen minutes ago, but he needed to know, positively, if Sain would be okay. No one stood outside the tent when he got there, and he fought the urge to go inside.
He was beaten to it when Priscilla emerged from the tent, and his stomach lurched when he saw her carrying a blood soaked towel. She glanced at him for a moment before dunking the towel in water, and the shimmering aqua turned a dusty red. Kent swallowed, hard.
Priscilla turned to him, looking weary. "Kent?" Kent couldn't take his eyes off the bloodied water, and only half heard her.
Priscilla sighed loudly enough to get his attention, and he looked at her, eyes wide with apprehension at what she might say. If Sain was dead......
"Sain will be fine." The world nearly stopped for a second, relief spreading throughout Kent's body. His panic subsided, his heart rate and breathing becoming the closest to normal ever since he had realized that he had attacked Sain.
"He needs to rest, though. You are not to see him." She provided no reason for this, and the guilt and shame became sharper. Did she think he would hurt him? Why would she say that?
Probably noting his sickened expression, Priscilla elaborated. "No one is to see him. He needs rest, and he needs to be free of stimulus. He was......" She trailed off, wondering whether or not to add the last part, and then decided to lessen it. "Hurt badly."
Kent nodded slowly, but he had to see Sain. He wouldn't leave without doing so. He sat down heavily outside the tent, staring at the ground blankly, his feelings flooding and overwhelming him. His shoulder smoldered with pain, but he didn't notice it anymore. He would stay here until he could see him. He had to.
Priscilla seemed to be aware of his determination and left him, as if in empathy with the paladin. She couldn't do any more for Sain now, anyway.
Kent leaned his head against the tent, struggling to keep his eyes open. He felt wrung out, like the bloodied towel Priscilla had discarded, and now that his panic was gone, exhaustion replaced it. He wanted to stay awake, but his alertness bled out of him like the blood from his wound. He fell asleep against the healer's tent, his last thought being whether or not Sain would forgive him.
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To be continued, obviously. Leave a review, please. They make me happy.