Was it weeks? Hours? He did not know how long he had lain in the healer's tent. He remembered drinking from a cup held to his lips, but his thirst was never really quenched. Since Sain had fallen from his horse after Kent had attacked him, he had lain in repose, too weak to be fully conscious. He had dreamed first of his friend stabbing him, laughing as he died, and then, in what may or may not have been a dream, Kent telling him that he was okay, that there was nothing to worry about. His dreams had calmed since then, his subconscious mind reassured. If Kent was okay, he would be too.
Sain opened his eyes, noting the bright outline of the sun outside the tent flap. This was the first time he had been completely aware in- well, he didn't know how long. His mind cleared, his body no longer felt weighted, and he sat up slowly, noting his surroundings.
He was in the healer's tent; he knew that much. His mouth and throat felt as dry as dust, and he wondered if he would ever escape this unnatural thirst.
That thought, though, seemed paltry compared to his concerns for Kent as the memories of his tranquility and surety while he had been asleep wore off. Had the berserk staff been disabled? Was Kent dead, slain by his own comrades for something he could not have helped? He remembered the dream he had had, Kent telling him that he was alright, but dreams were not reality. Sain could not have raised hands against the object of his innermost desires, but he could not speak for other members of the camp when faced with killing their comrade or their own death.
"You're awake!" The unusually peppy voice cut through his thoughts, and Sain slowly looked over towards the source-How could a healer be so cheerful?-and saw Serra smiling at him, her hands clasped like a little girl who had just found a new doll. Ordinarily, Sain would have taken the chance to try to win her over, but he just didn't seem to have the energy. Later, then. You don't want people wondering.
"Here, have some water!" Serra's every word seemed unusually loud, but that might just have been due to the contrast between her voice and the perfect silence that had permeated only minutes ago.
Sain tried to ignore her scrutiny as he drank from the canteen she had handed him, quickly emptying it. It only took the slightest edge off his thirst, and he looked at her expectantly for more.
Serra seemed oblivious to his longing, taking the canteen from him and tossing it over her shoulder. "You look okay now. How do you feel?" She seemed to glare at him, daring him to tell her that he felt different from how he looked. He didn't know if Serra meant to look threatening of if she wanted him out of the tent. Frankly, he didn't much care-He felt the need to see Kent, to reassure himself that he was okay. He struggled to remember what had happened. Why hadn't Kent finished him off? Had he been attacked by someone else? Sain was glad he wasn't dead, but not if Kent had paid the price instead.
Serra seemed annoyed by Sain's lack of a response. "You've been here almost three days, if you're not healed then I'm no cleric." Sain looked up at her in surprise; three days? What had happened while he had been lying here?
"The tactician wants to leave tomorrow, so we need to take the tent down." Serra raised an eyebrow at him, hoping he'd get the hint. They'd used two heal staves in order to rebuild his stamina for the blood he had lost; the tactician said that the staves must help rebuild red blood cells, or something like that. All this was lost on Sain, however.
"I'll give you time to get dressed." With that, Serra left, leaving Sain without time to form a proper witty remark. He didn't feel too slighted, though. He certainly felt weaker than usual, but not to the point where he would need aid dressing himself. The need to make sure that Kent was okay energized him.
Before he put on his shirt, one without bloodstains, he took the time to inspect his chest where the lance had run him through. Everything seemed perfect, his skin unblemished. There was, however, a tiny twinge in the muscle when he raised his arm to don his shirt-an echo of the crippling blow that had severed the tendon. Sain frowned at the memory.
When Serra came back in, Sain wanted to ask her about Kent, and then found that he could not. He was afraid of the answer he might get. Instead, he fell back to his old habits, in an attempt to reassure himself.
"So, did you get a good look at me while I was healing?" He grinned suggestively at her, and Serra huffed in anger before he retreated out the tent flap. He actually had thought that someone had removed the blanket to look at him at some point. In the dream it had been Kent, but that's all that would ever be-a dream. The thought sobered him, and convinced him to find his friend. That is, if he could be found. Don't think that way!
The sun blinded him initially, a harsh difference from the darkness of the tent. Sain walked quickly at first, and then suddenly found himself dizzy and out of breath. He leaned against a tent pole for support, cursing the tactician's haste. He would have to ride like this tomorrow, and if there was a battle he'd get left out. He resolved to renew his training as soon as possible. Kent would be proud. Sain didn't know how to feel about that.
After catching his breath, Sain stood up again, meaning to head to his tent. What if Kent wasn't there? Of course that wouldn't necessarily mean he was dead, but...
"Are you okay?" Sain looked up at Lucius, who had just emerged from the tent he had been leaning against. The feminine looking Bishop looked worried, and Sain didn't blame him. He had spent the last three days unconscious, after all.
"I'm fine." Sain said simply, smiling in order to reassure the man. He decided to put an end to his inner turmoil. "Have you seen Kent?"
"Kent?" Lucius frowned, and for a moment Sain's heart stopped. "He's probably in his tent." The completion of that sentence was like an invigorating drug to Sain. He's okay!
"He's been awfully withdrawn, though," Lucius continued, looking thoughtful. He smiled at Sain then. "Probably worried about you."
Well, nothing like my presence to put his mind at ease, Sain thought, smiling. "Thanks." He waved to Lucius before hurrying on to the tent he shared with his friend, anxious to see him. Kent may not share Sain's feelings for him, but at the moment it didn't matter. Sain wasn't selfish; his only concern was that Kent was alright.
The camp was restless, everyone preparing for the ride tomorrow. Sain walked through as purposefully as he could, trying to remember where Kent had staked their tent the day of the battle. Finally, the maroon colored tent came into view, with the pennant of the knights of Lycia flapping pathetically in the breeze.
Sain couldn't help but increase his pace, wondering how Kent would react when he saw him. Lucius had said he had been withdrawn....what was that supposed to mean? Sain was sure he would put it right. Kent couldn't have been all that worried. He approached the tent resolutely.
"Kent?" It was unusually dark inside, and Sain entered clumsily, tripping over some sort of cloth on the floor and spilling a basin of water. "Damnit!" His lack of grace was compounded by his understandable weakness.
"Who's there!?" A figure sat up at the other end of the smallish tent, peering through the gloom. "...Sain?"
Sain grinned fondly at the figure, recognizing the voice of his friend, and sat down across from him. "It's me! Serra kicked me out once I woke up, she sure is..." Sain trailed off at the lack of reception. "Man, are you okay?"
Kent covered the aching wound on his shoulder with his hand, in what was now, to him, a familiar posture. He lay shirtless, having discarded the shirt he had been wearing earlier that day when the gash had opened yet again, and Sain had tripped over it when he had come in. The water he had washed it with pooled on the floor of the tent, and he watched it intently, almost ignoring Sain. Almost. What could he say? That he was sorry? Why didn't Sain demand anything of him?
"Kent?" Kent looked up suddenly, Sain's voice now expressing concern, which he then tried to make light of. "Did I wake you up or something?"
"Sain, I..." His voice wavered, and Kent cursed his own cowardice. He had tried to visit Sain again since the time he had snuck in, but apparently the healers had grown wise to it. On top of everything else, that only made him feel worse. Kent looked down at the ground, unsure if he could meet Sain's gaze. "I'm sorry." He said it quietly, for fear his voice would break. He knew it sounded stupid, but he couldn't bring himself to say anything else.
Sain was taken aback by Kent's countenance. He looked tired, almost haggard, as he sat in the gloom of the dark tent, facing the floor. What's wrong with him? The fact that he held his hand to his shoulder so protectively was also unnerving. Then Sain looked closer, and saw dark liquid flowing between Kent's fingers-blood?
Sain was on him in an instant, tearing Kent's hand away from his shoulder, and the sight was nerve wracking. "Damn, Kent!" Sain sucked in a breath, taking in the bloody gash. No weapon he knew could result in such a torn, ugly injury. It looked like someone had taken a fork to it, and it was barely half healed.
Kent cringed away from him, but Sain caught his hand. "What happened?" Sain didn't even admire Kent's shirtless body, his eyes trained to the wound.
How could he tell him? "I...got shot." Kent said simply, his heart pounding at Sain's proximity.
"With what!?" Sain replied archly, looking his friend full in the face. He wanted to know what had happened, his morbid curiosity suddenly aroused by Kent's condition. What had done this to him? "Tell me what happened."
Kent seemed to sag, and then replied in a monotone. "Wil saw me...attack you. He shot me, to save your life. Then Priscilla restored me, and healed you, and I..." Kent left out his own certainty that he had killed his best friend before Priscilla had healed him, and his ill thought out suicide attempt directly after. He shook, and finished in a voice filled with tears. "And I'm so sorry..." He could not stifle a sob.
Sain was wrenched with emotion at seeing his friend in such a state. He guided Kent to lie down, and the redhead did so gratefully, closing his eyes as if to escape.
While Kent lay with his eyes closed, Sain quickly took a cloth and pressed it to the wound. Kent hissed in pain and struggled to sit up, but Sain held him with his free hand. "I have to wrap it up, Kent. You can't leave it like this." Sain's tone conveyed an uncharacteristic tenderness, and Kent eyed him warily before lying back down. He suddenly wanted to hope.
Sain didn't want to take Kent to a healer. He had a sense that something in Kent wouldn't let them tend to him, a stubborn, self destructive sense of justice. Sain knew more about Kent than his friend accounted for.
He wrapped the cloth tightly around the wound, wishing he could be a bit gentler but knowing that doing so would leave the possibility that the makeshift bandage would fall off. Kent cried out once when Sain cinched it, then lay panting on the floor of the tent. He looked at Sain in a way that made Sain's stomach flutter.
"Why...you didn't need to do that." Kent waited for a justification.
Sain smiled at him, and couldn't help from touching Kent's cheek tenderly. It was ironic, what with him probably physically being the weaker of the two at the moment, but he felt Kent needed more care than he did. "Of course I did. You didn't do anything to deserve an injury like that."
"But"- Kent tried to protest, but Sain wouldn't let him.
"You didn't do anything wrong. It was that staff, or the magic, or something. Besides, I'm fine."
Kent calmed down at that. Hadn't Canas said something similar only a day or so ago? It hadn't seemed to sink in until he heard it from Sain's lips. The terrible guilt and remorse seemed to melt from him then, leaving relief, and a vast yearning.
"Sain..." Kent stared at him then, trying to convey his desire. He didn't dare voice it, but it finally felt safe to hope.
Sain noticed the charge in the air, and noted the way his friend looked at him. Daring hope himself, he put aside his reservations and the carefully built subterfuge of years, and leaned down to kiss the man he had been dreaming of for what seemed an eternity.
Their kiss lasted longer than they both had expected, Sain bringing his body closer to Kent's as he lay in the tent. He avoided Kent's shoulder as their kiss deepened, the atmosphere silent, yet heavy with fulfillment.
When they finally broke apart, panting, Sain lay down next to Kent, craving closeness. His body was still weak, and he was tired even from the small effort of kissing, but his satisfaction was incredible. Kent put his good arm around him, regarding him disbelievingly, but with a great deal of contentment.
No words needed to be spoken. The love Kent harbored for Sain overrode any residual traces of guilt, and Sain lay next to him smiling, giddy as always. They would ride tomorrow, as before, Sain still weak and Kent with his shoulder wound, but for now their closeness rehabilitated them both, as it would for a long time.