Chapter 5: Healing

The walls of the room felt restricting to Amanda, and she was unsettled. Her parents and brother had eaten well and were resting comfortably around the rooms Arthur had set aside for them, but the furnishings and food offered no comfort for her. She paced as best her knee would allow for what felt like an eternity. Jols and Galahad had left them hours ago, and though her body was weary her mind was alert through the night.

It was a strange thing, feeling concern for people one hardly knows. They were Knights, and had seen countless battles, and this one was not great by any measure. She was sure that Arthurs' army dwarfed the Saxon force that had ventured south to Camelot, and that their skill outmatched them. Yet, there she paced, back and forth, feeling worry for their well-being.

She supposed that she worried because she had brought these Saxon here. Not in the sense that she plotted treason, and she was rarely the type to assume that bad things only happened because she was involved – that was foolish. She had hoped for at least a days' rest before the Saxon army had marched. She had hoped that they had escaped in a manner that brought on no suspicion.

Her hand found its way to her thigh as she walked, and she felt her knee forcing her to sit. Against the wall was a large bench with an assortment of comfortable looking pillows of fur. Settling there, her hand snaked over her knee and her eyes borrowed into the stone wall across from her. She resented the way she was being kept here, but was happy to have had her knee tended to by one of the healers of the palace. The pain had lessened significantly, and her mother had looked on it favorably. Her mother was a skilled healer, and knew ways in which to relieve pain and suffering of many. The only person her mother constantly struggled with was her father. His health had failed him in recent years, but had taken a sudden turn for the worse when Amanda came to him with her news. The news that drove them from their home…the news that drove them from Rome…

"Amanda," said her mother, "what is wrong?" Amanda looked up at her mother.

"Nothing," she answered quickly. "I am fine." She gave her mother a reassuring smile, but knew that the woman saw through it. Her mother shifted in her position beside Amanda's sleeping father, and Amanda directed her gaze to the door that Galahad had left through so long ago.

"Do you think that the battle is over?" Nicolarious asked. Amanda looked at him and shook her head.

"I don't know," she murmured.

"I know we will win," he replied, smiling. Amanda smiled at her brother. He had previously been in training with the Roman army. He was loath to leave it behind, but their father had resumed his teaching since coming to Camelot. It was now Nicolarious' dream to fight with Arthur. Especially after the man had so readily agreed to find and return with Amanda.

"What?" asked Nicolarious. Amanda looked at him and shook her head to indicate that it was nothing. Amanda rested her head up against the wall, her hand finding her aching knee, and her eyes closing, trying to picture the battle field. She had been trained to fight by her father, after a series of unfortunate mishaps has befallen her and her family. She often dreamed of a day when she, as a woman, would be allowed to take a stand on a battlefield. She felt a small amount of terror for the men that were fighting as she sat in the safety of the Kings castle with her loved ones.

Beyond the walls Amanda found so constraining, the battle was beginning to slow. The Woads had dealt many blows and sent many other Saxon men running, but their leader was not so ready to give up. He urged them on, desperate to find Arthur on the field and strike him down. He was a skilled fighter, but it took him long to fight his way through Camelot's men.

Arthur kept a close watch on his Knights but they were victorious over all enemies wherever they went. He had dismounted his horse some time ago and walked amongst his men. From a distance, he spotted the Saxon leader fighting his way through a throng of his men. He was heading in a direction away from Arthur, and for a short while the King examined the way the Saxon moved and wielded his blade. He was not an untalented swordsman, but his every move was tainted with passion and rage – sometimes those feelings could aid a fighter, but more often they were distracting. They opened up a body for mistakes, and Arthur knew that this would be his advantage.

He followed the leader's footsteps on the field, angling to encounter him. He gripped his sword as he drew closer, the leader looking about wildly for Arthur. Finally, he spotted his target, and turned immediately to face him. Arthur was confronted with the man who held a sword in his hand, the time passed for all talking. The rage that coursed through the Saxon's veins was a liability, and Arthur easily blocked his first blow, moving away and moving to land his blade on his arm that was barely pushed off.

This is going to be easy, thought Arthur. Little did he know what was lying behind him. The Saxon took swing after swing at Arthur, and he blocked them with ease. Inching up behind him however was a large man, taller than Dagonet when he stood with his shoulders erect. The Saxons weapon was an axe; he lifted it high above his head ready to bring it crashing down on his enemy. Arthur looked into the leaders eyes, which were averted behind him, on the other Saxon. Arthur spun around, stabbing the Saxon in his stomach. The leader let out a cry of anger as he moved into to strike Arthur. Arthur dodged it for its original target, but was cut in the stomach. Arthur lifted his sword and finished him off, with one mighty blow in his throat. Clutching his stomach, Arthur groaned in some pain. Arthur took several deep breaths in, looking around him at all the dead bodies. He knew he was in no mortal danger, but the pain was fresh and his hand was coated in his own blood. Cheers erupted around him as the Saxon company realized their leader was dead and began dropping their weapons in surrender. Just as Arthur felt a weakness coming over him, he found his side supported by Gawain.

"We are victorious," he said, his eyes looking over Arthurs body. Arthur smiled, and sighed in relief.

"I am in need of the Caretaker," he said. Gawain nodded in understanding, helping Arthur back into the city.

She had heard the ringing of trumpets some time ago, but was occupied in the Caretakers rooms. She and her mother had offered assistance to the healers, knowing that the wounded from the battle would need attending and the healers could likely use the help. Amanda had been relieved to find some occupation, though the Caretaker repeatedly asked if she would rather be resting her knee.

Some time after victory had been announced and there was excitement in the healing chambers, Amanda heard the sound of wood hitting stone as many doors were thrown open. In poured several bodies, two of which were crying out in pain. The Caretaker and his healers fled to these new men, and it was clear to Amanda and her mother that their wounds were grave.

Her eyes turned to the door again to see Gawain entering, helping Arthur through the doors. She kept her distance, ringing out a blood stained cloth into her basin of hot water and returning to the man she had been tending to. Stealing a glance at the men who had rescued her but hours before this all began, she saw the Caretaker set Arthur down on a table and consult with him. Arthur pushed him away, gesturing to the men that had been brought in.

He is wounded but he turns away the man who can help him, she thought, her eyes narrowing. She understood that his wound must not be as pressing as the others, and she turned her mind back to the man lying before her. He was unconscious, but she pressed the warm cloth to his shoulder, gently cleaning the arrow wounds there. He would survive as long as a fever did not take hold of him.

"Amanda!" she heard her mother call. Setting aside her tools she rose and looked for her, eyes scanning the room. "Amanda, over here!"

She spotted her mother by where she had seen Arthur. As she walked there she wiped her hands on her apron, trying to get all the blood and dirt off before greeting her King and one of his Knights.

"Your Majesty," Amanda said breathlessly, her voice stolen when she saw the blood covering Arthurs middle.

"He is all right," said Gawain. "Just needs some bandaging."

"The Caretaker is needed elsewhere, but if your mother and you are unoccupied, I would appreciate the help," Arthur said with a small smile. Her mother was already preparing a bowl of hot water and gathering some herbs to ease his pain. Amanda nodded, and moved forward to help Arthur out of his leather jerkin and shirt. When he had settled on the table Amanda's mother assessed the wound. It was deep in one spot, but thinned and lessened as it crossed his midsection, stopping just above his navel.

"Where is he?" asked Bors from the doorway, concern written on his face.

"Here," answered Gawain. "Just a scratch, don't worry you great pansy." Bors scowled when he took his place beside Gawain, and Amanda noted Galahad's appearance as well.

"This wound is going to need stitches," said Amanda's mother. Amanda nodded in agreement.

"Then can you do it?" asked Gawain.

"None of us are any good at it," said Galahad.

"He'll be bleeding again by dawn," said Bors.

"Please, do not ask this of the Caretaker and healers, they have more pressing things to attend to," Arthur stated resolutely. Amanda looked to her mother.

"I'm sorry, my lord, but I am unable. My eyes are not good enough anymore. But, I am certain Amanda can do it. She's stitched up Nicolarious many times," said her mother. Amanda looked at her in shock.

"I-I- I can't stitch him up!" exclaimed Amanda, trying to think of an excuse.

"Oh, please, you are perfectly capable and have a steady hand. He will only need three or four in this part here," said her mother, pointing to the deeper part of the gash near Arthur's ribcage. Amanda swallowed hard as she examined the wound. Closing her eyes for a moment, she felt her heart hammering in her chest. It wasn't the wound that frightened her – it was the pressure of stitching up the man who she called King.

"Have you the needle and thread?" she asked softly. She looked at Arthur and found him to be smiling softly at her. She sighed, flexing her right hand into a fist and then back out again. Taking up the jar of crushed herbs her mother had laid out she poured a small amount into the hot water. She concentrated solely on the water, mixing it around with the cloth. Arthur must have gestured the Knights away because Amanda felt many pairs of eyes leave her. Her heart slowed some, and as she soaked the cloth in the mixture she felt calm and focused. Wringing it out, she looked back at the wound and began to clean it. She started at the end near his navel, and saw goosebumps come over his skin when she pressed it to the pale skin there.

"Sorry," she murmured, "I should have warned you that it is hot."

"It feels nice," Arthur returned, and Amanda stole a glance at him again. He had closed his eyes and she felt herself smile at his words. Her mother placed the needle and thread on the table beside the bowl, and she nodded to her daughter.

"If you need me, I will be just over here." Amanda nodded in return to her mother, and was once again alone with Arthur. She pressed the cloth to the entire wound, wiping away the dried blood and dust gently, sensitive to not causing him any more pain. Taking up a numbing serum of the Caretakers own making and applied it to the skin around his wound. Amanda was not as graceful or as skilled a healer as her mother, but she did her very best for Arthur that day.

She took in a deep breath, picking up the needle and thread, searching for the end to make a knot.

"I am confident in your skills, for what it's worth," Arthur said, his voice quiet enough for only her to hear.

"I wouldn't give me any glowing remarks until I have finished the task, Your Majesty," she replied, gritting her teeth in anticipation. Arthur let out a small chuckle, then abruptly stopped due to the pain. "Sorry," she murmured.

She placed her hand down on the top of his stomach in order to make her first stitch. Arthur gasped and his stomach contracted with his sharp inhale.

"What? Have I hurt you?" Amanda asked anxiously.

"No," he answered, his eyes wide and locked on hers, "your hands. They are like ice!"

Amanda smiled and shook her head at herself, setting down the needle. "I apologize, Your Majesty." She lifted her hands to her mouth and exhaled on them, rubbing vigorously to warm them. "They are normally like that." She placed her hand lightly on his stomach and looked at him

"Better?" she asked.

"Much," he answered. Amanda looked down at the wound and began her work. Arthur winced slightly at the pain, and then looked up at Amanda.

"How were you taken by those Saxons?" he asked. Amanda's eyes widened slightly, startled at the question. She did not look away from her work, afraid that she would twist the needle or mutilate his flesh accidentally and wound him further.

"I had ventured off the path I had been taking when I was confronted with three of the company's scouts. I was outnumbered, and unarmed, and I knew they could not be from Camelot. Fighting them off proved to be worthless, as the wound on my knee can attest," said Amanda. Arthur nodded but asked her no more questions on the matter. Amanda felt her own questions burning in her throat. She patiently continued her work, deciding that she would only ever have this one opportunity to question Arthur.

"Tell me, Your Majesty, why did you come save me? Was it because it was asked of you? Perhaps it was because you felt pity for my family? Or because you thought it was your obligation as King?" asked Amanda. Arthur tilted his head to the side, looking at Amanda. She still refrained from looking at him, though she was nearly finished with the stitches.

"I suppose, Mistress Marslyn, it is a combination of all of those things," he said. Finally, with those words, Amanda looked up at him with a questioning look.

"I do not understand," she said.

"Foremost, I made an oath to the people of Camelot when I took this throne of loyalty and fidelity. I understand this duty as extending aid and assistance to any citizen in any situation, and I preform this duty to the best of my ability. Your family felt a keen pain while you were missing. It is a pain I have known before, and I desired to prevent any more pain from coming to them," he answered. Amanda nodded in comprehension and returned her eyes to her work, her hands pulling through the last stitch to the knot. She had not expected Arthur to continue. "I wanted to 'save' you, Amanda. I wanted to because no person should be subject to pain through want of revenge. The use of people in political ploys is rarely acceptable, and it is that reasoning that called me from behind the walls of this city and find you." Amanda had returned her gaze to him when he used her first name, and had remained there, transfixed in his gaze, as he explained a reasoning she never would have thought to be privy to. In that moment she saw not a King, but a man who was resilient to corruption and greed that many before him in other lands had succumbed to. Her mind flitted to the Rome she had left, and saw how remarkably different Arthur was from those men. She saw his expression change slightly, and she was suddenly aware of her staring at him. She felt some color rush to her cheeks as she looked away, back to the thread she was holding. Knotting it once more, she leaned down so her face was but centimeters away from his skin. Her movement startled Arthur some, thinking for a moment she was going to press her lips to his skin. She held the thread taught in her fingers, and bit one end in her mouth and pulling against her hand so the thread.

"Well," she said as she removed the excess thread from her mouth, "I did not thank you properly. I owe you my life." She moved her body away from him some, and managed a smile.

"You are most welcome," he answered, still caught off guard by her abruptness.

"I suggest you rest, Your Highness. It would be a shame if these stitches came undone. Let me just wrap this bandage around you and you'll be free to go." Amanda unwound the fresh bandages and helped Arthur sit up so that she could wrap them around his middle. She secured them in a knot around him and, when she had finished, looked up at him. She curtsied awkwardly to him.

"Your Majesty," she said, then turned and walked away. He watched her go for a moment, his brow knitted together in study.

"Amanda!" he called, sliding himself off the table carefully. "Wait!" Amanda turned back to him, surprised once more at his use of her first name. He had addressed her as Mistress previously, and felt most comfortable with this layer of formality between them. He was a King, and she a commoner.

"May I help you?" she asked walking back towards him, though she desperately wished to be very distant from him. He had unsettled her in a peculiar way, and she wasn't sure she wanted to continue being in his presence.

"There is something the matter," he stated. Amanda inhaled deeply, and searched for an explanation. She looked to her hands, her fingers wiggling nervously under his close inspection.

"I believe my body is beginning to feel the stress of the Saxons and the last few hours of work," she replied, forcing a smile. "I would very much like to return home with my family."

"I believe Gawain took them down to the hall for dinner," said Arthur. After she helped him back into his shirt, Arthur extended his arm to Amanda. She took it reluctantly, and allowed herself to be slowly led down to the hall. The hall was grand and stately, filled with a few of Arthur's captain and higher ranking officers who were also eating and resting after the battle. Maids went from table to table, offering roasted pig, bread, cheese and wine. Amanda spotted her family some ways up, surrounded by Arthurs Knights, a woman and several children.

"Ah," called Galahad from the table, lifting his glass, "here they are. Have you pieced him back together, Mistress Marslyn?" Amanda smiled warmly at him, and took a seat beside her brother.

"I beg of you, call me Amanda," she said. "Yes, I believe His Majesty will be well enough if he heeds reason and rests."

"Indeed, I am in need of it," he answered. He took a place on the other side of the table and began to fill his plate while Amanda was introduced to Bors' wife, Vanora, and several of their children. She took some water and began to eat when her father started to cough.

Amanda and Nicolarious knew he was unwell, but the cough that constantly plagued him was getting worse in the damp air. Amanda looked to him as he struggled to catch his breath, and her mother put a hand to his back protectively. Arthur and his Knights exchanged a concerned glance.

"I beg your pardon," her father finally said, his face red. "I cannot rid myself of it."

"If you are ever in need, you are more than welcome to the healers here," Arthur said. "I have been told of your wife's skills, but the doors remain open if you feel you need them."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," her mother said, and she bowed her head to him.

After their meal Amanda was eager to go home. Her knee was incredibly sore and all she wanted to do was sleep in her own bed. Nicolarious had taken to Gawain, and the two joked with each other while horsing around, and some of Bors eldest boys told him they would come calling to play. Amanda was relieved that her brother would have new friends, as he had little success since they had moved. Vanora was kind to her mother, and they talked the entire way from the Hall to the steps of the palace. Amanda walked ahead of her family, grumbling to herself that now was not the time for them to be chit-chatting. Turning back to give her mother an impatient expression, she was surprised to find her father and Arthur in close-council. She studied the pair for a moment, wondering what on Earth her father could have to say to Arthur. She felt guilty in an instant, as she figured her father was probably thanking the King for rescuing Amanda. Arthur suddenly turned his eyes to Amanda, and caught her staring. She held her breath, but did not look away, her back straightening in her own pride.

Finally, he turned back to her father and patted his shoulder. Amanda looked away from him, feeling annoyed again that her family could not gather together and return home.

"I know, daughter, I know," her father said, coming down the steps to meet her. "All you want is rest."

"Yes," she groaned, "more than anything."

"Come then, your brother and mother can catch up," he said. They walked on in silence for a while before Amanda couldn't keep from asking any longer.

"What did His Majesty have to say?" she asked. Her father smiled at the ground.

"I thanked him for returning you to us," he answered. "He would not hear of it, and informed me that he would be paying us all a visit in the coming days."

Amanda looked away from her father. She would have to see him again?

She crossed her arms over her chest, not entirely sure that she was open to the idea.