The field fell momentarily silent.
Those engaged in swordplay stopped to stare at the ring in the corner. Grunts of discomfort and effort were not uncommon at nine bells in the morning but this scream shattered the relative peace of the morning with an eerie, pain laden pitch. It was not normal. Both men and women training for combat saw a small figure lying prone on the hot summer ground. Arms Master Drent bent down to kneel over his student and began to test her awareness in an uncharacteristically gentle fashion.
"Karigan," he called, sliding fingers over the tip of her collarbone and pinching slightly, being careful to avoid the scar tissue on her neck and the tips of her shoulders.
"Urgh," was all he got in reply. Looking down at her, he saw the lines of pain in her forehead deepen as she began to regain consciousness. He considered her in silence for some moments before stifling a sigh of disappointment. It's time, he thought grimly. Without moving his eyes from Karigan's face he summoned the nearest student, who ran quickly to answer the beckoning fingers. "Go to the tent and grab the slings," he demanded. The boy obeyed immediately, begging a sling with alacrity from the field nurse in one of the simulated infirmary tents set up around the perimeter of the training ground. No-one disappointed Drent if they wanted to leave their training session on time. With all their limbs attached.
Karigan forgot where she was. Her first seconds of awareness brought a sense of panic as she thought for an instant that she was in a dark hut, a long haired attacker viciously kicking her back and stab wounds over and over. Her stomach recoiled and she felt the need to scream spiral up her spine, tightness gripping her chest. She opened her eyes into slits and saw sandy brown dirt fill her vision as a warm breeze grazed her cheek. She wasn't in a hut. Her anxiety softened just enough for her to think, I'm not there.
Nyssa was not standing over her. That rope on the ground was for training, not for torture.
Squinting, she cracked her left eye further to find Drent staring directly back. Karigan hazily remembered that she had been going through the motions of a basic warm up exercise with weighted packs on her front. She had squatted down as far as she could with her injuries before rolling up into a lunge. Her feet had landed strongly and surely outside of the ring and as she had pulled her foot back she had caught the edge of the rope. The weighted pack had unbalanced her and without the flexibility and speed she had trained hard for to save her she had twisted backwards and fallen on her back, the large rope knots slamming roughly into the tenderest parts of her scarred muscles. Searing agony and darkness had followed.
Karigan groaned again. She felt less panicked as the fear subsided although this meant that the pain of her injuries ruthlessly won the competition for her attention, worsening as she grew more alert with every passing second. Her stomach pitched in a familiar cycle of intense nausea; turning her face to the ground, she heaved what little she had eaten of breakfast at Drent's feet, the act of which caused her to moan afresh as her torn muscles tightened to empty her guts. Dimly she heard him sigh before careful hands grasped her arms and feet. It felt like an interminable period of time but after what must have amounted to only a few seconds, she was rolled slowly onto her front. She panted and bit her tongue to stop from screaming.
Her eyes widened through the haze of pain as she was lifted into the air; they must have rolled her onto a stretcher. She fleetingly considered protesting and then decided it was too much effort. After what seemed like an age, a bank of cool air flowed over her exposed skin, announcing her carriage into the castle. She was hurried through the widening corridors and luckily remained blissfully unaware of the stares and whispers surrounding her entrance. The scent of herbs and soap signalled her entrance to the mending wing and her watering eyes opened to white walls passing her by. "Yayyy", she breathed, trying to sound cheerful and sweating with the effort, "more prodding." Drent squinted down at her and grinned humourlessly.
They entered a side room and gently placed the stretcher on a slab of stone, the cold causing her skin to goose bump. The scent of mint and something else vaguely healerish was very strong in the room and the air was peaceful and quiet. Feeling calmer, Karigan roused herself, preparing for the healer. A shadow crossed the threshold and her stretcher bearers stepped back immediately. She lifted her gaze to see who her assigned mender was and let out a small gasp. It couldn't be. Not here, not yet. She wasn't ready.
"Sir Karigan!" came the concerned cry, as King Zachary strode towards her, alarm crossing his features as he took in her motionless body. "I saw Drent carrying you from the upper walkway. What is wrong?!"
This isn't happening, she thought to herself desperately. I can't deal with this and…and with him!
"Your majesty…" she began before a fresh spasm of pain caused her to moan. "Wait!" she cried, as his expression morphed into worry and desperation. The earnestness and warning in her tone stopped him in his tracks. He could not come near her. Should not come near her. She did not know who Drent had carried her into the infirmary with and knew full well that in the castle, tongues were loose. She panted shallowly and tried to think.
"It was an accident. Training. Mender will be here soon. Sorry you saw. Back hurts from our mission, Sire."
She was spent, willing for him to understand her meaning. He hesitated for a moment then nodded, moving no closer towards her.
"Of course, Sir Karigan," he said gently, choosing his words carefully for the present party, his expression unreadable. "I am well acquainted with the wounds you acquired during my recent rescue. I am sorry to see they have been aggravated. I will ensure that a healer attends you immediately."
And with that he strode out of the room and out of her life once more. Huh, she thought bitterly, adding mixed emotions to how awful she felt. It was the first time she had seen him since her formal presentation of returning to court and it was not the kind of encounter she had hoped for.
Karigan cast her memory back to when she had returned from her mission North and remembered hearing servants and riders whisper behind her as she walked past, and the awkwardness she had felt. She remembered the nerve it had taken for her to walk into the throne room for her acknowledgement ceremony, knowing that every move would be watched with interest and eagerness. Knowing that the Queen would be at her husband's side, rather than her. Colonel Mapstone had paced beside her, providing silent encouragement to put one foot after another. Finally she had made it to the dais and drew up her courage to look at her king. His face filled her vision, his gaze soft and yet penetrating.
"Your majesties," she had murmured, bowing so slightly and stiffly as to be almost offensive. Sometimes, even manners and protocol couldn't be obeyed by the limitations of the human body. Estora's eyes had filled with tears as she had descended the dais, carefully placing her hands on Karigan's shoulders. Karigan dropped her gaze but Estora lifted her chin so their eyes could meet.
"Thank you," she said softly. "I can't say thank you enough times for returning my husband to me." Those words had twisted Karigan's stomach. Her husband. A blush coloured Karigan's ash cheeks.
"My lady, I am here to serve you," she had mumbled in reply. Estora talked for a few minutes about her brave deeds to the approved murmurs of the court. Karigan barely heard what she said, her heart was beating so fast. Estora's speech had ended with widespread applause and she searched Karigan's gaze for one moment more before a sad smile passed her lips and she returned to her throne. Then it was the kings turn.
Karigan's blush blossomed further and she could barely stand still, so desperate was she to fidget. She could feel his body heat approach her. She had smelt his huskiness and saw the warmth that coloured his eyes. The love. Snap out of it, she thought to herself sharply. She bowed again to break eye contact.
"Good morning," he said softly.
"Sire," she had replied, rubbing her thumb into her left palm behind her back with nervousness. "It is good to see you looking well and back in your rightful place. I trust your journey home was uneventful."
"I trust yours was?" he questioned with an arched brow. She smiled.
"It seems that has become the theme of my runs," she agreed. He laughed. Unconsciously she stepped closer and in a messenger tone, whispered, "The P'ehdrose will fight Mornhaven with you."
He gazed at her in astonishment. "Sir Karigan, you are incredible!" Turning to face his court with a clearly rehearsed speech, the king had launched the good news.
"My lords and ladies. The return of Sir Karigan G'ladheon, one of our nation's heroes, is not the only reason for joy this evening. It appears her mission north was a success and we have rekindled an ancient friendship with long forgotten neighbours in our fight against Second Empire!" Surprised murmurs were rapidly followed by a huge burst of applause. Zachary gazed at the crowd and used this screen to mumble out of the corner of his mouth, "I'm glad you came back to me safely. I missed you."