Part 2: Stars
Chapter 7
Author's Note: Warning for a nightmare sequence with some graphic/gruesome depictions of burns.
The child was shivering by the time he got back to his home. A good sign. She was no longer in danger, and humans needed to warm up slowly. Still holding her secure, he lit a fire in the spare bedroom's fireplace with a wave of his hand, and turned down the bed's blankets with another wave. Then he sat her on the bed, one arm cradling her back and head.
He looked her over for a moment. Her clothes were torn, much of it seeming to come from deliberate claw slashes, and streaked with dirt. Repairing them would be easy; but for now, they were clothes for travelling, not for resting.
Bruises, bad scrapes, minor burns, shallow scratches, and deep cuts littered the child's form. He could heal her instantly with magic, but her severe magical burns would only be aggravated by any direct spells.
He took off her boots and set them aside, and gently laid her down on the bed.
He would have to do this the old-fashioned way.
Warm.
That was what Elarion first registered. Other things came little by little.
Fire was crackling quietly nearby.
She was lying on a soft surface, something softer and slightly higher underneath her head.
A warm, comforting weight lay on top of her.
Her heavy eyelids blinked weakly, taking several tries before they stayed open, and a few moments before her blurry vision focused, allowing Elarion to see.
It was dark. But not completely dark. Dim light came from the fire, and her eyes adjusted to it.
Someone was there. Her mind was too tired to question who it was or where she was. But she remembered being afraid. Being cold.
Being rescued.
She would have jolted awake if she'd had the energy, her subconscious telling her that she needed to move, to hide, to watch for the dragon, to reach somewhere urgently – even if she couldn't consciously think those thoughts right now.
But she had made it, her memory vaguely supplied. She didn't have to worry about that anymore.
Blinking was still a herculean effort. Elarion closed her eyes.
An arm slid under her neck and shoulders, gently lifting her upper body from the soft surface she was laying on. Something nudged against her lips, and a cool liquid poured slowly into her mouth. She drank, weakly swallowing. Elarion vaguely realized she hadn't noticed just how sore her throat was until now, until this drink now soothed it and she could tell the difference.
Then the drink was pulled away, and Elarion was laid back down again.
Exhaustion pulled her back to sleep.
Someone was screaming.
No, not someone.
Many, many people.
People screamed and cried out in terror, in pain – running from and being burned by the blazing fire around them.
The heat was suffocating and the flames were all around her – bright and red and towering and violent – leaping and roaring, almost as loud as the wails. She could not make out any features; the people were dark shadows, wailing silhouettes darting frantically to and fro behind the curtain of angry red flames that surrounded her.
The fire's roar grew angrier –
No, that wasn't the fire –
Elarion looked up, coughing, trying to breathe against the heat that made the air thick.
A dragon – red and angry and monstrous – loomed above, its roaring shaking the ground, making the flames leap higher and higher as if strengthened by its call to attack, to destroy. More fire streamed from its mouth, to engulf the screaming people – and their screams grew hoarser and more desperate – people who she knew were her friends and neighbors and relatives.
Relatives.
Fear coursed through her, launching her from where she had been rooted to the spot in the other form of terror. Elarion raced through the flames and broke out from the circle, crying out and yet uncaring at the searing pain from being burned, uncaring of her clothes – the hem and sleeves and skirt of her dress – catching fire, smaller flames latching onto them. She sped past half-destroyed houses and half-swallowed buildings, looking for one, one particular home –
There –
Elarion burst into the house. Her mother was there, and her aunt –
"Mom! Aunt Sabra! We need to go –!"
Her mom's voice was cold, interrupting Elarion and stopping her in her tracks.
"This is your fault."
As her mother and aunt stood in front of her, burns began to appear on their skin – horrible, red, painful-looking burns.
"You did this."
Elarion shook her head frantically. "No, I –."
Another voice she recognized. "All your fault."
Elarion whirled around. Her cousin stood behind her. The burns on his skin grew with each passing moment, spreading until every inch of him was a mix of red and black, charred.
She stepped back, eyes wide. She looked back to her aunt and her mother, their skin just as charred, then back to her cousin.
Their skin began to bubble, like something thick boiling –
"Your fault!" All three of them snarled at her in unison.
Elarion stumbled back in horror, tripping over her own feet and landing the wooden floor with a hard thump. She still scrambled backwards. Tears pricked her eyes, then fell down her cheeks.
"No, no! No, please! I was only trying to help! I only wanted to –!"
Boiling – and then their skin began to melt, the charred and the red dripping and sliding off their bodies like wax of a candle set fully aflame.
"This is all your fault!"
She helplessly reached out her hand toward her mother, who was dying before her eyes.
No, no, this couldn't be happening, this couldn't be happening!
Elarion screamed, voice caught on a heaving sob.
"NO! NO!"
"No! No, please! Please!"
She woke with a cry. She didn't have the strength to thrash, but her muscles trembled as if she were still shivering from the harsh cold, despite the warmth draped over her, and her heart was pounding.
Mom! Eli!
"Shhhh. Shhhh…." A voice – the same voice as before, she vaguely remembered – hushed her. Deep, soft, and soothing. Warm arms enveloped her, lifting Elarion slightly off the bed and cradling close her against something even warmer.
"Mom –." Her voice came out a choked, weak sob. Her face was wet. Tears ran down her cheeks, and she sobbed, though they sounded more like whimpers.
"Shhhh…. You are safe," the voice said, reassuring. "You are safe."
Safe.
Elarion's heart calmed slowly. The voice began humming, a soft, slow, soothing melody. Like a lullaby. Tears still dripped from her eyes, remnants of the flood of fear, grief, and desperation from her nightmare. A few more sobs escaped her before her breathing calmed and evened out.
She blinked droplets from her eyes. Fingers brushed gently against her cheek, wiping away her tears. Anchored back more-or-less in the waking world, the events of the nightmare faded from her tired mind.
"It's alright, now," he hushed.
Now that she was calmer, Elarion could feel a slight burning ache in her muscles, but it was numbed, barely there. Nothing like it had been before. She blinked again, slowly, her eyes slightly heavy. She was sleepy now. But her vision cleared, and she looked around to take in her surroundings.
The light was still dim, and somewhat blocked by the figure holding her. Her gaze drifted to her side. She couldn't see his face very well in the dark, barely making out the shape of his chin, the lower ends of what seemed to be bright diamonds on his cheeks. Small lights blinked along the figure's arm, and Elarion found herself staring at it, both a little mesmerized and content to just let her eyes linger.
It was warm.
Safe.
Elarion reached out her hand – perhaps for comfort, for contact, to thank him. Star-speckled indigo met warm brown. Shifted slightly, to hold her tighter, the voice still humming that soft, gentle tune. Elarion relaxed more fully into the arms that held her, listening to it. Fingers brushed against her forehead and cheek as her eyes grew heavier, then over her hair, and she slipped into sleep.
Bathing her and tending to her wounds was a simple, efficient affair. Though he used no sleep spell, the child did not wake at all, or even stir, as he washed off the dirt and blood with warm water in the large bathtub, or as he scooped her up and dried her off, bundled in a large, soft towel, then bandaged her burns, gashes, and scrapes after applying salve and medicine to sooth them and prevent infection.
He had no clothing her size, but it was easy enough to make them; a spell to resize one of his simple white sleeping shirts, and he could do the same with a few other of his robes, along with a shift in the folding of their cloth to mimic the style of human dresses, should the child have need of them once she recovered. But, now was not the time for that.
Thankfully, the gashes on her back were not critically deep. The dragon that had caused them – he had seen plenty enough marks of dragon claws to recognize them for what they were – had been toying with her. His eyes narrowed, and he let out a "tsk."
That dragon was lucky that it was not within his sensory range.
Finished with what he could to for now, he laid the child down on the bed, carefully arranging her so that she did not put pressure on the wounds on her back, and then gently spreading white sheet and soft, thin, blue blanket over her sleeping form up to her shoulders.
The child awoke twice in the night. The first time, she was barely awake, but enough that he could give her water mixed with medicine.
The second time she awoke, it was from the throes of a night terror, her shout rough and shrill, crying and pleading. He was quick to rush to her side, and sat on the bed scooped her up in his arms, blankets, sheets, and all, reassuring her that she was safe, wiping the tears from her cheeks, and humming a lullaby he once heard. She calmed down after that. She reached out and placed a bandaged hand on his right arm, before falling asleep once more.
He waited for a few minutes, cradling her and humming, brushing her now-clean hair away from her face. Then he laid her back down, and went back to his chair a small distance from the bed.
Of course she had a fever.
Not from her wounds; he'd tended to them and kept an eye on them well enough that they didn't gain any infection.
No. This was from magical shock, most likely – he felt a flare of irritation, towards the elves who had done this to her, at the thought. And exhaustion, too, likely played a factor. Her scraped hands, and the recentness of the wounds when he had found her, told him that she had been climbing up the mountain's cliffs not long before – an arduous feat, especially for a child. Especially with being attacked by dragon.
Her magical burns had not yet healed – and they would have to do so mostly on their own, within a few days, with some medicine to ease the process along – so applying a cooling spell to her skin was out of the question. A hand gently placed on her forehead, he let out a short, irritated sigh. The fever had set on quickly, and her temperature was nearly dangerously high.
He gently ran a soft, cool, damp cloth along her face, and placed one on her forehead and another underneath her neck, to try and lower her temperature. The child didn't stir, just let out a small, barely-audible whimper at being moved when he lifted her head to place the cloth. Another round of medicine was in order – for the burns, and the pain they were causing her. And to lower her temperature.
Lifting up her head again to cradle it in the crook of his elbow, the child letting out a louder, more pained whine, her brow knit in discomfort, he hushed her softly and coaxed her into drinking some more medicine, mixed with another blend of herbs to lower the fever. The child's agonized sounds and expression eased, and he lowered her head back onto the pillow.
A short time later, he changed the cloths on her forehead and under her neck. This time, there were no sounds of pain. He cradled the child's cheek in his palm as settled her head down again, gently rubbing the heated skin.
Her temperature was still too high. If her fever didn't go down soon, he would have to give her another bath.
He would not let her die in his care.