Sight

...x...

He couldn't see her and it troubled him greatly.

Where was she?

The attack had come so quickly, so suddenly, but she couldn't have been affected by it. Not yet. Could she? She had to still be here somewhere. From atop his horse he scanned the turmoil of people, seeking but not finding. Everywhere, people swarmed for their swords, their axes, their lances, their tomes. But she was not among them. He sought to identify her by her characteristic traits. Her gait, her height, her ponytail, anything familiar to catch his eye. He vaguely heard someone address him, but he paid them no mind, that is, he didn't until he felt his horse jerk beneath him. He took his eyes from his more distant gazing to see the person below him, loosely holding his horse's head by the bridle.

"Kent, I-"

He shook his head interrupting, "I am sorry, Sir Mark, but I need to find Lady Lyndis. She may be in need of my aid." He inclined his head in apology as he pulled his horse a different direction, "If you'll excuse me." Mark stared open-mouthed for a moment, but let the bridle go. There was no stopping the cavalier when he was fixated on his duty, of that there was no doubt. It was best to let him do as he would, besides, it was not like he needed guidance or anything; his decisions were sound enough.

Trotting his horse across the camp, Kent sought to find her closer to the tents, perhaps she was still inside one. Perhaps she had been- there! There by the edge of the Merlinus's wagon, she was affixing her blade to her hip. He hastened to her side, she seemed well enough from a distance, but he could not be sure. If anything had happened to her...

"Lady Lyndis, are you well?"

She looked up at him, as if surprised he had found her, "Yes. Yes of course. I'm fine, Kent. "

"The attack did not affect you in any way?"

She knelt down and began fiddling with the ties at her calves, "Of course not. I am here and well, am I not?"

"Then, Lady Lyndis, please, allow me to accompany you into battle."

"Kent, it's fine. I'll be fine." She assured him hastily, tugging at the edge of her boot before rising back to a standing position, "I'll be with Hector and Eliwood, and I'm sure Mark needs your skills better elsewhere. So go. I'll be okay."

He looked down at her dubiously, but she held her earnest expression. After a moment, he slowly nodded before carefully wheeling his horse around. With a last unsettled glance at his lady, he spurred his horse away to re-locate their tactician for his orders.

...x...

The battle was long and arduous, but they seemed to be holding the advantage, despite their initial lack of preparation. Injuries had so far been relatively few and less than critical. The enemy was slowly falling back, their numbers steadily declining. To say that this gave them something of an air of arrogance would not overstate things. They were doing well, marvelously so and there was no reason such things should not continue.

This, of course, did not go unnoticed by their foe. They knew they were losing the battle, but the concept of 'winning' in general was perhaps a little different to them. Their goal was not necessarily to destroy, though such an outcome would not be undesirable. They simply fought. They felt no pain, nor emotion at their loss of life nor that of their comrades. This was not an unknown fact.

They were not there for the entire army anyway. They had specific orders and, so long as they were carried out, it did not matter if they were decimated to the last. They would have 'won' in their eyes and have accomplished their purpose as they had been instructed. They would feel nothing afterwards, but that was a matter of inconsequence. They would not know they had missed anything.

As they fought, a group of them managed to back their targets against a cliff, restlessly pursuing them, never pausing between attacks and slashes, nor hesitating when comrades fell. They had done them a great service, grouping themselves as they had. Their targets, the little lordling leaders of the pitiful, motley swarm of humans resisting their master, had all decided to fight together and had been easy to separate from the body of the annoying and obstructive passel of human wretches.

They were resilient against their inevitable end. Cornered as they were, however, they would succumb eventually. They appeared well-suited and resistant to their barrage of physical attacks, blade, axe, and lance alike, but this was easily amendable. One of their own, trained in magics rather than steel, separated itself from their organized assault, darting around their field of battle with calculated purpose. It sought a suitable location, a bit of height, and, finding an acceptable location, withdrew a yellow tome from the folds of its dark cloak. Without removing its eyes and focus from its target, it ripped one page from the center and fisted the parchment in its hand, murmuring words unintelligible to any but itself. Once the page was alight and had become a living charge of electricity, it let the magic fly.

The bolt seared through the air and splintered the cliffside. The lordlings below barely had time to look up and register what had occurred before great chunks of rock broke free and cascaded downwards. Largely transfixed by their rapidly approaching demise, none of them could think to move out of the way; they only braced themselves for painful impact, throwing their arms over their faces as they were veritably crushed beneath the landslide.

Some of its own kind were caught in the attack, crushed just as their targets had been. It didn't matter though. They had accomplished their task. Regardless of the outcome of the battle, they had succeeded in what they had intended.

...x...

Damn it all.

How long? How long had she been veritably buried beneath that mass of boulders before she and the others were found? Was she even still alive after it all?

His fault. His. He should have been at her aid. He should have insisted on accompanying her.

He practically leapt from his horse the moment he had been able to return to the main camp. The low sun cast long shadows everywhere, warping his perception of the layout. Which one? Which one would it be? Tightly fisting his horse's reins, he took a fast pace, striding through the camp in search of the healers and their patients.

Crushed. Crushed. By a landslide, no less. All three of the lords affected and no one else had been near enough to stop it. There was no excuse. All of them could have died, may still die, for everyone's negligence. Unacceptable. Everything.

Peering past aisles of tents, he caught sight of a pair of pink pigtails swinging as their owner spoke to a demure redhead, gesturing to and with a held staff and to the tent beside them. Kent increased his speed, nearly yanking his horse behind him as he took off for the cleric.

"Serra." He spoke after he had arrived and composed himself.

She turned to him after handing Priscilla the staff in her hand, exhaustion clear in her features. "Sir Kent." She had been expecting him; the unsaid words followed, hanging in the air.

"Is she within?"

She bit her lip and twirled one of her pigtails around her forefingers."Yes."

That was all he needed to know. He nodded in ascension and began to walk towards the tent.

Serra interposed herself between him and his destination, putting a restraining hand to his breastplate, "Sir Kent, you must understand. She's not fully healed yet, and it will still be a long time and many treatments before she is." She locked eyes with him, intending to identify whether or not he did understand, and was, unsurprisingly, met with his characteristic grim features. She sighed. "Very well. But be sure you do not let any extra light in, she needs the darkness right now. I will be joining you in a moment, I have something to attend first. I trust you can behave yourself until then."

His expression still did not change, but he gave a short not. She nodded to him in return, accepting the answer and stepped aside to allow him entry, taking the reins from his hands so he would not have to worry about his steed wandering off.

He drew back the flap of the tent and bowed his head inside. Various healing implements were scattered on the ground near a small cot, an indication of the myriad procedures the patient had so far been subject to. He took a few steps forward so that he could see the figure which lay haphazardly on top the cot. Even with the warnings he had been given, he could hardly have been any less prepared for the sight which greeted him.

Her body was broken. Even with the healing sessions she'd had so far, she was still quite far from any degree of respectable health. What he could see of her skin was still peppered with dark, ugly bruises and vicious cuts and scars. Several of her fingers, her upper arms, and her head were all bandaged tightly, many of the cloths soiled with blood. Through the sheet which lay over her lower half, he could see that her legs had not yet been healed into proper alignment, and twisted inward slightly.

As he approached her, her eyes fluttered open and she turned towards him. Something was wrong, though. Her vision wavered over and around the short path he was walking on, unable to focus on a single spot.

She could not see properly.

A wave of guilt and ice flooded his senses, darker and stronger than when he'd first heard news of the cruelty which had befallen her. The landslide had left her virtually blind and it was his fault, his for not being there for his lady. His inattentiveness had cost her her sight and nearly her life. He had to say something, anything, but she shook her head and waved her hands in the air, cutting his thoughts off before he could even form a word.

"No, don't tell me. I want to find out for myself." She gestured for him to come closer and, after missing it a few times, patted a stool that had been placed near her. Filled with uncertainty, Kent walked over and seated himself before her. She smiled up at him and reached towards his face, making motions indicating she wanted him to bend down over her, an inclination he readily obeyed.

He sat and waited patiently as her fingertips explored his face, lightly tracing the lines and grooves, 'seeing' him with her hands. He watched her forehead pile up with creases as she took the information and processed it within, forming a picture in her mind. As her fingers played across the down-turned corners of his mouth, her face split into a warm smile of complete recognition and she peacefully exhaled, "Kent." It seemed the brilliant tone of his hair was not necessarily his most identifiable feature; though, admittedly, it would have been a useless one in this instance.

He nodded beneath her hand, "Milady."

Silence again fell between them before he felt it was appropriate to speak. "Forgive me, Lady Lyndis, I should have been available to you. My lack of presence and foresight was inexcusable. I cannot--" She effectively silenced his words by placing her forefinger over his lips (after missing them a couple times at first) and shook her head lightly. The corners of her eyes creased with her gentle, understanding smile.

"No, Kent. Do not say that. If you had been there, you would have been crushed the same as I, perhaps even worse. After all, I told you to leave, did I not?"

"Even so, better myself than you, Lady Lyndis."

Her brows raised with concern and... hurt? "No, Kent. My life is not worth that of anyone else's and certainly not yours. You do not need to think such things."

His eyes remained fixated on her face and the expressions that crossed it as she spoke. She radiated such compassion for him and yet she was the one lying in the healer's cot battered and beaten. Why? Why did she feel such a thing for him? It was his responsibility, his duty to keep her safe. If she denied him his purpose, then what was her true impression of him? What was her impression of herself? Duty aside, even, he regarded it an honor to serve and protect her. She was worth it. And yet... it seemed to trouble her.

He took a breath, "Re... regardless, I--" Kent was interrupted by the rustle of the tent flap behind him. Serra had slipped inside and was tugging the entry closed behind her once more. In her hand, she held a healing staff not unlike the ones laying beneath and around the cot Lyndis was laying on.

Seeing this and knowing what was about to come, he began to feel he should leave before the entry was sealed off. Healing was a very personal and very painful experience. Surely his lady would not appreciate him intruding on such a thing with his obtrusive presence. He began to rise, but quickly halted when he felt Lyndis's hand grasp his own.

She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth and blinked anxiously between him and the direction of the coming healer, her fearful and unseeing eyes entreating him to stay.

Kent had never particularly been known for having an empathetic nature. He had, in fact, gathered many epithets and descriptors throughout his service in Caelin relating to impressions of quite the opposite. Both behind his back and to his face he had been hailed as uptight, stiff, a hard case, a stick in the mud, 'Sir Serious', 'Mother' (by one particular individual who only called him that at the risk of his own hide), and 'FunKiller' among a broader variety of choices (many more 'colorful' than the last).

And yet, when she squeezed his hand and looked at him in that way, he felt compelled to stay, as if her touch had been as strong as steel rather than almost feather-light. Without thinking, he gently slid his fingers into her palm, lightly brushing her knuckles with his thumb as he re-seated himself upon the stool. He felt her squeeze his hand again and manage a shaky smile of gratitude at his continued presence.

Serra spared barely a glance in his direction before she began to set up for her procedure. Gingerly, she reached for Lyndis's head and began to unwind the bandage that was coiled around her temples. As she removed it, Kent could clearly see the ugly dark blotches resulting from where she had been struck by the falling debris earlier. It was a miracle she had survived, he imagined. Serra sat herself sideways behind Lyndis and lay her staff in her lap. Very carefully, she tilted her patient's head so it lay flat in front of her, and instructed her to close her eyes. Before beginning, however, she wrapped the soiled cloth over the crystal of her staff until it was completely hidden from view. The magic could be dulled but, that way, the brilliant glow that accompanied light magics would not ruin Lyndis's delicate lack of sight.

With some difficulty, she managed to prop the staff between her knees. She carefully put her palms over either side of the wrapped crystal, coaxing a faint glow from within them. She held her hands there for some time until the glow had transferred to her hands, whereupon she could now direct the energies of it as she would. She placed her hands over either side of Lyndis's head, gently pressing her thumbs into her temples. Lyndis emitted a small whine of fear and squeezed Kent's hand tightly. He was not entirely sure what his appropriate response should be, though he settled for stroking her knuckles lightly with his thumb.

She soon began to grip his hand with an increased intensity, however, once Serra truly began to implement the healing magic. Tears came unbidden to her eyes and she fought fiercely not to cry out at the incredible fire blazing in her head. Kent felt himself drawn forward as she pulled his hand closer to grasp with her other hand. Though still improperly bent, she began to raise her legs and push on the cot with her feet in feeble effort to escape to pain of the spell channeled by Serra's hands. When she was finally released from the excruciating experience, she whimpered a little and turned on her side, breathing intermittently in shudders.

Kent felt compelled to do something, anything. It was hard to see his lady go through such pain and to know she was not yet entirely healed. He was not sure, however, what he might possibly do that would not be inappropriate. She still held his hand, or his arm, rather, by this point, close to her chest. Very lightly, almost perhaps enough to be called timidly, he uncurled his hand and barely touched the edge of her jaw. Her eyes flared open, except now, they were no longer clouded with a lack of sight. She blinked at him a few times, her eyes adjusting to the limited light before smiling slightly. A moment later, however, her brow furrowed and she narrowed her eyes in focus. She released his arm and reached for him.

"Kent?" Her hands lightly prodded the side of his face and into his hairline before pulling him a little closer,"..is that blood?"

He started a little. Well, he hadn't had time to see a healer himself after the battle, he'd come straight to her.

She peered into his hair which had previously concealed his injury from discovery. "It is! Kent..."

Before he could make any sort of objection, Serra had preyed upon him, beginning her own, 'professional', inspection, clicking her tongue in disapproval. It seemed the he too would not be leaving the tent for some period of time. At least, however, he would be able to watch over his lady this way and ensure her safety through the night.

...x...

Fin.

Meh. This one gave me several problems. I am... reasonably satisfied, I suppose though.

Reviews always appreciated.