I see that I get lots of nice attention when bad things happen so…
JUST KIDDING. I'm not George R R Martin. I'm nice.
Trigger warning: blood. nothing else gory, but blood. I don't want to spoil, but I don't want to traumatize anyone, so if you have any questions about the general outcome of the story, just PM me and I will tell you. I promise to update quickly over the next few chapters.
Special thanks to Ceinwen, psychedicgoolash, followsleep, and shiftyeyes (x 100) for your continued support!
The hands were still over his arms, and though he forced himself forward, it seemed that he couldn't escape their grip.
"I must, I musts-" He called out weakly, struggling from the grasp, but another set of hands pulled him back.
"Calm down, man," said a voice behind him. Toki recognized it, vaguely, but he couldn't put a name to it. "The doctor has to see to him, see if he's-" and the man paused.
Alive, thought Toki, and he uttered a small cry. The figure in the distance was still in the grass, and utterly motionless.
The man with the pistol turned towards them. He was trying to contain his satisfaction, but his thin lips could not conceal the huge teeth underneath.
The Duke of Polignac.
His servant opened a case and Polignac cleaned out his pistol. He turned toward Toki, and lifted an eyebrow.
"Ah, Baron Wartooth," he said, baring his horse teeth in another grim smile. "We thought you had left us."
Toki barely registered his words. His eyes darted frantically to the fallen body in the distance. A doctor was walking toward him, slowly. Too slowly. He turned back toward Polignac, his chest heaving.
"Won't you congratulate me, dear Count? It seems I've eliminated a rival for both of us." The Duke chuckled, and Toki lunged at him. He was still held back, but managed to tear at Polignac's cuff. Polignac looked at him in shock.
"Careful, Wartooth," spat the Duke, carefully rearranging his sleeve. "I would hate to send another man to the grave."
Grave. Grave. Grave. The words reverberated through Toki's mind as he watched the doctor lean over Skwisgaar in the distance. He kicked behind him, striking one of the men holding him in the shins, and in a fit of unusual strength, wriggled away. He raced the length of the field, and he was at Skwisgaar's side.
"What are you- this is highly unorthodox!" The doctor scowled, and pressed his ear to Skwisgaar's wrist, listening for a pulse.
"Where ams he, where ams he shot?" shouted Toki, scanning the body with his eyes. The black coat had been pulled back to reveal a white shirt beneath. He had a sense at this moment that Skwisgaar was insanely fragile, that if he chanced to touch him, he might break.
There was a small rip in Skwisgaar's silk shirt, on the lower left hand side beside the ribs. Toki squinted. It seemed that Skwisgaars ribs were turning pink on the left side. He pulled back in shock. The blood spread outward, creating a bright red rose were the rip was.
Toki fell to his knees.
"Do somethings!" He shrieked. He placed his hand on Skwisgaar's cheek. "Wakes up! Wakes up, idiot!"
Skwisgaar's lips moved and Toki could feel the warmth of his breath over his hand. He could have fainted from happiness, but his joy quickly turned on him as he glanced back at the wound, and at the pooling blood which spread with every second over the weave of the silk.
Without thinking, Toki spread his hand over the wound in a feeble attempt to stall the bleeding. He felt its heat as it spread over his fingers and outward.
It was now warm and green all around them, a perfect summer morning. A songbird called. It was the Ortolan, a bird with a song so pure it was said to have inspired Beethoven, a bird that was often drowned in Brandy and eaten whole by the gourmands of Versailles. What a fucking waste he thought. The tears on his face were as warm as the heat of the spilling blood.
"Help him," he called desperately. A murmuring crowd gathered around them, but Toki didn't notice them. The doctor, a bony old man with a huge white wig, looked on in distaste, and pressed a scented handkerchief to his nose. He motioned with his hands and two small boys ran forward. The elder placed a cloth over the wound.
"What ams happening?" asked Toki, controlling his breath to keep from screaming.
"He's bleeding," said the black haired boy simply. The blood soaked through the cloth and the boy applied another. Skwisgaar twisted, and emitted a low groan.
"He'll probably die," the boy whispered. "Most of my master's patients die." He pressed the cloth tighter against the wound. "That is if there's anything really wrong with them. Dr. Peureux usually just gives out laudanum, and people seem happy with that."
Toki stared at the boy in utter horror. He looked at the crowd and thought quickly.
"Dr. Muertrevisage!" he shouted. The faces looked down at him in confusion. Several ladies were there. Some were weeping, and others were stone faced, with their fans flitting to and fro.
How quickly there turn on you here.
With his hunched over body and his bloodied hands Toki looked out of his wits, and he knew it. "Where ams Dr. Muertrevisage?" Now he was cradling the head in his lap, and Skwisgaar's cheek was streaked with a fine layer of blood.
"Muertrevisage? A butcher," said the doctor, adjusting his wig. "Better to let the poor man die in one piece."
An elderly duchess looked dubiously at him. "Nonsense. He's the finest doctor in Versailles, the Royal Physician." She pulled out a bottle of Eau de Planète. "He cured my cough."
The black-haired boy knelt over and whispered in Toki's ear. "You're right to go to him- but he won't come to you. Thinks he's too important. He's a dick."
Toki took Skwisgaar in his arms, and lifted him. The crowd looked on in amazement. Skwisgaar cried out in his stupor and the blood flowed with greater vigor, dripping to the ground. Toki began to shake in rage and grief, but he held the lifeless body close and still. He won't make it. The trip to the Palace will kill him…
"No!" cried the boy. "Not like that! A stretcher."
The doctor knocked the boy upside the head. "Who do you think you are anyway?" he hissed.
"I do believe a stretcher will be in order," he said to Toki, and two bulky servants brought carried one out on two poles. Toki placed Skwisgaar gently on the canvas. He wanted to break down, but it wasn't an option. "We haves to hurry," he told the servants. "But gentle!"
The black haired boy sat in the grass, rubbing his head where the doctor had hit him. "Keep the cloth on him!" He yelled. "And don't take it off!"
They walked the road, several courtiers following them like a funeral procession. A few of the women were crying, a luxury Toki didn't have. The doctor was beside them with his perfumed kerchief still pressed to his nose, barely glancing at his patient.
A huge mound of cloth was now on Skwisgaar's side, and the bleeding had slowed. Skwisgaar, pale to begin with, had gone ash white, and beads of sweat rolled over forehead. Toki placed a hand gently on his cheek- he was cool to the touch. Skwisgaar had been cold before- he had slept in Toki's house once, soaked through and pale with a chill, and had woken the next day in perfect health. He made me eat off his plate, we walked through the forest, and he kissed me… But this was different, and Toki knew it.
A long shadow fell over him, and Toki jerked around. It was Cornichon. The small man lept off his horse and hurried to Toki's side. His eyes filled with tears as he looked at Skwisgaar.
"No, no, not possible," he said, clutching his stomach. "Aw, fuck! Skwisgaar! He's not dying?" he asked frantically, looking at Toki with huge wet eyes. He seemed less like an older brother then, and more like a little child.
"No, he's going to live," said Toki stubbornly, looking ahead with his lips pressed together. He didn't know if he believed it himself, but he was angry, and it felt like through his heat of his rage he could change the course of fate.
They laid Skwisgaar down in the chambers that had been to assigned to him. Toki opened up the pale blue curtains and let the morning sunlight stream through. He tugged the curtains off the four-poster bed with such ferocity that they ripped and fell to the floor.
"Get hims!" screamed Toki. "Get the doctors!" The servants looked at each other, and frightened, ran from the room. He opened his mouth to thank them but they had already gone.
Cornichon was pacing the carpets. "Oh God, oh God, oh God," he repeated, his face in his hands. "Ah, Toki, I can't take it. I need a drink."
"Then drinks this," Toki said bitterly, and tossed Cornichon another bottle of Eau de Planète some well-meaning courtier had handed him.
"I can't! It's half piss!"
"And the other halfs alcohol," Toki hissed. "If you wants a drinks so badly, takes it." He ran his hand through his hair. The ribbon had fallen out and it fell over his shoulders. He shuddered at the sound of stirring behind him.
"Who am there…?" came a voice from the bed. Toki rushed to Skwisgaar's side. He was awake, but just barely.
"It ams me, ams Toki," said Toki, his features contorting.
"No, ams not possible. Cants breathe," said Skwisgaar. He took a series of short, shallow breaths. Toki quickly undid his cravat, and smoothed the golden hair from his brow. Skwisgaar pulled back his head and screamed.
"Fucks," he cried, and murmured something in Swedish. "Hurts." His fingers grappled with the bloody cloths over his wound, and Toki pulled his arm away. He resisted, and Toki had to pin the arm over his head.
"No!" he said fiercely, his brows knitting together. "Don't does that." His French was slipping, but it didn't matter now.
Skwisgaar's eyes were shut, and his full lips opened and closed, as though processing the pain. Toki felt his arm struggle beneath his grasp.
"Fucking," breathed Skwisgaar incoherently. "You bastard." He struggled, and was much stronger than Toki would have thought. If he squirmed too much, he would only bleed more. Toki pushed his knee over the tops of Skwisgaar's thighs to keep him still. A sensation between dread and awe overtook him. It was a revolting joke- he had come so far to be close to Skwisgaar, and now he was- but the man was broken. Skwisgaar twitched and screamed again, and finally relaxed beneath him. His eyes flickered open and close. Toki gave in to an infernal urge, and pressed his lips to the damp forehead. He pulled his face over Skwisgaar's. The eyes opened and the pupils contracted, flooding the iris with shades of deep blue.
"Toki," said Skwisgaar. Toki pulled his leg off of Skwisgaar so he half kneeled at the edge of the bed. His hands clutched at Skwisgaar's shoulders, and he buried his face in his neck, in the warm strands of hair. He felt a heavy hand on the back of his scalp.
"Why…how? Ams you here?" Skwisgaar's words collapsed into each other, but Toki understood him.
"You gives me a gift." Toki lifted his face to Skwisgaar's. It was still pale, too pale, but he was aware. "A brokens gift."
Skwisgaar lifted his face to the ceiling. His fingers migrated unconsciously towards the bandages, but Toki snatched them away. "Ah," he said absent-mindedly ,"A brokens gift." He tried to curl up towards Toki, but cried out in agony as his muscles pushed over his wound. Toki watched in horror as fresh red blood ran over the dried brown.
"You can'ts! Don't move!" cried Toki, gently guiding him back in place. More sweat fell Skwisgaar's forehead, and he grimaced.
"You comes back," said Skwisgaar, breathing hoarsely. A small, absent-minded smile formed on his face. "All for the sakes of a broken guitar?"
Toki piled more cloth onto Skwisgaar's wound. It isn't enough. Toki looked desperately toward the door. Cornichon had left, and the doctor still hadn't come.
"For much mores than that, Skwisgaar," he said.
His lip curled and he buried his face in his arms on the side of the bed. It was all he could do not to sob.