Chapter Three
From a drop of water, a logician could infer the possibility of an Atlantic or a Niagra without having seen or heard of one or the other.
-Arthur Conan Doyle
What in the world had she gotten herself into? Where the heck was she? The people here spoke oddly, used ye olde weapons, and rode horses! She got assaulted by a swordsman, almost killed by a spearman, restrained by an old man and was now following said old man towards Gods knows where! Her only justifications for following him were his somewhat nice treatment with her, compared to the white emblemed soldiers, and the care he had for his comrade.
She staved off the emotional tsunami threatening to bombard her by pushing those feelings into a tiny box, shoved it deep in her mind to the deal-with-later bin and focused solely on the situation in front of her. Rationally, she knew this couldn't be her home. The people near her don't speak with this accent, not that she could remember.
People didn't commit mass murder by swords or spears, especially on horseback. They didn't shoot people down with a storm of arrows. They didn't wear leather or metal armor. Most don't use horses as a standard mode of transportation. They use guns and bombs. They wore tactical armor or Kevlar. They drove cars, trucks or motorcycles! They wouldn't wait to call for help, to get an ambulance or a medevac unit on the site!
Rayen tightened her grasp on the reins as she came to the conclusion that she wasn't remotely close to home. She probably wasn't even in the same state, perhaps not even the same country. It wasn't likely that these men knew of landlines or cell phones, going by their lack of modern warfare.
Rayen took in a steady breath as her mind mulls over the facts. First off, the pain in her calves and scalp prove that she is, in fact, alive. Second, she is dealing with an unknown culture with an obviously different set of values. And third, she is surrounded by men that went around killing each other and she has absolutely no defense against them! She hadn't been taught how to use a sword, fire a bow or harpoon a person. She only learned a few moves from her brother at his insistence!
The tsunami struggled against Rayen's tenuous control. She felt the tears begin to prick in the back of her eyes. She tried to blink them away, to keep the old man from seeing her as weak, well weaker. Using a clean edge of her sleeve, she dabbed at the pearls before they fell. The man didn't seem to register it or he was saving her pride. Either way, she needed to find herself a distraction.
The sleek muscles moving below her provided an adequate diversion, as the horse shifted its weight. She'd only ridden a horse once before during a lesson at summer camp when she was a kid. Rayen barely remembered how to mount and, adding insult to injury, it was made exceedingly difficult with her gown. Her gaze wandered down to the red stains from where her knees had rested against the earth and hoped she could remove them before they could fully set in.
The startling clang of metal meeting stone from the horse's hooves had Rayen perking up and taking notice. The sight in front of her was an odd mixture of daunting and awe inspiring. The dark stone of the castle walls were in sight with the wooden doors asque. The dark wood rooftops stood out against the hazy gray of the sky. Rayen could see the men arming the ramparts and deceased lingering on the ground.
Her eyes frantically sought out the old man she followed, hoping that this wasn't going to be another battlefield. He ignored the dead littered on the ground as he entered the courtyard. He let out a long drawn out sigh and slumped his shoulders as he eyed the large form laying on the stones. "He did not make it."
She pulled on her best stoic face, the one she used for difficult patients or situations at work, all the while her mind raced at the clear evidence of Rayen's change in location. That… man? Thing? Whatever! It's freaking huge! It has to be a good two stories high! She kept a careful clamp on her emotions, not daring to let them show to these strangers. Her clenching hands tugged on the reins causing the mare to let out a high snort.
The old man twisted in the saddle of his own stallion and raised an eyebrow. "Have you come to your senses?," he questioned as he guided the horse to face her.
Rayen hesitantly answered, "I have, I think." Her eyes darted around the fortress as she processed the situation and she took in a steadying breath, "I believe I should thank you for helping me earlier and perhaps apologize for hurting you. I didn't know what was happening and, well, I was scared." She looked hopelessly around.
Old Man, that's what she was going to call him, rubbed his reddened chin and nodded. "I suppose that is to be expected but why were you at the battle? Were you and your companions waiting to loot the dead?"
"Companions? I was trying to get home and I came across... that!" She shook her head as she gestured vaguely behind her. "And of course I wouldn't loot someone! Why would I want to do that? Plus wouldn't it make more sense to wait until you all finished each other off before starting that?!"
He nodded his head, "As I thought then, you got yourself into more trouble than you could handle." He spotted a stable hand further in the bailey and urged his horse forward. "Follow me. We will get you off the horse and taken care of shortly."
After an embarrassing dismount requiring help from Old Man, they made their way through a gate house and into the keep. As they marched through the halls, they would pass torches hanging on the walls, a few glass windows illuminated the stone, and a few guards in full armor. Several of the guards wore different sigils, some depicting axes and moose heads, but bears were the most prominent. The men spoke quick updates on their designated quadrants as Old Man past, showing respect towards him.
Rayen tried to ignore the conversation between them, but there was little that she could do without focusing on the present. If she did that she might open the lid on her emotional powder keg and have a breakdown in the hallway. Instead she listened to the report and noticed a pattern emerging.
They listed the injured, losses, captives and potential supplies they found within the fortress as they cleared each floor. The commanders eyed her as they spoke, but largely ignored her presence. They didn't question why she was there and focused on the task at hand before sucrying off, probably to see to their wounded. After four reports later, the last from a man in a full suit of armor, Rayen became less inclined to listen.
Overall, it seemed that there was a large number of injured and dead from both sides. Rayen triedand failed to ignore the reports when they spoke of the captives, mostly from the Umbers and Karstarks. Logically, she knew this could happen in war and such. But… she doesn't know how she feels about it. She can't say exactly what they were doing to them. She hopes that they wouldn't be interrogated and, even if they were, that it would only be verbally. That they would receive the treatment they need.
Rayen's consciousnesses reared it's head and poked at her. She felt split in two, the need to avoid further attention warred with the need to help. On one hand, it wasn't a good idea for her to bring further scrutiny down on herself. It would only lead to questions that she doesn't have the answers too. On the other hand, she was oath bound to help when and where she could. When the armored commander finished his report and left, her conscious kicked her logical support beams out from under her.
"I can help," she blurted out and fidgeted with the hem of her sleeves. "The injured I mean. I'm a nurse. I'm not a doctor, but I can help with some of your wounded."
He shifted his focus back toward his companion. He'd obviously gotten lost in thought and almost forgot about her. Old Man considered her for a moment before nodding, "Very well, we shall accept your help." He turned back down the stone halls and requested, "If you could, we have established a hall for the injured. Perhaps you can provide help with the healers."
He swiftly took her through labyrinth and she knew when they reached their desired destination. The low groans and cries were muffled by the heavy door. He lifted the metal handle, pulled it open with little effort, and Rayen steeled her stomach. She knew this would be difficult, bordering on horrible for her. It would give her mind more material to torment her when she sleeps.
Rayen drew up her gown's skirt and walked into the mayhem.
As she stepped through the threshold, the first thing she did was mentally review her triage skills. She'll admit, it sounds horrible when you first hear of it, but it helps the most people survive in times of crisis. One of the techniques used in a mass casualty situation involved the quick assessment and ranking of a person's injuries. You would 'tag' someone with an appropriate color: Black for an expectant death, red for immediate care required for survivability, yellow for observation for the potentially unstable, green for the walking wounded, and white for a dismiss. Those with a black tag aren't likely to make it regardless of the interventions one had at the time. They needed more than what one had on hand and those supplies could be of better use elsewhere.
Her first patient she came upon was a man in leather gear with a bear emblem. She could see he had a dislocated arm and a few minor cuts. He had difficulty focusing and would shake his head often. She cradled the man's cheeks between her palms and faced his head toward her. She began her list of questions that was sure to soon annoy every patient there. "What's your full name?" She asked again after gently tapping his cheek.
He jerked in surprise as his eyes finally focused on her. "Varn Mormont," he slurred.
A quick glance at the man behind her had him nodding, "He wears the Mormont colors."
She nods and continues her questions, "Where are we at Varn?"
"Winterfell," he answered and was confirmed by Old Man.
"And the year?"
"301, Lady," the soldier slurred. Again, she looked back at the elderly man and he shook his head. "It is the year 303."
Damn, he's confused, she bit her lip. Head injuries are never good, especially since she couldn't have a picture taken of the brain like she normally would in the hospital. "Varn, did you bump your head? Are your ears ringing?" Her hands searched his skull as she asked and found a nice goose egg on the side. She felt him nod more than heard his mumble yes.
Hopefully it's just a concussion. She couldn't rule out a brain bleed without a more detailed picture, which she couldn't really get. "Varn, you likely have a concussion, an injury to your brain, when you got hit on your head. You can't go to sleep and have to stay focused. You'll need someone to stay with you for a little while."
Rayen looked around and saw a few women wearing tattered gowns helping other wounded soldiers. One was passing by with a basket of bloody bandages. "Lady?" The woman ignored her and continued on with her task. Oh how Rayen hated being ignored. It was rather rude. She pitched her voice lower and added more force to it. "Excuse me, ma'am."
The servant paused and tilted her body back towards Rayen. She started to sneer at the woman when she saw the elder nearby. She quickly bowed before the duo as hesitatingly answered, "How may I help you? I was fetching more bandages for the healers. Do you require some as well?"
Rayen glanced at Old Man with a raised brow. He raised a gray one of his own as he continued to watch her, not denying nor helping her. Rayen shrugged and glanced back at the woman before asking, "I'm Rayen, a nurse, a trained healer of sorts, and I am trying to help. I'll need a few things though. First off, I'll need your name and cooperation."
So began Rayen's semi-hostile takeover of the medical hall.
This Rayen required Iryna to leave her bandage fetching duties and help with Varn, a Mormont soldier sitting behind her. The woman healer requested that she'd find a few capable soldiers to bring in a heavy table, one that a man could lay across. Iryna's eyes darted back and forth between Ser Davos and Rayen. She was hesitant to follow the directions of this stranger over the wrath of their own healers and the others that came with the Knights of the Veil. Her shoulders sagged in relief as Davos gave a subtle nod and jerked his head towards the auburn woman.
"Give her what she needs. Have another find bandages for the men." He looked back towards Rayen, "We will see if what you say is true. If you really can help our men." He cocked his head to the side. "I will not help you more than this. The healers in our employ have proven themselves and will take priority."
The woman healer, Rayen, pursed her lips tightly and slowly nodded. Her eyes sharpened as she lanced Ser Davos a glare. "I will do what needs to be done, regardless of the others interference. Though, I am giving you fair warning, old man. If I think they're doing something wrong, I will stop them. The men come first, not their pride."
Iryna shuddered at the sheer audacity of this woman. How could she speak in such a tone toward Lord Snow's advisor?! Surly the woman will be reprimanded. Iryna's blue gaze fixed on Davos as he chuckled and replied in kind, "Then I cannot wait to see your results. Prove to me that you are what you say you are and we will speak after that. Perhaps you will be worth the chaos you will undoubtedly cause."
Iryna watched the Advisor's back as he left the room and with it, the crazy woman in charge of her. She straightened her shoulders and turned back to do her duty.
The healer was playing a staccato rhythm with her odd shoe against the stone and tapping her chin. Iryna shivered as she saw the blood staining the healer's gown, but ignored her disgust. "What may I assist you with?"
The hardened gaze fell on Iryna and she seemed to judge her. Iryna did her best to keep her face as blank as possible, just as she did when dealing with the tantrums of a young Arya and Sansa. The healer seemed to find what she needed before listing her necessities.
She wanted a heavy table, a large fire, as many pots as she could find, fresh water, clean bandages, the ointments and the tinctures that the healers were using for the wounded, needles, spools of thread, and a fresh apron. Iryna boggled as the woman started off towards the next soldier, this one with large slices across his limbs.
Iryna hurried towards the kitchen, filled with women from the encampment scurrying around. Some taking inventory of the food, others washing the dirtied linen bandages over the large fire, and all glancing at Iryna as she puffed in the entrance.
The oldest woman, Baylee Greenwood, clucked her tongue setting the other women back into motion and took stock of her niece. Coldly she asked, "What do you need Iryna?"
Iryna kept the irritation from her voice. She knew not to push her aunt, especially when she was surrounded by the other women. The hag would only become vicious if she did anything that could question her authority. She kept her eyes on her as rattled off the healer's list, "I was told to fetch these for Maester Rayen."
Baylee scoffed and folded her arms, "There is no one here by that name. You lie."
Iryna held off the burst of anger that flared in her veins. "I do not, dear aunt. Ser Davos brought her to the hall and assigned me to her."
Baylee's dark eyes sharpened as she took in the information. Maesters were rare given the lengthy education they needed and the strenuous requirements placed upon them with the title. A female healer was an oddity in itself, but one brought by the Advisor… Baylee's keen mind snapped at the possibility to gather more power. She would need to endear herself to this Maester Rayen. "Alas, we are rather busy and will not be able to send but one to help. Take Taena to assist." She flourished her hand towards the mousy girl cleaning the pantry.
Iryna nearly growled at her aunt. Taena wouldn't be much help, she barely talked. She was clumsy and hid herself away from others. The brown haired mouse even squeaked when startled. Iryna ground her teeth and thanked her aunt.
Taena let out her signature squeak when Iryna grabbed her wrist and dragged her toward the supply carts. She again listed the Maester's requests to the mouse as she filled nearby baskets full of bandages to bring back. "Find some spools of thread and bring as many pots as we can spare. When I get back to the hall, I'll ask Ronard and Cyrus to bring in the table."
The mousy girl ran off to get her items as Iryna dragged back her basket. She found her cousins, lightly wounded but still in good health, and informed them of the Maester's request and their mother's help. The youngest sneered at her when she asked but Cyrus gave him a cutting look and they went about finding the table.
Iryna's patience grew thin dealing with her family and she calmed herself as she added wood to the fire in the hall's hearth. She took stock of the room, eyes wandering to find her assigned Maester. She could only gap as she found her ripping blankets into large strips, looping it around the man's shoulder, cradling another offset arm and tying it at the opposite shoulder. Iryna could see the men, some with new bonds while others have small cups of ale.
She wasn't surprised when Taena brought in the pots and went about filling them with water from a nearby barrel. The mouse placed them on the fire and pulled out the spool. The Maester saw them and smiled as she went over. Rayen's hazel eyes widened as she saw the new addition and her smile softened.
"Thank you for coming. I could use the help." She grabbed the spool and started to unwind it. The ball was placed in another bowl that she had to have commandeered from another servant, "Once the water boils, ladle out some into this one with the thread. Keep it boiling for five minutes before getting me. Never dip the bowls into the boiling water or let the ladle touch the water in the bowls. It could dirty them and spread infection."
Rayen focused on her first assistant and said, "Thank you for bringing these and finding her. Once we have a table we'll need a heavy stone, ten pounds or so, a lot of linens and some ale."
Iryna shrugged, "The table should be coming shortly. My cousins wouldn't want to disappoint after all."
"Good. We'll use them to get the men with slings to lie face down on the table, one by one of course, dangle the injured hand off the side, tie the heavyweight to their hand and let it pop back into place." The maester nodded to herself. "I'll have them to hold down the ones that need their bones reset or for the ones that need stitches."
She glanced back at her mouse and assistant. "I'll need you both to give some men ale, to keep them relaxed, and keep the water boiling. Oh, and the other items if we can. I may need one of you to sit with some that might not make it. They will need to be kept comfortable as they pass."
Iryna and Taena glanced at each other with the former shrugging and went about their tasks. Iryna was the one that dealt with finding items and speaking to the other servants. Taena stayed to supply ale to the wounded or fetch items from their stock.
Taena was there when the Maester shook her head and let out a long sigh. The soldier before her wasn't responding to questions and not blinking as she made jabbing motions towards his eyes. One of the most basic reflexes, the Maester told her. She had Taena apply an opium paste to the man's chest and sit with him. She encouraged Taena to speak softly to him, about anything, to let him know he wasn't alone and to let her know when he stopped breathing. She learned that one needed to breathe at least twelve times a minute, about a half a turn of the hourglass she found in the kitchen.
Iryna's cousins brought the desired table and the Maester had the blond one, Ronard, leave as he was causing trouble for Iryna. Taena saw him 'accidentally' spill the bowl of boiled thread and bandages. The Maester must have too, when she told him to help or leave as she did not have time for childish games. He tried to plead his case but she cast him a steely glare and he huffed as he left. She gave a glance towards the other brother, a brown haired Cyrus, and tilted her head.
Cyrus only watched her as he shrugged and asked where he could help. The Maester had him go to Iryna for further instructions. He nodded as they duo grabbed one soldier and placed him on the table. Rayen showed the trio how to tie the heavy stone to the man's palm and told them to leave it. After a quarter hour, the man yelped as it slid back into place.
The Maester finished stitching another soldier's bicep before washing her hands and checking on the patient. She let out a hoot as she found the man's arm back in place. She instructed Iryna and Cyrus to place it back in the sling and start on the next one. She told the slightly inebriated man that he shouldn't lift his arm above his shoulder or it could pop back out of place.
Once they set up the next soldier, Rayen had them binding chests, for broken ribs she said, and checking on the ones she said had concussions. She told them that it was similar to a bruise on the brain when it bounced around after a quick movement. She gave them the list of questions to ask and had them tell her if there was a change in their answers.
Eventually Maester Rayen worked her way to another corner of the hall that had a healer working in the area. He was working on a man who barely had a 'flesh wound,' as she called them, when another was bleeding from an open laceration, which the male Maester had not placed a tourniquet. The trio learned earlier that it stopped the blood flow to the area below it and should only be placed for a short while.
Maester Rayen got a sour look on her face as she grabbed supplies and went to the bleeding soldier. She quickly applied pressure to the wound with her clean bandages and spoke softly to the wounded man. Taena brought her newly boiled thread and needles and switched positions with the female Maester. The male healer, Keegan Iryna told Rayen later, attempted to use her fresh bandages with his bloody hands.
Rayen snarled at him and slapped his arm away from her clean supplies. The man yelled in surprise and quickly glared at her. "What do you think you're doing?! I need those for this man!"
Rayen turned fully to him, narrowed her cold hazel eyes, and loudly said, "For what? A man that barely needs help? You should have seen that another soldier, right next to you I might add, needed more help then," she flapped her hand at the 'injured' man, "this one. Is it not your duty to help the injured? What a waste." She turned to Iryna, who supplied her with new water and lye for cleaning her hands before starting to stitch her patient's wound.
Iryna hid a smile behind the sleeve of her gown as she balanced the bowl in one hand. Keegan had always helped the higher ups first before helping the commoners. The action caught his attention as he rounded on her, "You! Servant! You were to fetch me bandages."
Iryna frowned at him and prepared a rebuttal, when Rayen cut in. "Old Man had her help me. If you have a problem with that, go take it up with him." She sniped the thread with their commandeered scissors, placing the needle into a dirty bowl.
Rayen smiled at the soldier and said, "All finished. Keep from straining the muscle and tearing the stitches. It'll quicken the healing and have a small cup of ale before bed to help you relax if you need too. Go see Taena, my brown haired assistant over there, for some ointment to place on it."
The man bowed his head gracefully at her, dislodging his long inky locks, and smiled showing straight white teeth, "Thank you, my dear. It seemed to be forever while I waited here for help. My name is Pokk."
Maester Rayen's smile widened as whispers between the wounded started, "Well we can't have that, now can we? If you are feeling up to it, why not help me and my assistants," she gestured toward Cyrus, Iryna and Taena, "we can certainly use it. Perhaps you can go to the others and let me know if there are ones that need help quickly in this part of the hall."
Maester Keegan carefully frowned at this new woman. Who had the authority to take someone from him? He watched as she got up from crouching and dusted her hands. "Who was it that gave you permission to take her from me?"
Rayen's face frowned again as she glared at him, "No one 'gave' her to me. She isn't a thing to be had. No one is. But he did assign her to me, there is a difference." She got a thoughtful look on her face before turning to Iryna. "I never did get his name. What was it?"
Iryna held back the gap that came from deep inside her. This woman! She shook her head before saying, "It was Ser Davos, healer Rayen. The Lord's Advisor."
"Oh." Rayen looked back at Keegan before shrugging, "Well there you go, that's who. Now I'm a busy lady with patients to see." She turned on her heel and walked to the next unfocused patient.
Keegan's heart dropped to his feet. He had just disappointed someone associated with the Lord Snow! He could be asked to leave! As he muddled over the new revelations and the consequences there of, Pokk decided to wander through the amassed soldiers and picked out ones that he felt Cyrus should see too.
After all, Pokk was quite knowledgeable regarding battle tatics and how to quickly disable his opponents. It was what he was bred and raised for. He let a wicked smile carve his face. He knew this place would be fun.
AN: This chapter is a bit different from my other ones. I'm experimenting with a different formatting type to see which one works best! Let me know if you like my longer paragraphs or shorter ones and if you enjoyed seeing some of the chapter from other characters' points of view.
Thank you for your time! I hope you enjoyed it!