No matter how often I check, my story never updates itself despite me having explained to my muse my real life constraints... so I will probably have to write it down myself after all and despite everything else if I want to read it. *sighs softly*
Thanks to Avarenda and Zubba for probably unintended inspiration and lazarus wolf for intended story input for a later chapter.
Ah yes, Lakritzwolf has signed on as Beta... so now I not only have my muse but also a creative editor on my back. More climbing. Great.
*smiles a little*

Edit: done a bit of research and based on that added a little dialogue to heed an issue pointed out in the reviews. Don't give me any slack.

Clearing Vision

More than a week had passed and a routine had begun to establish itself, the ever restless immortal monarch visiting Lara in the small hours of the night, sometimes simply waking her to check up on her state without speaking a word, at other times standing at the window, staring out into the darkness, holding softly spoken monologues interspersed with contemplative silence.
Never did she bring a light and never did she touch Lara's skin again, not even in the slightest way, neither when unbinding her immediately after her entrance nor later when tying her down again. Every night she then knelt at her patients left flank, simply gazing at the woman before her, emotionless and silent unless asked a question which she then might answer or not, but almost always with a tiny, fleeting smile upon being spoken to.
Lara only addressed the queen with her head averted; when she for any longer than a moment did rest her eyes on her best friend's face, ghostly and unreal in the dim grey light, her cheeks at times where wet with silent tears.

When visiting in the morning and afternoon, Himiko's demeanour was detached and distant, letting Lara move about for half an hour to relieve herself and eat a bland meal, brought by a servant who would replace the chamber pot while she was eating and who would also clear up the little table afterwards, never looking up from the floor. Everything happened in absolute silence.

On the eighth day she was awoken by cold drops falling onto her forehead and her right shoulder in increasing frequency. Blinking irritated into the greyish morning light she looked up at the ceiling where a thin chain of drops had formed on a batten's underside, darkening the wood and accumulating at two points before falling towards her.
Somewhere on the moss-covered roof a tile had cracked along its entire length where a sapling had begun to take root, letting in the rain that fell in sheets outside the window, almost completely obscuring everything but the closest objects and muting every sound with its intense whispering.

She tried to inch away within the limits of her restraints when she paused, taking an unsteady breath, before slowly turning her head to find her chafed wrists no longer bound to the floor. Slowly and carefully she rolled onto her side and rose to her knees. Massaging her wrists and the stiff muscles in her upper arms, the damp chill of a westerly wind making her shiver slightly, she looked around but found nothing changed apart from the growing wet spot where her head had been. Her bandages were gone though, revealing an upper body still as colourful as any rainbow, albeit a fading one, and covered with a multitude of cuts and abrasions showing the healthy pink of healing tissue, the first real scars already having begun to form.

As she carefully stretched her arms above her head she drew a measured breath, pausing before raising her hands as far as possible above her head and inhaling deeply with closed eyes; at her chest expanding unhindered, her face lightened up with a smile forming on her lips. The smile died away as gradually as it had come when she opened her eyes again and rose to her feet before stepping over to the window with her arms crossed over her breasts, watching the rain drenching the landscape before her as it accentuated the thousand shades of green growing up towards the palace wing, contrasting starkly with the leaden sky.

She rested her hands on the windowsill, watching the water falling from the roof as it made its way down past the window, dripping on a loose plank that revealed a support beam a little to the right from where she stood, wetting another white painted window frame further down where a pole stuck out at a right angle, trickling unto the narrow eroded ledge at the base of the foundations and disappearing into the cleft where there once had been a footpath around the building which now ended at an edge covered in loose gravel three yards from where the ledge came to an end.

The wind blew sheets of rain along the remaining path that wound its way between cliff and palace, past a mighty pine tree, fallen in a recent storm and still green in the canopy, now resting on the shattered remains of a wooden shack further down on the steep mountain side. She leaned out of the window, the downpour making her hair cling to her face while she brought the remains of a rope bridge into her view that had its beginning at about the place where the pine had smashed the little building and extended out of sight in a downward angle.

Slowly straightening up again she looked down at her hands, turning them palm upwards to study the barely healed skin, already dirtied again by tightly gripping the wet and lichen covered decomposing woodwork of the window frame. She shifted her gaze from her hands to where the sea and the horizon hid behind the rain and hill fog and sighed deeply before closing her eyes and tilting her head backwards, shivering a little as a few drops of water found their way from some wet strains of hair down the scarred skin of her back.

'I have given the guards strict orders to kill you, should you come closer than ten paces to the gate.'

She spun around at the softly spoken threat and instantly went into a stabilising half-crouch, fists already raised as her hair was still completing an arc around her right shoulder, fixing her eyes on the intruder's position.
The queen smiled a little while tilting her head with a hardly perceptible nod.

'Woe to those who would underestimate a warrior willing to fight while wearing nothing but his skin. I delight in seeing you so well recovered.'

Straightening up with her breath slowly calming, Lara wiped a still wet strand of hair from her forehead while the alertness faded from her gaze, the shining hazel colour dulling. Averting her head she suddenly shuddered and closed her eyes tightly for a moment before shaking her head in irritation and dragging her hands down her face. Looking up, she sought eye contact for the first time since their accidental embrace.

'Shamanistic powers. Healing magic... You were sorting my ribs when I passed out.'

Himiko laughed a bell-like little laugh that stopped as suddenly as it had begun while she put a bundle of cloth on the table and set about laying it out.
It contained a pair of faded, off-white breeches and a knee-length tunic in a dull red colour; some faded elaborate stitching in what once had to have been a bright orange yellow resembling a pattern of feathers and pine branches running along the seams, cuffs, hem and neckline.
Faint amusement was still playing around the corners of her mouth as she spoke again.

'Magic? Magic is the art of making the implausible look impossible, feeding the expectations and imaginations of the peasants to the point where their minds will reject the possibility that what they finally see happening is caused by mundane means.
One should not underrate it though, as few things are more powerful than a good narrative combined with matching images… but mend broken bones and drive poison from your blood it will not.'

Lara, her brows furrowed, watched Himiko placing a pair of finely crafted boots beside the table; the soft, thin leather showing fine cracks standing out against the aged material as time had filled them with darkened dust. Some light stains showed on the shaft where the recently applied polishing cloth had been insufficient.

'True magic, reaping everything after sowing nothing, creation out of thin air, belongs to the realm of legend. As it is, my guards believe you wielded powerful magic on your way through the monastery… how else could a lone girl have felled so many warriors with flashes of light and thunder that killed at a distance, through walls and armour?'

'Are you seriously telling me they didn't recognize my weapons as such? They have to have encountered firearms centuries ago! Look, I even found shells and ammunition on them, at one point even a rusted handgun from maybe seventy years ago.'

'And about as useful and meaningful to them as any soldier's well-worn keepsake or lucky coin.
Living long enough to seem immortal does many things to a mortal soul; they are… very set in their ways.
I know your devices to be mundane weapons although I do not understand their way of working – but then, any knowledge that is applied in a sufficiently sophisticated way is indistinguishable from magic to the simple, un-enquiring mind.
To them, if it was magic back then it is magic today, only they never encountered a sorcerer as powerful as you; hence each man's desire to be the one to slay you, thereby acquiring the right to claim your strength and power for himself after battle as befitting for the true warrior.
You should dress yourself now.'

The breeches were made of rich raw silk, woven in a honeycomb pattern and fitting loosely but perfectly, leaving her almost as much freedom of movement as what she had worn moments ago. Absentmindedly picking up the tunic she suddenly paused, dropping it back on the table again before lifting both hands to rub at her temples, biting her lower lip.

'Wait… wait. How would they claim… right. Ok. Archaic societies. Prion disease resistances in modern humans. Right. There are sources from the Tang Dynasty describing practices of replenishing wounded warriors' strength by feeding them...'

Swallowing heavily and slowly turning to Himiko again, who had followed the monologue with her eyebrows raised in a mix of slight bewilderment and curiosity, Lara's voice trailed off as the colour began to seep from her face. She rather breathed than said the words before doubling over and beginning to retch.

'You have fed me... oh God… no.'

The queen impassively watched her dry-heaving for a little while before raising her voice again that had lost any trace of warmth and softness.

'I believe you saw ample evidence of what you seem to have discovered just now.
You needed your warrior's strength to overcome your injuries even with my help and it was given back to you the proper, honourable way.
If you had any rank at all, my stormguard would now follow you to the end of this world but for you throwing dirt on all they stand and have stood for in a childish display of unthankful selfishness and utter lack of respect for their glorious history as well as for my generous hospitality. Were you anyone but the one you are I would have you skinned alive for this outrageous breach of courteousness.'

The queen abruptly turned towards the door, causing her flowing robes to catch on the edge of the small table, the sudden tug making the green glass carafe gyrate towards the edge with a wobbling sound. With the sound of thin, breaking ice on a wintry morning it shattered into pieces, the green dragon spitefully slicing open the palm of the dirty hand that had shot out to catch it. With a dull crack, the glass followed shortly after.

Ignoring the quiet sobs from the figure in a fetal position on the blood stained floor, Himiko paused for a moment, drawing a deep breath, her words carrying little emotion but faint disappointment.

'You are free to move about wherever you choose except in close vicinity of the gate. When you have finished soiling my house and its traditions you will clean up after yourself and get dressed. You will meet me this afternoon in the study overlooking the southern approach. Dare not to attend having begrimed the scribe's attire that I intended as a fitting gift for you in an obvious act of getting ahead of myself.'

She strode away, the still open door creaking on its hinges in the sudden draught that had sprung up.