Throughout so many centuries, Furina had trouble remembering things. Unless they were reinforced, memories passed away like ripples on a pond. Though she had heard so many retellings of diagnostics and botched surgeries in the courtroom, they all blended together even if her memory tried to dig into the archives of her mind as thoroughly as possible. Because, yes, she knew that very deep wounds had to be stitched together. But at what depth should the string go? How many sutures? For how long should they stay? Furina was sure she had heard all of these details once, years or maybe centuries ago.
And if she had time, the Archon would have greedily inspected each and every book of her personal library to do the best job possible.
Furina scurried to light up a candle on a side table next to Clorinde because time was exactly what she didn't have. And as the matches on her hands failed to spark, precious seconds were being lost.
"Damn it. The Hydro Archon is not very good with fire, you see?" Furina spoke to the unconscious Clorinde. It only made her crippling anxiety worse. With each second that passed, her death loomed closer. "I… I order you to wake up. Clorinde! It's an order, so you must obey!"
There was a reaction. Or maybe not. Furina was too hectic to properly notice.
Her nerves and stress were through the roof. But Furina had become intimate with those negative emotions and states for far too long to let them stop her.
It took some long few breaths. She just needed to get into character again. She was the Hydro Archon, the God of Justice and nerves were something completely foreign to a god-like being such as Focalors.
"It's just a trifling matter, it'll take but a few minutes. Hear that, champion?"
Furina clenched her hands, stealing a glance at the unconscious Clorinde, and stood up ready to investigate the room for supplies. Besides the white blankets covering the furniture of the backstage room, there were other items around. There was a standing coat rack, full of patched-up jackets and such. They were meant to look ragged and torn, sometimes unused clothing was used and torn for certain plays.
But where there were patches, there were threads and needles.
With her senses on high alert, she noticed that only a few blankets had a layer of dust. Some were sofas and chairs, but some were proper furniture. That meant somebody had come here, removed the blankets and placed them back. So perhaps they had dropped off what she needed.
Lit by only a few candles, most of the room was dark. The white blankets helped in distributing some of the light, but not by much. Furina started to hastily uncover all the undusted blankets. One was a small table with a single drawer.
A corked bottle rolled out, half-filled with a greenish liquid.
Furina uncorked the bottle, a strong alcoholic smell dizzying her. It had to be some herbal spirit, or some other high degree alcohol that she was quite sure was not legal. The staff or perhaps some actors had hidden it here. That didn't matter, because alcohol was a disinfectant! Whether it was a high enough degree to act in such a way didn't even cross her mind. It was either this or nothing!
Again prompted by haste and dread, Furina moved on. And by the second white blanket, which was revealed to be a chair, she found her panacea. A circular sewing kit, though someone had taken most nails and threads.
"Clorinde, wake up! Your Archon is going to sew you back up in no time!"
Furina dragged the entire chair, placing it by the couch Clorinde was on. She placed the alcohol bottle on top of it, as well as the gun she had attached to her belt.
"Yes, your Almighty Archon is going to work. Ludicrous, isn't it? I believe it deserves one of your snarky side-eyes." Furina said as she removed her bloody gloves. "They're very funny, I like them. It's like you're saying: If I wasn't working, I'd stamp you against the ground."
Again, Clorinde offered no reaction.
Not having any other option, Furina washed her hands with the alcohol. And then focused on Clorinde's wide gash on her chest. The Archon tried her best to untie the makeshift coat bandage she had created barely a few minutes ago. It was drenched with blood, which she placed on one of the white blankets of the room. Following the bloody makeshift bandages, the ripped-out clothes were second to go with even more issues. The blood had made sure to stick all clothing, including her underwear, to the skin and open flesh.
With a bit of alcohol, they came off. Clorinde unconsciously tensed up. That must have hurt even more.
The electro vision in her chest had fallen sometime after the scuffle, but it had luckily got stuck on Clorinde's skirt. Furina rested it on her own legs, for lack of a better spot.
The gashing wound was very wide. It was almost an entire finger length wide. Her developed muscles only made the job even harder, and the fact that there was just blood on the lowest point of the injury dizzied Furina.
"I… I've mended some textiles before. Don't worry, an Archon's knowledge is bountiful…" Before as in, a few centuries ago.
Whether it was the nerves or unfettered determination, threading the needle with the black string was simple and fast. She heated the tip of the needle with the candle, hoping that fire would be sterilising as well, and almost confidently thrust the needle into the injury. Like a running stitch, the needle went up the right side of the wound and down through the opposite side. She applied some strength, and the flesh completely touched each other.
Her bloody hands were still shaking. The fear of her close encounter with death and the weight of Clorinde's life on her shoulders were close to completely disabling Furina's thoughts. Yet, as it happened many times before, she could only brunt the pain and move forward. Only a bit longer. A few stitches more. It would end soon.
Even through the centuries, the Archon's bodyguards were usually replaced. One had to be fit, in their prime. They did not last much more than a decade before someone younger took their place. They were also chosen by their professionalism and discipline, so they took their job seriously. And for someone cursed with eternal life, that inherent distance was a blessing in disguise. After all, these people were just working diligently, they had no time to strengthen their relationship with the Archon. And like so, Furina did not have to suffer once they inevitably passed away.
That philosophy had been thoroughly shattered by the sudden assassination attempt.
The great Focalors, after all, did not shake in fear. Neither was she appalled by blood or by the mortal concept of death. Another bodyguard replacement? Oh, just another one for the pile. How many had they been? More than a hundred at this point. In fact, why would the magnanimous Hydro Archon even care for this one particular champion? It was not like Clorinde was any different from her predecessors.
Of course, maybe there was an instance or two where Clorinde differed from them. It wasn't like she skipped the protocol, or acted unusually close. Neither was she inept or negligent. In regards to her bodyguard duties, she actually excelled. No, the distinctions were behavioural rather than tied to the job.
Clorinde didn't seem to be bothered by her eccentricities. Furina could even swear she had seen the bodyguard smiling a few times whenever her Archon spun the situation around to her favour.
If it was a tiring day where Furina could barely continue with her acting, Clorinde would make up an excuse to give her Archon some breathing room. Quite the feat to discern the mood of a god, after all!
Sometimes when people got too fervently around Furina, Clorinde would swoop in and protect her from them. That would be the standard procedure. Yet, when there was a moment of respite, she'd ask if Furina was alright, or if she needed a rest.
If Furina didn't know any better, she'd say that Clorinde truly cared for Furina, not just Focalors. Of course, Furina was no fool. That was not what was happening at all. The Champion Duelist merely was a good-heart woman, and that was the flavour of her duties. Perhaps she believed Focalors to be quite the efficient warrior, and respected her for that. After what happened, she must be feeling quite betrayed that such respect was ill-placed.
And then the wound was stitched closed.
There was no sense of accomplishment. Because what if there was internal damage? What if she had punctured a lung? Or what if she was bleeding internally as well? Or what if she was dying on the spot? What could she do? What could she do? Nothing. To get any sort of medicine or painkillers, she'd have to go back to the Court of Fontaine. And there was no way she'd leave her alone, especially with that assassin running amock. The only thing she could do was wait and hope the poor duelist made it through the night.
There was no bleeding. A bit of oozing here and there, but it was coagulating. So if she still had enough blood inside, Clorinde would manage to live.
…Right?
A whisper of a whimper lured her eyes towards Clorinde's grimacing face. That was new. Sometime during the surgery, the duelist must have woken up and endured the entire painful procedure.
"Hi!" Furina spat out without thinking, out of fear and pure distress. "I'm going to bandage you again and you're good to go! Pain is weakness leaving the body, remember that!"
Furina scrambled back into her feet, tumbling over the chair next to the couch. The alcohol, string and needles were scattered all over the floor, and so was Clorinde's gun and vision. She hastily gathered all things before picking yet another white blanket. There were not many left.
"I'll use my Archon strength to…" Furina tried her best to rip the white blanket, but it was too sturdy. "To tear down this cloth into bandages!" She bit down the hem of the cloth and completely tore it down. Afterwards, making a few long strips was relatively simple.
That was the easy step. The issue now laid on how it would be wrapped around Clorinde, because pulling her up even a bit could undo the stitches. Yet as the Archon now medic tried to be as careful as possible, the issues did not come from the stitching. What started as a groan soon turned into a wail of pain. It didn't last more than a second, the time it took Furina to pass the makeshift badge behind her back. Furina couldn't know that Clorinde had been suppressing her pain all throughout, but after passing out in the coach she was no longer conscious enough to perform that task.
The wail itself wasn't too loud. Yet to Furina, who was barely hanging by a thread, it was a nigh-deafening sound that only highlighted how much she was botching the entire endeavour. With only one loop, she tied the bandage and leaned away with shaky hands.
"I'm sorry it hurts." She admitted with a mournful gaze that stayed glued to Clorinde's pale face. "I just… I can't do anything about it right now."
Her hands were suddenly pulled by lament, placing the palms on Clorinde's cheeks. They were cold and wet from sweat. "Your Archon can't heal you at the moment. But she can stay with you throughout your painful journey. I'll do my best to lessen your pain."
Gliding up to her forehead, Furina pushed away a few locks of long hair and tried to measure her temperature. Her own hands were cold, so instead she leaned towards her face. Furina's lips brushed uncertainly against Clorinde's forehead, before pressing them against it. Cold. So very cold.
"There are still some blankets, don't worry."
Two blankets were covering a few more pieces of furniture, plus another one hanging on the wall. Taking the first two was easy enough, and they were big enough to cover her dear bodyguard twofold. Yet as she took the blanket hanging on the wall, it revealed a mirror.
A mirror which now showed a bloodied, red-eyed girl with messy hair and unkempt clothing. Her own face was bloodstained from Clorinde's injuries. Unconsciously, she touched her face, which the mirror revealed to be crimson red. The dry blood did not come out neither from her face or hands. Not a very archon-like appearance.
The blanket on her grasp soon was wrapped around herself, both to hide the anguish it brought her and to maintain a semblance of divinity.
"Once you heal up, we'll buy some new clothes." Furina pried her eyes out from the mirror and sat on the ground next to the duelist. "And I'll buy you a new sword, the best sword you could want. We could do it together or…" She picked up the vision and placed it on Clorinde's cold and inert hand. "I don't have to be around, you know? You're free to do whatever! And— And if you want to go away, you can go away. I'll give you a state pension! You'll be able to go wherever you want! I can make a new law, the treat any ex-bodyguard of the Hydro Archon nicely law! They'll have to give you freshly baked bread, and the best coffee around."
Clorinde's hand could not hold the vision properly, so Furina enveloped her freezing hand and clutched it as if both their lives depended on it. Because it very well might.
"Please don't die. Who's going to protect me if you're gone?" Again Furina started crying, though this time not out of desperation or fear, but out of pure resignation. "I wish I talked more with you."