Larien stopped dead in her tracks the moment she recognized the man being brought into her care. Huor!! Finn and Butch were trying very hard to keep him as still as possible. The men had formed a rough litter of tree branches covered with a few blankets found in the resting tents. Butch carried the foot and Finn was up at Huor’s head. While he wasn’t a big man, Huor’s battle armor was still on and added additional weight which made it more difficult to transport him uphill from the battlegrounds. Coupled with the small confined space of the secret hallway and the speed with which they transported him, both Finn and Butch were winded when they arrived. From the look of the stain on his right side, Huor had either gotten severely wounded or, like the hard-headed man that he was, stayed to fight as long as he could. She certainly hoped for the latter reason although she will probably take him to task for doing so. The former scared her too much to even contemplate. Larien took a deep breath. She never thought that she would ever have to take care of Huor in this way. In all the years that she knew him, he was always very careful, his sword strong and true; his battle strategy sound.
As she walked into the triage area, she kept reminding herself that it might not be as bad as it looked. She looked towards heaven with closed eyes praying. Larien was pushing up her sleeves as the men brought Huor to her. Even though they were as gentle as they could be considering the weight, a groan escaped Huor’s dry, parched lips. His face winced in pain at the jolt. It pierced through Larien’s heart to hear it. Larien knew that they would first have to remove his armor before she could look at his wounded side. She didn’t think he would be able to help remove it himself in the shape he was in. She glanced up at the door just as Deamon and the twins entered. She motioned them to come over to her.
“Good! I need for you five men to help remove his armor. I cannot see anything with all the metal on his body. After you are finished, I want him put on this cot, please.” What was it that Deamon always told her to do? Oh, yes, breathe. She took a deep one and let it out slowly. “I will go warm some water and get my other supplies together while you do that. And please do be careful pulling his chainmaille off. We do not know how bad it is and his arms will need to be raised over his head. I see absolutely no other easy way to remove it.”
Finn’s concerned voice broke through her slight fog as he asked quietly, “Are you going to be alright working on him, Larien? We could get Melilot or Nathra or someone else if you are too shaken to tend to Huor. I’m sure they won’t mind.”
Deamon added, “I don’t like that you lost color in your face when you saw him. You still do not have all your strength back, you haven’t eaten, and to now work on Huor. We would understand if…”
Larien held her hand in supplication. “Stop!” She paused before continuing, “I will be alright. Please, get him undressed. I am over the shock of seeing him brought to me wounded. Now hurry so I can get him fixed.” She didn’t look up at either man; she didn’t think she would be very convincing if they were to see her face. She needed to stay busy. She told herself to stay focused on the job at hand – and breathe. What was she doing? Oh, yes. Supplies, she needed her tools.
Larien left the men standing next to Huor’s prone body and walked away on slightly unsteady legs. She could not have anyone else take care of Huor. He was her responsibility. As she went to the fire pit to hang the water pot to warm, she saw that her hands were not steady. She needed to get her emotions under control. She was a healer, first. She was his friend, second. She had tended many friends in the past few days without this type of reaction. Why now? She took a deep, inhaling breath and held it to the count of ten. Larien cleared her mind of all thought, save one; an Angel warrior needed her skills. She exhaled. She gathered the remaining supplies she thought she would need and placed them in the basket; gauzes, thread, needles, salve and comfrey leaves. Larien took them to a small table close to Huor’s hospital bed.
Finn, Deamon, Butch and the twins were still working to remove Huor’s armor. They weren’t quite ready for her. She went back to check on the water. It was boiling so she gathered a bowl and an additional pitcher of cool water and carried it carefully to the patient. They were now working on removing Huor’s final piece of armor, his chainmaille. Just lifting it over his head caused him great distress. He moaned loudly, his body ridged with pain. As Sly tossed it to the ground with the other items, Larien walked over to pick it up. There, on the right side, was a clean cut in the maille. It was the length of her complete hand with her fingers splayed outstretched. It was a clean cut. Her heart did a double-take. She closed her eyes and prayed for strength, wisdom, and her fingers to be swift. Huor had already lost a lot of blood. While the men had him braced in a sitting position, they removed his shirt and gently placed him down on the cot.
Larien cleared her throat. With as steady a voice as she could muster, she said, “Thank you, men. Please carry his armor and things out of here so that I have room to work.” Finn scooped up Huor’s belongings. With a final look at his sister, he followed the other men out of the room. He prayed to the gods that Larien knew what she was doing. Personally, he felt she was too close to Huor to be able to treat him but he knew that she had a very strong will when she needed it. This seemed to be one of those times. He hurried to catch up to the brothers. He needed to speak with Deamon.
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There it was again! Just as she was getting use to the dullness; the pain was renewed, potent. She had to stop and rest. Her head was fuzzy and she was having a difficult time focusing on where she was going. What was happening? Would she make it in time? She felt she was close, oh so close. She must continue but it was so hard to move; to breathe through the agony. Perhaps if she rested a few minutes the pain would subside and she could continue. Her head fell to her chest. She let out a low rumbling groan that started deep in her throat and gained intensity.
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Larien sat next to Huor’s cot and looked at him. He had his eyes closed and his complexion was pasty white – no color whatsoever. She cleared her throat and spoke softly, “Huor, I am going to have to move your right arm and place it above your head. It might hurt but I need to see just how badly you are injured. If you can’t talk, blink your eyes to let me know that you hear me and understand.” Larien waited for his acknowledgment.
Huor kept his eyes closed but whispered the words breathily, “Yes, my Queen.” He took a few shallow breaths and continued, “I’m sorry.”
Larien helped move his arm, slowly, carefully, trying not to stretch his side any more than needed. She knew it caused him great pain. “So am I Huor. I am going to need to wash it. You lost a lot of blood and I need to cleanse the wound. There is too much dried blood to get a clear idea of what we are up against.” Larien poured some of the hot water in the basin and soaked some gauze to swab the wound. She worked quickly and methodically, rinsing the blood from the cloth after each pass. She continued talking in a soft but stern voice that only Huor could hear, “And you should be sorry, my Duke. Do you know what it felt like seeing you come in on a stretcher? Others carrying you? Unresponsive? Then, after the men removed your chainmaille, to see the slice in it knowing that it pierced your skin but not how deep it went? Do you know the fright you put me in?”
Even in his pain riddled mind, he could hear the waiver in Larien’s voice. She tried so hard to cover it but he still detected it. She caught the edge of the wound as she tried to remove a particularly stubborn crust of blood that still clung to it. He winced, his body trying to move away from her ministrations and from the slow torture. She murmured, “I know you’re sorry and you didn’t do this on purpose. How did it happen? Are you strong enough to tell me?”
In a halting and ragged voice, Huor forced his mind to chronicle the events that brought him to Larien. “I was battling an orc. I raised my right arm. He raised his. Our swords connected, clashed.” Huor hesitated before continuing, “We both had put a lot of force behind our swings and his knocked my arm up and out of the way. My side was exposed to his blade. He cut a swathe of my armor and pierced my side just as I was turning for a better angle. I felt the cold, hard, sting of his blade. I countered with a backward slash. I took the bastard’s head and severed it from his shoulders but,” he gasped, “not before I was cut. Damn, that burns like hell!”
“Why didn’t you come to me after it happened?”
Several minutes passed. Huor mumbled, “The battle was not over yet. I thought,” he took a sharp intake; “I thought I could wait. I thought I could just fight through it.”
“Umm, I’m not so sure you really did think, Huor. So, you stayed fighting until you fell down from loss of blood?” She shook her head at his stubbornness. “I’m almost done with the removal of the dried blood. Just let me do a final clean with fresh water. Then I will stitch you up and pray it’s not too deep.”
Larien stood with the basin filled with now red water. Nathra came towards her with a fresh basin. Larien had been so engrossed in tending Huor that she did not see the other ladies arrive. “Here is a fresh bowl, Larien. I will take that from you. How is he doing?”
“I don’t think it is as bad as I first feared. Thank the gods. I know that it did not knick his ribs so it was more a slice than a pierce. That will help with a more speedy recovery. However, we will need to watch for infection. He didn’t come for attention for several hours after it happened. That could spell trouble as the conditions on the battlefield are not very clean.”
“He’s strong, Larien, and a fighter. I’m sure he’ll be fine. He has you taking care of him…he has no other choice!” Both women smiled at Nathra’s comment. Larien sat down in her chair to give the wound its final wash. Yes, it was not as bad, a few stitches would close the wound. Her next concern was for infection. Huor was fortunate that this was not as bad as it could have been. He was still a very stubborn man and he’d better use that to get past the next few days!
“Huor, the easy part is over. I need to stitch your wound. Do you want me to give you something for the pain? I would say that it will need about 12 sutures.”
“No. Just do it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yesss. I’m ready.”
Larien threaded her curved needles and laid a fresh cloth on Huor’s chest. “As you wish, dear. You will have to lay still. Are you ready?” Huor nodded. She saw his body tense as she said, “This is the first stitch.” Larien pierced his skin going deep enough to hold the stitch and to bring the edges together. The needle went in, down, and curved back up. She drew the thread through the holes in the flesh and tied it off. She did it again, down – through – up – tie, and again and again. Each time Huor’s muscles tensed and quivered as he fought to stay still; trying to make Larien’s job easier to complete. Larien broke into Huor’s concentration, “This is the last one. It took 14, not 12. We must now guard against infection, Huor. You won’t have too much of a scar considering what it could have been.”
Larien set the needles aside so they could be sterilized and put the rest of the items in the basket. She then took the whole comfrey leaves and placed them over the wound, dampening them as she went to help them stay. She dressed the incision and covered it with a clean cloth. When she was finished, she looked at Huor. His face was contorted and wet with sweat. His body was shaking. She covered him with a blanket.
She placed her hand on his chest as she whispered, “I am done. You must sleep. I won’t be far away and I will check on you soon.”
As she moved to get up, Huor croaked one word, “Baroness,” before his body went limp and he passed out.
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