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Chapter Two Filia sat on the bare mattress, looking at Valgaav. After some degree of debating during their hike to the city, which had turned out to take them four hours, what with carrying Valgaav and taking several breaks, they decided it was best to get the rooms, then smuggle him up with a levitation spell. The fewer people who knew he was there, the better. Because Filia knew more about healing spells and treating injuries, she took the larger of the two rooms they rented, and using their bedding, they made a makeshift cot for Valgaav on the floor, where there would be enough room for her to straighten his broken wing out and set it properly. By the time they had finished cleaning off the blood and grime, and resetting the splints, rewrapping the injuries, and casting another healing spell, it was extremely late. Jillas had turned in, planning to set off looking for work first thing in the morning, and Filia was sorely tempted to do the same. But she was afraid something might happen while she slept. As tired as she was, what if he woke up, and she didn't hear him call? What if someone found them, and tried to kill him? What if his condition worsened? Too many things could go wrong. Filia's body felt like it was one gigantic bruise. It was so hard to believe that that morning, just that morning, her people were still alive. Darkstar had not yet been summoned. It was a lifetime ago. She was battle-weary, and emotionally drained. Her arms ached from keeping them as steady as possible while helping Jillas carry Valgaav, and so did her back and shoulders. Her feet were tender and sore from all the walking she had done that day, and draining her own lifeforce for the resurrection spell had sapped a great deal of her strength. All she wanted to do was lay down and relax, but knew if she did, she'd be asleep within an instant. So she forced herself to sit up straight, in a perfect posture, on her now-bare bed, watching Valgaav. As the hours passed, and the ache her body caused her head to pound with a dull throb, Filia's eyelids grew heavier and heavier. She had to adjust the position of her feet on the floor to keep her balance, and several times had snapped awake as she almost fell over. Determined to fight off the fatigue, she began to recite poetry under her breath. It was the heavy sound of something striking the ground near him that roused him from his stupor. The little surge of adrenaline, a reflexive reaction from years of battle, was enough to enable him to force his eyes open at last. Valgaav stared up at the ceiling, illuminated with the dim glow of a single candle, trying to figure out where he was. His mind was fogged over, and everything felt out of sequence and surreal. But the ache in his limbs, the pain in his chest every time he drew breath, the throbbing sting in his wings and arms, all those were definitely indisputable. Gradually, he remembered the sound, and managed to turn his head to try to find the source, unable to suppress a groan of pain. Gods, but it hurt to breathe, let alone move. A foot away from his face was a pool of golden hair attached to a white-clad body that was in a rather ungraceful and uncomfortable-looking heap on the floor next to a bed. It took Valgaav a few long moments to place where he knew that figure from, and almost snarled. She was so close, and if it didn't hurt so much to move, it would be easy to reach out and snap her neck. But his thoughts lacked conviction, although he didn't want to admit it. Someone had obviously tended to him, and she seemed to be the most logical answer to the question of whom. The last thing he wanted was to be indebted to a Golden. Why didn't she just let him die in peace? Instead, he was in even more pain than before, both physically and from the sting of failure. He had failed. Lina Inverse had defeated him. Gaav's murder lay unavenged. Even with Darkstar's power, Lina had still bested him. Now, here he was, laying on the floor in some strange room, unable to even breathe without pain, and owing his life to a Golden. Valgaav concluded his life must be some giant cosmic joke, and this was the punch line. To make matters even better, he was freezing cold. When had the cold ever bothered him? He tried to ignore it, but the involuntary shivers that tormented him made his body ache even more. If that Golden wanted to play nursemaid, the least she could do was make herself useful. He tried to speak to get her attention, but all that came out was a hoarse croak, his throat feeling as though it were rusty from years of disuse. A few more attempts proved that trying to speak above a whisper was futile, so, gritting his teeth, he reached out with his hand far enough to hit her in the head. She stirred a bit, then sat up suddenly, blinking in a dazed, bleary way. Her expression was blank with incomprehension for a few moments, then realization dawned. "You're awake!" she exclaimed. He ignored her. "Cold," he murmured. "Gimme blanket." "Oh, of course." She started to get to her feet, then stopped. Sitting back down, she reached up to unpin a large blue circular gem at her throat, removing her cloak. "You already have all of them," Filia said, and gently laid the cloak over him. "Take this instead." He just huffed softly in response, closing his eyes. Her hand touched his face briefly, then he heard the rustle of her dress as she stood, walking away. "You're burning up from fever," she explained as she knelt by his head, placing a cloth to his face that felt horribly frigid. "That's why you're so cold." Valgaav tried to jerk his head away from her, only to have stars of pain explode in his vision. "Get that away from me," he growled under his breath. She hesitated. "I'm sorry, but we need to get the fever down. Once it gets lower, you won't feel as cold." He closed his eyes, curling his lip back in a snarl, but it felt like it would take too much energy to try and protest again as she resumed sponging his face. Eventually, her hand stilled, then slid off his forehead limply. Valgaav opened his eyes, looking up at her, to find her wavering, her eyes closed, her mouth slack, having fallen asleep where she sat. By the candlelight, he could see the obvious marks exhaustion left on her face, making her look haggard and spent. He desperately tried to fight down the guilt that started to gnaw at him, but lost. She looked as bad as he felt, and was still pushing herself to tend to him, in spite of everything he'd done and said to her. By her own admission, he had all of the bedding, and now her cloak. She had apparently fallen over before from sleep, and was about to do so again. Swearing viciously under his breath at his conscience, and then from pain, he raised his hand to nudge her again. "Hey, Golden. Wake up," he whispered, his voice gruff. Her eyes snapped open, wide and dizzied with sleep. She blinked, and it clearly took effort to reopen them, raising first one lid, then the other. "C'mere and lay down," he told her, shoving the blankets down a bit. Every muscle in his body protested vehemently against the concept of motion, but he ignored it. He could deal with pain. "Nah prop'r," she mumbled, her words slurred with lassitude. "Fuck proper," he growled. "I'm freezing, and you won't be any good to me if you drop over dead from lack of sleep." He almost apologized as she visibly winced, making a tiny sound that suspiciously resembled a sob, but hardened his resolve as she moved to lay down. What did he care, anyway? It had the desired effect, and he was in too much pain and she was too worn to deal with any further arguments. Carefully, she stretched out beside him, mindful of his injuries even in her half-awake state, and reached out, pulling the blankets over them. Then, to his surprise, her hand came up to his face, and gently stroked his hair. "Res'," she murmured, and then yawned. She said something else, but her words were too indistinct, and it sounded almost as if she fell asleep in mid-sentence. Her hand, now slack, remained touching his face, her fingers still twitching slightly, brushing at his hair. Telling himself it was just to keep warm, and not for any other reason, he mustered up the strength to put his arm around her, keeping her close to his side. Then, he closed his eyes, letting himself fall back asleep. At least then, he wouldn't have to think about the Golden slumbering beside him. |
to be continued...
Chapter Three