The Warden | A For Honor Fanfiction

Recovery

Recovery
I had seen the discomfort on their face, standing there and discussing the enemy's fortress. I remembered the long night awaiting their lone soldier, hoping the message would be sent. I'd had my suspicions, but now it was as clear as day. Mine was not the only game being played, I could see that quite plainly. Done correctly, it could be used to further it, set the final pieces in place. A chance to fulfil the oaths properly, I suspect. I knew what had to be done.

—-

It was akin to coming out of a fog when I first opened my eyes. At first, all I could think of was the oaths I had sworn to my companions. Getting back to the fortress, fighting through the bitter cold. Yet, as I slowly came to my senses, I discovered that its sting had faded, only echoes seemed to remain. In much of its place, I felt a firm weight on my chest, and a strange warmth that seemed to combine discomfort and relief all in one. Second was what I could see, as my vision returned I could make out wooden ceilings and walls surrounded me, faint torchlight and candles were burning all around me. My armor was piled neatly beside me, with nary a hint of blood that I could see. My sword rested beside the pile, leaning gently against the wall, likewise cleared of any viscera. I couldn't remember lying down or falling asleep, let alone taking off my armor. Just what had happened to me? Had I made it to the fortress, or had I been captured? Where was I?

I hoped to find answers as I discarded a set of furs atop of me and tried to sit up, only to be met with a wave of burning pain that seemed to pulse through my entire body as I winced. Putting a hand on my left side, I looked down to inspect it, only to be met with a well bandaged and clean looking injury, faint smells of honey wafting off the bandages. It seemed whoever had tended to this injury had given me the dignity of keeping a tunic and set of trousers, though the edges of the tunic were pulled back from the bandaging. I could still see traces of swelling even beneath the concealing gauze, but I could not smell any bitter or unpleasant odors, hopefully a sign of successful healing. At the least, I knew I hadn't imagined the skirmish between myself and Belial.

Slowly, more memories returned to me as I pulled my hand away and gathered my thoughts. I could remember stumbling nearly blind through the raging storm, my senses warring for which piece of my body was in the most agony. I could remember the breaking of the storm just before sunrise, revealing the path I knew to follow, and I could remember just seeing in the distance the rising hill leading back to the fortress, the safe haven I had so desperately been seeking. Based on my circumstances, it seemed that my journey had been successful, and whoever had tended to me had treated my injuries.

It was only after I had come to this conclusion that I realized I seemed to be alone in whatever part of the fort I'd been sent to. The room was mostly empty, save for a table that seemed littered with documents and scrawlings. Towards the corner was what looked like a pile of discarded towels, heated towels for my treatment, perhaps? Fighting against the stinging of my wound, I placed a hand against the table to steady myself as I looked over the documents, trying to better discern what they said. Though the handwriting was haphazard and sloppy, I still managed to see they were medical reports, written in long and over complicated terms that seemed intent to dissuade unwelcome eyes.

Before I could further investigate my surroundings, I came to notice the sound of footsteps behind me. I turned slowly so as not to disturb my injury, and balled my free hand into a fist, a reflex I'd long since stopped fighting. The steps didn't seem heavy, certainly not akin to stomping, but I knew better than to let that ease my concerns. While I knew that Kharion and his people should be controlling this fort, I still could not let myself relax, not until the danger was well and surely gone. Slowly, the presence walked down the wooden stairs, gradually revealing a casual silhouette, without any hints of armor or weapons. When the figure reached the bottom of the stairwell, I recognized them instantly.