𝐂𝐖: mentions of injuries but no in-depth descriptions
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𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇
the fight has long since been over, yet after searching every corner of the village, you still saw no sign of the head guard. as your last resort, you hurriedly rush across the ruined plaza, climbing over rubble as you descend into the village mines.
you find him there, tucked back in the main tunnel and slumped over as he holds a cloth over a gash on his side. his gloved hand fumbles with some medic supplies, though his shaky hold renders himself useless as they tumble to the floor.
"garroth," you sigh, relieved but also annoyed by his insistence on never asking for help.
he flinches, caught off guard by the blood loss dulling his senses. even now, he stoically has every layer of his armor on except for his chest plate, even his helmet stays firmly against his skull.
"i'll be alright, my lady," he starts, though the pained wince he lets out a moment later immediately discounts him for his claims.
quietly, you approach him, kneeling in front of him and pulling the first aid items out of his grasp. while you can't see his face, you hear him inhale sharply to protest against you. you silence him with a stern glare, to which he sinks back into the uncomfortable stone without a word.
"you are much too stubborn," you chastise, reaching to his other hand to remove it from his wound. "your pride will get you killed."
you cringe as he peels away the blood-soaked cloth to reveal a deep gash along his side. it's a slash and not a stab, thankfully, but it would still need stitches.
it seems he already knew that, based on the thread and needle he had yet to even tie together. while maneuvering the stitching thread into the eye of the needle, you listen to his shallow and shaky breathing underneath his helm.
"aren't you having trouble breathing with that?"
"...no."
your eyes dart up, narrowing at the eye slits of the metal in front of you.
"it's just me. i understand you want to hide your identity, but when it comes to your health—"
you lift your hands up to his helm, firmly placing them on each side before pausing, waiting to hear for any protests. when you hear none, you slowly lift the metal, sliding it off of his head and revealing what was underneath.
for just a moment you freeze, eyes locking onto his. his hair was a stunning sandy blonde that brushed over his brow line in soft curls. they stuck to his forehead, that had a sheen of sweat over it. you could tell his stunning eye color was dulled over by pain, eyelids drooping and his lips pale.
