Adelphe's Convalescence

The Broken Paladin

The Broken Paladin

Addie dreamed of running.

It wasn't a particularly exciting dream. She wasn't running anywhere in particular, nor was she running away from something. She was just running. The wind was blowing in her hair. The easy interplay of muscles a special joy in its own way as the ground passed easily under her feet. Laughter bubbled up in her throat but didn't quite escape as sunlight stroked gently down her face.

It was a simple dream, but a beautiful one.

And it stood in stark contrast to the bleak reality surrounding her when she opened her eyes.

Thunder rumbled through the darkened sky as rain poured down in heavy sheets. Muddy puddles overflowed onto stone walkways and stained shoes and hems alike. Occasionally, bright flashes of lightning would briefly brighten up the world, but mostly everything was gray and drowned by the seemingly ceaseless storm.

It was the third day in a row that such a storm had poured over the city, and the fifth since the clouds had begun to gather. There would be brief periods of dryness intermittently, but the cloud cover itself never dispersed. Even those who enjoyed the rain were quickly becoming discontent with the endless fall.

Addie sat in the special chair her sister Felicie had created for, parked under a sturdy awning in the gardens of the Paladin's Suite, and watched the rain drown the bushes. She had come out here during one of the dry spells but, since the storm had picked back up, she hadn't bothered braving the chill and wetness to get back inside.

So, she would close her eyes as the storm raged and dream of running.

Another growl of thunder reverberated across the sky and Addie grimaced as an accompanying ache flared in her knees. The pain was slight, but just enough to ruin the daydream. She gazed down at her legs, hidden under a blanket, and ran her hand over the deformed lumps of her knees.

Now completely immobile, she couldn't bend them in order to even sit properly. The chair her sister had designed for her lounged rather than sat up, allowing her to keep her legs out straight. She felt like she was sitting in a wheelbarrow.

It wasn't right to complain. She knew that. She was lucky to even be alive. She certainly wasn't going to voice her grievance around others when there was so much to be thankful for.

But, when she was alone and the storm was already depressing her spirits, she could look down at her useless legs and mourn her simple, unattainable dream of ever running again.

Like an old woman's aged joints, the heaviness of the storm made her knees ache painfully. She couldn't even bear weight on them because doing so felt like a knife being driven up into her leg. Even if she wanted to try, her ankles would not allow it. Although the bones of her ankle weren't broken, the taut cord at the back of them had been severed on both legs, rendering walking impossible.

It had been months since the cords had been cut and only a week short of that since her knees had been broken. Both had been done while she had been held in captivity, a result of her attempts at escape from her captors.

In her deepest nightmares, she would sometimes be forced by her own mind to relive the moments that had rendered her immobile. It had certainly hurt to have her ankles cut through, but the mallet that had been driven down onto her knees had been far more painful.

In the safety of home, having been rescued from her captivity by her sister, it was a memory that only became more distant with each passing day. However, the reminder of her time being held as a prisoner of war never truly left her and only became more acute the longer the rain stayed overhead and made her knees ache to remind her of her useless state.