I Will Be the Greatest Knight

The moment Henry was inside and lit up by the fire in the stove, Irene’s guilt seemed to bloom as she saw her husband with sweat at the edges of his forehead once his hood was removed. Not only that, his normally bronze skin was paler than usual.

Wordlessly, she grabbed his hand and brought him to the bed so that he could lie down.

As he started to remove his own clothing, she stopped him. "Let me," she insisted.

Despite the way her hands ached with each movement and bits of them were starting to grow numb, she did as best as she could to remove his clothing with a clumsy grasp—at least enough so she could see the wound, but he wouldn’t be cold. The cabin still hadn’t heated up much since their fire had been unlit for so long.

His boots, outer coat, and cloak were removed. It was enough for her to go forward.

At this point, she couldn’t even tell how long it had been or what time of day it was. There was an ache of hunger in her stomach, but it wasn’t even remotely a priority.

She only looked at his wound for a mere few moments before she stood up and said, "I will get my kit."

Since there wasn’t anyone who could do magic there, at least she did have her Volna kit with salves and bandages. There was even a stitching kit in case she would need to stitch him up. Unfortunately, that would likely be the reality.

She returned to the bed, where she sat on the edge while Henry waited for her. He had rolled with his back towards the fire so his wound wasn’t pressing against the bedding. It must have been aching. Her guilt never ceased.

There was dried blood that went down into his pants. It now only oozed out occasionally since where it was poking out of his skin was congealed.

"These arrows were crafted so well," she uttered. "I should be thankful, but I’m horrified. There will be more damage if I rip it out."

Her Commander was clenching the blankets with his hand. His voice came out strained.

"Rip it out," he insisted. "I can’t do it myself."

Even if her fingers were numb at the tips, she still had a grip closer to her palms and the base of her fingers.

"On three," she said. "One, two—"

There was no three. She wrenched the arrow out of his side as neatly as she could. Despite the insulation this cabin had, there was no doubt anything outside could hear his moan of pain.

The points on the backside of the arrowhead were just as sharp as the main tip. It sliced through his skin and muscle almost surgically, like a scalpel.

Despite the horror that it was her who did this to him, she snapped into action out of necessity.

First, she found a gauze that allowed her to at least hold in the bleeding while her right hand rummaged through her tools.

"I’m going to have to stitch it," she explained.

There was only a groan of response, but he didn’t move other than to clench the blankets tighter, and his body curled a bit more.

Unfortunately, knights knowing how to stitch someone’s skin was commonplace, especially after they went into war together. There weren’t always mages around, especially not when Irene was first an apprentice.

Irene took a deep breath as she splayed her fingers over the gauze that corked his wound, for now. She then pulled it away and had to start stitching right away. Blood oozed out almost immediately, and she kept dabbing it away with her left hand when it wasn’t holding his wound closed, as the other guided her needle and horsehair.

Each muffled moan of pain from him was met with Irene’s reassuring words. "You’re doing well. Just a bit more."

By the time she was at the bottom of the two-inch hole at his side, she bit the other end of the thread and began to knot it as quickly but as precisely as she could.

Finally, she was able to cut off the string, and she slumped when she no longer needed to hold him steady. Her hands ached, and she let out a sigh.

The work wasn’t finished yet. She quickly got to finding the clove salve she had that would numb the area until they could get in front of a healer. Since this area of his body moved a lot whenever he did anything, it would be best to keep it numb so he wouldn’t always be hurting. Perhaps it would also help the guilt that would undoubtedly live inside of her the rest of her life.

Henry’s body relaxed as Irene gently pressed the salve with another bandage into his side. It took a few moments for the numbing to begin. It would also help keep the wound hydrated so it had no risk of sticking to the bandages and causing the issue to be a lot worse.

"It’s done, but I need to wrap the bandage around your waist, or it will fall off the second you move around," Irene explained.

Henry tentatively rolled onto his back and looked up at his wife.

"Thank you," he whispered and reached towards her face, willing her miserable expression to leave.

"There’s nothing to thank me for when this was my fault in the first place," Irene reminded him.

Instead of simply holding her face, Henry grabbed Irene by her waist and dragged her down so she was lying beside him, and his arms were wrapped snugly around her.

"Mind your wound," she said, muffled by his chest.

Instead of doing as she directed, one of his legs went over hers as he tried to pull her closer. However, a gasp of pain escaped her lips.

"Mind my wounds as well," she uttered as she sprang up.

"Wound?" he asked.

He had considered her fingers, knowing they would have to take it slow until the true damage was slowly revealed to them, but he hadn’t thought she was hurt elsewhere.

Even Irene had almost forgotten about the fangs that had been planted so deeply into her calf.

She began to untie her boot, but this required more precise movements. Seeing as she didn’t have them, Henry got onto the floor and began to remove her boot instead.

Finally revealed to them were the two puncture holes in her leg. Around the opening was dark red flesh.

"Shit," Henry cursed under his breath. "Lay down. We have to get this taken care of."

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