|Summary:||Wounds are tended after the battle.|
|Date:||December 28, 2011|
|Related Logs:||Directly following Among the Pines and Nettles|
|Entrance Hall — Four Eagles Tower|
|The Entrance Hall is more than two dozen feet high with ornate columns hefting the fresco ceiling above all. Plush seating is arranged around one side for visiting nobility while the other has less comfortable slab stone or wood benches for the peasantry. Alcoves dot the walls for more private discussions and sworn Guards patrol this hall at all times and especially during court. Several hallways and doorways lead off to different areas of the castle with a spiral staircase carved neatly into one corner that winds its way up.|
|December 29, 288|
Belle kneels before Hardwicke as the master and his apprentice come to tend his arm. She reaches up to touch his cheek, trying to get him to focus on her eyes. "You are absolutely forbidden to die," she tells him, her voice slightly choked, her smile a rictus — her eyes entirely in earnest. "Do you hear me?"
Hardwicke hisses a quiet breath as his companions help him down for the Maester to tend. He focuses blearily on her eyes with something of an effort, his face pale. "I hear you, woman," he mumbles as people presumably begin to unbuckle his plate in the careful process of getting to his arm. He hisses a quiet protest.
Glancing up, Muirenn looks over to Belle and nods as the maester finally makes an appearance. Alcohol is poured into Liliana's wounds as a quick and safe sterilization as the Mallister lady washes her hands thoroughly in a basin. Though empathetic tears well up in the girl's eyes at the muffled screams she does not allow them to fall, instead taking her chirgeonry needle and threading it. "You are doing so well Lili…your Uncles and Papa will be so proud when they hear." The wound in the thigh is the worst and with painstaking care, she begins to stitch the muscle together murmering inaudible prayers as she breathes.
Lowering Hardwicke as gently as he can, which isn't too gentle with Kell in his current condition, it is gentle enough to get the job done without the other knight passing out. The biting pain of his own wound is starting to irritate the Hedge Knight now that adrenaline is no longer streaming in his blood, but he is smart enough to stay out of the way as the Maester steps in. He does give Belle some comforting words, "Ser will not die, he was one of the toughest out there amongst the raiders, he's too tough to die." Finally, Kell gets the chance to pull off his helm and pull back the mail that protects the side and back of his head, allowing some air to cool the man. "By the Seven… where did those raiders come from. Escorting a merchant one second, fighting a pitch battle the next…"
Liliana's trying not to fight, she really is, but it's hard when it hurts as much as alcohol and needle on raw flesh can. But there's always a point, isn't there, when the pain just can't get any worse, and things just seem to level off. At least she's holding reasonably still now, or it could just be the weight of the servants bearing down on her, giving Muirenn time to work the stitches in.
Hardwicke's response brings laughter to Belle's lips and tears to her eyes, simultaneously. "Good," she whispers roughly. She flashes Kell a quick, grateful smile, then gives the wounded knight her hand to squeeze through the pain and prodding.
Having gone through a serious wound on the field of battle in the past, Kell knows what Hardwicke is going through with the medical administration by the Maester and remains down at one knee so he can grab onto the other knight's hand without requiring the man to reach up in pain. The squeeze to fight pain is felt nd the Hedge Knight can only nod to the Captain of the Guard, as if letting the seriously wounded man know it's alright to keep squeezing.
"Sorry my lady….I am going as quick as I may." Muirenn offers as she finishes up the muscle and has the alcohol poured over the needle to wash off the blood before stitching the skin. It is a blessing that the Mallister noble is skilled with her embroidery for her stitches are small and neat and hopefully should not leave too large a scar.
If the early morning found Avinashi at her little room in the sept, simmering ingredients for a salve to ease coughing, the peaceful early-morning task was disrupted by broken bells and cries of "Ships!" Grabbing a satchel and shoving as much of her collection as she could fit into it, she ran with the others into the keep, through being trapped in the panicked crush of bodies kept her from serving much use while the gates were up. Now, they've falling and the Dornishwoman has worked herself free. She finds her way to where the wounded are gathered, a strange and jingling sight in her bangles and blue and silver-embroidered silks. Her hair clip has been lost somewhere, her headscarf fallen to her shoulders. "Please," she asks in her accented and dulcet tones, "in what way may I be of help, here?"
"Orkmont," Hardwicke rasps to Kell's words, however rhetorical they might be. "Orkwood and Tawney. I saw the bann—" He sucks in a breath as they start to carefully strip off his mail as gently but efficiently as possible, which by necessity is quite a pain to his injured arm. But eventually enough clothing is stripped or cut away to get to the skin, and the Maester begins cleansing and stitching the wound. Hardwicke squeezes hard on Belle's hand, but attempts to keep himself quiet. He is in a poor position to direct Avinashi.
Kell turns his gaze back down to Hardwicke as the names of the Ironborn Houses that were the source of the attack outside by the gates, frowning at the information, "So much for the so-called Truce that the Ironbound had offered, eh?" It isn't said in disgust or scorn, but disappoint and perhaps a little bit of surprise. Like some of the others, the Hedge Knight had the chance to actually speak to Lady Harlaw and from appearances, she didn't appear to be too barbaric, only a little.
When Avinashi arrives, Kell looks up and nods to the woman as she asks a question, directed to the masses, "I believe the Maester has things in hand with the Ser here, but there are other wounded as well, a Mistress was wounded I believe." He glances to where Liliana and Muirenn are situated, gesturing in that direction.
Liliana is no Mistress. But at the moment she's no Lady either. Only a girl, barely older, who's now mostly quiet, the shock stilling most of her movements, as Muirenn moves on to her chest. Only the clenching of her jaw gives any indication that she isn't completely unconscious, as she lies quiet under the Lady of Mallister's needle.
"Here please!" Muirenn calls as someone offers help. She could use the help if only to hand her things. Her expression is pained, wishing she could assist in easing Liliana's pain but terrified to use anything stronger than willow bark tea without the guiding hand of someone more knowledgeable. "I am so sorry Lili…so sorry…I am trying to hurry."
Hardwicke musters up energy through his tension for anger. "I wouldn't be surprised if she led them here," he spits out. Then he has to close his eyes again and breath in a slow, hissing breath at the continued ministrations of the maester.
Avinashi glances towards Kell when he speaks and offers him a small nod. "Thank you, ser," she offers calmly, stepping away from Hardwicke and the maester for the moment, and over towards Murienn as she calls and the wan Lady Lilianna. Studying the terse stillness of the woman being stitched she offers, "I will be of little help with the stitching, but I have milk of the poppy for her pain, if I may."
"Guess peace was only wishful thinking." Kell says with a light sight as a hand starts probing his mail armor, finding the links that have been shattered or severed during combat as he looks back down to Hardwicke who continues to be treated by the Maester. "I wish I had arrived sooner, could've been more help. I only pray that the Merchant I was escorting was able to escape safely back to Stonebridge. Had him turn his wagon around once it looked like something was wrong as we approached." Part of him feels guilty and wrong for leaving the merchant but the defenders of the Roost looked to be in bad shape.
"Oh yes please Mistress! You must be the one from the sept that Ser Jarod told me of." Muirenn glances gratefully at Avinashi, "I was going to call on you and desired to make your acquaintance. I just did not anticipate under such circumstances." The Mallister noblewoman turns back as she finishes up the last stitch and knots of the thread. Gently she begins to wash the wounds.
settling on her knees beside Muirenn, Avinashi puts her satchel down and begins rooting through it. "I am Avinashi Ruhi," she agrees with a small nod. "I am pleased to meet you, circumstances excepted. But I do not think anyone could have imagined such." She draws out bottles, each marked in the curling, delicate script of a strange language. There is a soft *tsk* as a couple of the bottles drawn out are cracked, one properly broken. But the one she seeks is whole enough, and it's opened, a bit of the thick, white liquid poured into the bottle's top. "Lady Liliana," she says gently, "I've something for you to swallow that shall help with the pain."
Liliana's eyes crack, focusing, mostly, enough to find the Dornish woman. Though she knows the woman barely at all, only to see her about the castle, she's Jacsen's retainer, and by extension, given the same trust the, now, Young Lord is. barely a nod, but she unclenches her jaw, a slow process, after holding the muscles tense for so long, but finally, it's done, and the leather spirited away by a retainer. 'Thank you,' inaudible, but easily lip read, but no less heartfelt for all of it, as she looks from Avinashi to Muirenn and opens her lips to accept the draught.
"I am Lady Muirenn Mallister." Muirenn replies as she has the retainer take the strap away. "There you are Lili, you should feel better soon." Exhaling heavily so that the red curls about her forehead are pushed upwards by the puff of air, the teenager turns to wash the blood from her hands and arms. She will not think…just work…thinking can come later…after. Once her hands are cleaned she instructs her maid, "The salve of aloe and rosemary….then the bandages." Glancing over at the foreign woman she asks, "Unless you have something better Mistress? I have basics, but feel vastly ill-prepared."
Once the dose is administered, the cap is replaced, but Avinashi shakes her head. "Aloe and rosemary will serve very well, my lady. The basics are often still the most effective means, or they should not be so… well, so basic." A corner of her mouth lifts in a faint smile. "It seems to me a job well done."
Soon, Hardwicke is receiving his own sip of milk of the poppy, which leaves him considerably easier to allow the maester and his apprentice to work. It also leaves him particularly ill-equipped for conversation.
It takes only a few moments, for the draught to work it's magic, and that, combined with all the rest, soon has Liliana asleep, and hopefully unaware of what might lie in store for her, when the Lord of the Roost returns, and ends word to her family. The bliss of ignorance…at least for a little while.
As the Maester continues to work on Hardwicke, Kell stays out of the way of the expert, especially when milk of the poppy is given. His steps are slow and hesitant, as if the Hedge Knight is now unsure what to do. His wounds are as severe and he knows there are others who are in more need, part of him does want to leave the Hall and head to the wall outside, to ensure that the Ironborn Raiders are being kept outside as this place is somewhat foreign to him but he has ventured about town for a few days a week or so ago.
Nodding, Muirenn looks much relieved as she carefully begins to smooth the salve onto Liliana's wounds and then bandage them. Two sturdy men and two maids are summoned, "Take Lady Liliana up to her room and get her to her bed so that she might rest more comfortably. The maester or myself will be up to check on her as time allows." Turning she smiles, "Your assistance here is much appreciated Mistress." And so it goes as Muirenn moves through the hall assisting the maester in treating the wounded. Though her dress is a ruin and her wildfire hair is a mess of unruly, sweaty curls the noblewoman always keeps a calm smile and has a word of comfort for each.