Raynard
The bandage had been re-applied with freshly boiled linens, making half of the knight's hard face seem to disappear under a web of bandages barely holding back the strong smell of curing salve underneath. Though thankfully where the bandit’s ax had torn into his face his eye had been left untouched.
Harlen, the house physician had finished the final touches making the protective web hold fast and tight against his black hair, though with just enough slack that it wasn’t uncomfortable. The grey and old sawbones had done his best to stitch up Raynard’s ruined face. He seemed unaccustomed to dealing with such nasty wounds even in his old age.
He tried his best to make sure that each stitch was sutured calm and carefully, though Raynard had to do his best not flinch or even hint at a moment worth of pain as the spotted hands began to shake near halfway into the operation. Whether it was from the doctor afraid to mar the face of Raynard the Gargoyle knight or at the uncommon sight of white bone exposed on a man’s cut face that had his nerves Raynard couldn’t say.
Though at last the bloodied needle was put down and soft gauze enveloped the wound. The wrinkles on Harlen’s face began to recede, his sallow green eyes began to blink almost in disbelief surprised that Raynard had been able to keep himself awake through the surgery.
“My lord the work is finished.” He announced, wiping away the sweat of his ashen brows as he bowed. Raynard only nodded as he held a hand to send the physician away to tend to the next man that needed his hands.
“A healer's gift” the gargoyle knight mused silently to himself as the low cacophony of shuffling nurses and assistants slowly dying down as they scuttled around the physicians operating room. Bloodied little droplets trailed along the white, sandstone floor. Though the men in his guard were hardly better off. Some had small cuts that needed a few stitches, others wounds worse than he took and others still were holding onto their cut bellies or arms that had seeping pools of blood beginning to well like dark ink into their clothes and onto the floor. The metallic smell of blood seemed to underline the fragrant oils and incense to dull its presence, though of course, it persisted. Though as a knight he’d been given his own secluded area with white curtains giving him a bit of space.
The brigands who caught his drawn on the road knew how to set up an ambush. Raynard had to give them that at least. His gargoyle banner had been feathered by arrows. The same as some of his less fortunate men before they could even draw their swords or dismount their horses. Though that wasn’t such an issue as most of their steeds had been shot from under them. Raynard being one of the riders nearly crushed by his own horse before jumping back to his feet. Though not nearly fast enough.
Horses screamed like gelded trolls as they fell on top of their riders. Men roared as they poured out from the nearby shrubs and trees hacking and tearing bloody wounds into his men. Into him. He’d barely managed to stay on his feet as his guard drove off the brigands leaves painted red with crusting blood when they had been found by a nearby patrol.
His head began to swim as the odors of the apothecary began to overwhelm his unquiet thoughts, as he leaned back into the pillow on his bed. How could this happen to him now? Just short of two fortnights away from his wedding day he gets ambushed by some vagabonds on the road to his beloved’s hold. Turning over to the untouched side of his face Raynard looked out to a nearby window spying the lively castle town below where he stared out forlornly into the city streets. He knew them well, he had to. The castle of Red Harbor was Stella’s domain.
“Would Stella even accept him as a husband now?” He thought morosely. The moniker of “gargoyle knight” was enough to have most lords not even allow his family’s proposals near their daughters. And now? He’d look as frightening as the gossip that followed him. He’d earn that name when he’d knocked out near half a dozen men with a war hammer in a knightly tournament. One after another, until he had been crowned champion and named her fairest of all the land. It was perhaps the happiest moment in his life and perhaps the deepest shadow that followed him everywhere. As his family crest happened to be a gargoyle that seemed near as awe-inspiring as the black steel he wore.
Though Stella knew that the armor he wore and shadows that followed him were a facade. That they were the artifice that hid who he really was. She saw him, under the armor.
And he loved her for it.
Closing his eyes he remembered how lovely her honey-brown hair had been in a braid the first time he’d spoken to her. Before the tournament, before he’d been named the gargoyle knight. Those brilliant hazel eyes, flecked with green. He could remember seeing her in tears when he was crowned champion when he had knelt to propose to her when his black helm had been crowned with gold laurels as the crowd cheered.
“Raynard!...”
“Raynard!” She said to him, placing a hand on his shoulder as she stood above him.
“Oh, Stella, I can’t believe-” He managed to croak out, he couldn’t tell if his eyes were open or not but he could still see her. He could still recognize her voice. Weakly turning his head over to the side, trying to face her. A frail smile ghosted on his lips trying to put up a brave face.
“Of course I’m here!” Stella smiled, reaching for Raynard’s hand. Even though his fogging senses, the knight could feel just how tightly her hands wrapped around his.
“Oh my god, Raynard what's happened to you?” That smile of hers faltered, giving way to little beads of hot tears cresting the corners of her eyes. Hands carefully roamed over every inch of gauze that covered his face, dark little marks where the tears had fallen on her blue dress began to spread like dilapidated rain.
“Harlen had told me that you were ambushed, that you’d been-” she stopped herself biting her lip.
Raynard felt his breath began to hitch as he met those eyes. Those lovely eyes trying to stay strong for him.
“Yes,” he wheezed the fatigue catching up to him.
“Stella I’m so sorry, I wasn’t fast enough, I couldn’t move-” He pleaded.
“The wedding, our plans-How could I let this happen” the hitch in his breath began to pick up the pace as a hot stream of tears began to sear his lost eyes.
“We only have a couple of weeks-”
“Enough, Raynard!” Stella cried out, the eyes of the knight refocusing on her voice.
“I couldn’t care less how much time we have!” She blurted, her voice bouncing around the white stone walls of the apothecary. The grip she had on Raynard’s hand turned her knuckles white and afraid to let go.
“We can have our wedding once you’ve recovered, you needn’t kill yourself like this” the tears began to rain freely now. Unfettered by any kind of brave face or decorum. She wept bitterly, burying her face in the hand she gripped onto for dear life.
“Raynard" She breathed shakily, "...oh Raynard,” She lamented her honey gold hair like a sunrise lost in a blur of tears as her knight broke. Soft sobs underscoring the silence around them.
