My Warden (COMPLETED)

Possibilities

Abrasions across the back and most of the shoulder, a gash into the thigh near a major artery which - by the grace of the Maker - didn't nick it, and a swollen eye. Lana pushed what had to be the final drops of her mana into the wounded man. The eye and the abrasion could heal on their own with time, but she was concerned about the gash. Infection was a practical guarantee at this point, and harlequins loved their little bottles of poison. Probably hemlock knowing her luck.

Her patient sat upon one of the marble benches lining the room with another injured soldier's feet stretched across his lap. On occasion, he'd lightly rub the soldier's legs but the woman was numb to the world for another eight hours. "There," Lana pronounced, pulling her hands away from the man's leg. "It will be best if you rest, and in the morning I'll check the eye. Someone will check the eye."

He nodded, his one good eye scrutinizing her as she kneeled before him. They hadn't said much about the not technically Inquisition mage administering healing, but everyone was wary. Given what happened with the Venatori tonight it was understandable. Lana tipped her head and slid away, when the man grabbed onto her tending fingers and gave them a soft shake. Then he returned to his fellow slumbering soldier and shifted her legs so she'd be more comfortable. What had once been the cloak room was overstuffed with wounded scattered across every available surface. The worst were given benches and tables. One rested his head upon what was supposed to be a cake, the blue frosting mashed into his hair. But it cushioned his head from a neck wound and stemmed the bleeding from his nose.

The rest were upon the floor in such a haphazard manner it was almost impossible to cross it without treading upon a finger or toe. Lana fell to her knees to tend to the wounded, inching along by her hands and feet to knit back together bones and close off skin. Another three non-mage healers moved among her, applying bandages and calling out if any magical assistance was needed. After what felt like an hour, the final wound was stitched and she could settle back for a break. The muscles just below the skin of her fingers ached like she'd frozen them into a block of ice. Too much magic snapped back at her from beyond the veil, the mana growing wilder with each dip back in. She bunched her fists up to try and return blood flow, but she knew she wasn't going to be doing anymore magic for awhile. Not without risking a few angry energy bolts across her body, anyway.

Every muscle in her body begged to be cut free - for Lana to collapse into a heap on the floor next to those she tended, but the corset wouldn't allow it. She was pinned and sewn in so tight, sitting was impossible. The best she could do was take her weight off her knees and put it upon her hands. Laying her hands out upon the floor like she was mimicking a mabari, Lana redistributed her weight. She was beyond the realm of exhaustion and into the almost euphoric state of giddiness that follows right before total collapse. And under it all, her side ached. No blood pooled below the corset or onto her skirts, which would just add to the mess she already made of the dress, but the throbbing warned her that it needed attention. Which would require rising and finding somewhere private to get out of the damn dress.

"What's the situation with the wounded?"

Lana glanced up from her hands into the commander's weary face. He still carried his sword as if he feared another attack from the shadows, the blade extended downward. After the Inquisitor arrived in the ballroom informing the Empress about her would-be assassin's death, it was all speeches and drinks, then more dancing and merriment. While the big swords played the game of acting as if everything was under control, the rest of the soldiers gathered up the wounded or carted off the surviving harlequins for a later trial. Lana had no idea who was in charge of removing bodies or scrubbing up blood, but judging by the unperturbed expression on the servants faces, they'd probably seen worse.