Author Games Compilation [Cycle 2]

Task 5 - A Soldier's Revival [VERE]

Note: I had dropped during tasks three and four, and returned in task five due to an in-games twist allowing such a thing.

A PRINCE'S WAR - TASK FIVE: I DON'T REMEMBER THE TITLE SO I MADE MY OWN

He awoke on a cot, coarse blankets stuffed around his legs, under his head, and a cold sweat on his brow, and a gasp in the little slit between where his beard should've been, and then a scream in his throat, for he not where where he was, or what had happened, or how he got here - all he knew, at first, was the panic. "Where's my wife?! Bring me my boy!" The demand was hoarse and shrieking, worry lacing his vocal cords. But the next call was louder, more sure: "Bring me my sword!" he roared. "I'll put a damn blade in their knees before I let them touch my boy! I'll put a damn-"

Hands touched his chest, pressing down harshly, and he knew not what sort of hands they were or whose hands they belonged to before he took his own and launched a knotted fist against the flesh and bone as hard as he could. Whoever they were cried out in pain, brought their arms away. Vere moved to sit, to get away, but those same young hands came into his vision, and with a fierce, high-pitched cry, they struck his nose and knocked him flat on his back. There wasn't any air in his lungs after that. He felt a throb and smelled metal. More hands had come, several pairs, all restraining him. Oh, fuck off, the lot of you.

"Vere Lennox," the voice above him said irritably. He tried to focus on her face, but everything blurred together. "You ought to know better than to put your hands on someone who's just trying to help you. Bloody hell, it's already bruising!"

"You," he said, wagging his finger aimlessly, "put that surname back where you got it. You-" He squinted, pieces coming together: her dark hair, the toned olive of her skin, the wide cheeks and pointed chin. "Avice." Relief came; he knew her, she knew him. But then the other crushing weight came, the remembrance: his wife was dead and so was his son. He'd flung a sword into the knees of everyone he could already. There was nothing to be done. So then- "What happened? What's happening?"

Avice looked up, her brown eyes shooing the others away; they seemed hesitant to leave, but she assured them it was fine, somehow (he'd zoned out). Then she sat on the edge of the cot, laid her bruising arm upon her lap, and stared down at Vere's strained features. She was very pretty in the way she showed concern. He was sure he looked deranged himself. Was he hyperventilating? "Please just tell me."

She pursed her lips. "You've been here a while. Thrashing here. We had to tie you down a couple nights-" A breath, sucked in. "We had to wait while your treatment from Feralian came in."

The beads of sweat on his back felt like ice, like he'd been dunked in a pond n slapped upon the bed. He shuddered against it. "So it was the condition." Not a question.

"Yes," she said anyways.

"And I missed a battle." Not a question.

"No," she said anyways. "But you will be in a few hours, at the very most. They are in Elusian territory."

There it was again, the panic. No- adrenaline, flushing through his veins. He felt it, tight and swelling and ready to burst straight from the capillaries. He moved to stand, and Avice's hand pressed firmly against his chest, keeping him still. Even that left him dizzy. He looked at her, desperation plain as day in the creases of his face. "Please. I need this. I've always needed this. You remember how I was, how bad I needed to fight. How hard I did."

Avice sighed, tucked smooth hair behind her ear. "Yes, I remember. You came in afterwards in delirium, covered in blood with all your fingers mangled. You collapsed right on the ground from exhaustion. You were in no condition to fight then and you are in no condition to fight now. Do you understand me, Vere?"