Edge of the Blade, Balm of the Hand

20th day of the 7th moon, 1162 HC

Hanna's skin is pink and glistening with ointment. Brittle strands of hair shed onto her pillow. She's sleeping. She's not in pain. The healer is finishing up the last of her blisters. Damion is kneeling by her head holding vigil. His arms still bound. Helpless by Zudaeshi's orders he doesn't dare defy again. And Mulsae can only stand and watch, worrying her collar in his fingers.

The healer closes his eyes and breathes deeply. Mulsae fidgets his feet. He knows this routine. He'll get a report from the healer any second.

The healer opens his eyes and looks up at Mulsae. He gestures him over.

"I've done what I can to balance scarring and timing," he levels Mulsae with his gaze, "With your need to have her able to walk into the audience chamber by tomorrow evening, and our strained resources, there will be scarring along her thigh and she'll be limping."

The healer leans back in his chair, "But the dehydration was more important to address. She started having organ damage. I've healed her organs, and she's going to have to drink enormous amounts of a special solution to rehydrate. She's going to need to have a strict routine of sleeping and drinking in order for her to appear in the audience chamber." He leans forward, "If you don't follow the routine exactly you risk her fainting in front of the Harmonarch."

Mulsae nods, "I'll follow your instructions to the letter."

"Good," the healer sits back again, "Now, pain management. I have nothing to offer you to help her. My resources are thin since we've had that influx of casualties from the Mountain Sanctum," he crosses his legs, "Her skin is going to hurt a lot. Every movement will sting. Her clothing will hurt. She may get an affliction called Devil's Itch where she'll be enormously itchy. You are her only source of pain management."

"Got it," Mulsae nods repeatedly, "It shouldn't be difficult to keep in range of her so I can maintain the pain muting."

"She's lucky to have you," the healer sits forward and chuckles, "Your ability to block pain and make people sleep would be really handy around here if you can ever convince the Harmonarch to put you in my service."

Mulsae huffs a laugh, "She prefers to use my powers as a sword, not a salve."

The healer shakes his head, "It's a godsdamn shame."

=*=

21st day of the 7th moon, 1162 HC

The fire makes soft sounds as it shifts, low crackles and the occasional dry snap. It's the only voice in the room now, apart from the muted hum of hallway movement beyond the door. Somewhere, a pot clangs against another. Kitchen sounds. Maybe almost time for the midday meal.

Candles flicker in their sconces, throwing soft light across the bed where Hanna sleeps. She doesn't stir. She's curled on her side, her cracked lips slightly parted, arms half-limp in front of her, and a folded blanket tucked beneath her knees to keep the strain off her hips. Her skin glistens faintly with ointment the healer left them, its scent herbal and sharp. A folded cloth lies on her forehead. Damion replaced it a few minutes ago, quietly soaking it in cool water before laying it back down.

Mulsae sits on a stool beside her, one hand resting on the edge of the mattress, fingers barely brushing her shoulder. The contact helps him maintain the link. His empathic presence is folded gently inside her mind to mute the pain and ease her into and out of sleep when needed. It's not not a difficult task. Not yet. But it's constant effort. Like holding a feather between his fingers and knowing if he loosens his grip, even for a breath, it will blow away.

Damion sits near the fire, legs stretched long in front of him. He has another cloth in hand, twisting it absently while watching the fire. The flames sway in the grate, casting soft light across the walls. Hanna would say they are dancing. She always does that, giving the fire moods, giving it reasons.

Damion and Mulsae are waiting for a metal pin stuck into a candle to drop onto a metal dish. The healer gave them candles marked with lines. They are to wake Hanna every time the wax melts to a line. The pin and dish help alert them that the time has come.

They've had six pin drops so far. Six times where Mulsae has pulled her from sleep so she can drink a jug of water, then be promptly put back to sleep. She needs to rehydrate or else she won't be able to remain conscious this evening. She needs to sleep in order to maximize her healing.

Mulsae watches how her chest rises and falls in quiet rhythm, as though her body trusts, for now, that it's safe. Mulsae shifts on the stool. The tension in his jaw won't quit.

Is this what caring feels like? Or is it just another performance? He's protecting her now. Shielding her. Easing her pain, keeping her body safe, monitoring every breath, every twitch, every flicker of discomfort. That's care, isn't it? Or is it guilt, twisting itself into something prettier? Would he be doing this if he hadn't led her to the spit? If he hadn't made her worth punishing?

He wants to say yes. That he would care anyway. That she matters beyond what she symbolizes. That this protection is genuine, not reactive. But would he? He doesn't know. He doesn't know if this is about her, or about himself. About mending her, or mending his own reflection.

Would he still be here if no one could see? If Damion weren't in the room, if no one ever knew what he did for Hanna, not even she herself, would he still do this work? Would he still mix the powder into the water, fold the cloths, measure her breath with his?

Is he soothing her suffering... or just trying to make the echo of his own monstrousness a little quieter?

He's not sure anymore. He's not sure he ever knew. He's done a hundred acts of mercy, but always after the damage is done. After the screaming, after the leash, after the spit.

And what if it's not mercy? What if it's vanity? What if everything tender he does is just a desperate attempt to believe he's still redeemable? In the privacy of his own mind, the question sits heavy. Is this what having a heart looks like? Or just what someone wants it to look like, when they're afraid they no longer have one?

Damion rises again, moving quietly to Hanna's side to swap the cloth on her forehead for a cooler one. She barely stirs beneath his touch. He stands a moment longer, looking down at her thoughtfully before settling back near the fire.

As he sits, Damion turns the warm cloth over in his hands, quiet and contemplative. Finally, he speaks, voice low and steady. "I find it fascinating that the same cloth that cools her could just as easily smother her if it stayed there too long."

Mulsae glances at him, brows slightly raised. "That's a grim way of looking at it."

"Maybe," Damion concedes, his eyes steady on the flames. "But it's true. Everything has two sides. It's how you use it that matters."

Mulsae settles on the stool, quietly considering Damion's words. "Do you really think that's true for everything?"

Damion meets his gaze evenly. Challenge accepted. "Name something it isn't true for."

Mulsae considers briefly, scanning the room. "A dagger?"

Damion lifts one brow gently. "Perfectly good at slicing apples as well as skin."

Mulsae tries again, a faint smile creeping in. "A spoon, then."

"Feeds a child, and a perfect tool to gouge out an eye."

Mulsae flinches, "Gruesome." His expression then deepens with thought. "A sewing needle. Surely that's only good. Sew clothes, embroidery, or even broken skin."

Damion shakes his head gently. "The same needle could have a poisoned tip. And I believe you have forgotten that Malric likes to sew mouths shut."

Mulsae grimaces, "I did forget." He sits back further, contemplative now. "Fire both warms and burns." He glances at Hanna. "That was obvious last night."

Damion's eyes also glance to Hanna, "Even water hydrates and drowns."

Mulsae looks at his hands, "The Blooming Deep and the Cutting Deep."

They fall silent, the gentle hiss of the fire filling the space. Damion's quiet certainty seeps into Mulsae like warmth, pushing softly at the edges of something deep inside him.

"So if it's true of things," Mulsae finally says, his voice quiet, almost hesitant, "then it must be true of people." Damion looks at him, waiting. Mulsae breathes out slowly. "Our own powers. The strength you use in battle..."

"... could harvest wheat or build homes," Damion finishes gently, as though the thought isn't new to him, as though he's long since made peace with it. "And your mind that can torture, can also soothe."

Mulsae's throat tightens a fraction. He thinks of the healer's quiet lament, of Hanna sleeping peacefully because of the same power that is also Zudaeshi's sword.

"How long have you known?" Mulsae asks quietly.

Damion shrugs slightly. "I don't know. You know me, I think about a lot of stuff." He readjusts to fully face him, "I discovered it's not about what's in your hand, Mulsae. It never was. It's about what you choose to do with it." He gets comfortable again looking at the fire, "And isn't that pretty fascinating?"

Mulsae feels something shift inside him, subtle and profound, like walls he hadn't even realized were there quietly sliding outward. Damion's words settle within him, gentle and solid as stones placed carefully along a path.

They sit quietly, watching Hanna breathe, as his body somehow feels freer. It's no longer in a cage built from blades and cruelty, but free to choose direction, where swords can also be salves, if they choose to turn them that way.

And then, softly, the pin from the candle hits the dish with its soft metallic chime. Damion rises without a word, fetching the water jug and carefully adding the measured spoon of powder. He stirs it gently, watching it cloud and dissolve as steam curls upward from the warmed ceramic.

Mulsae releases the mental hold helping Hanna sleep. He leans forward, brushing Hanna's shoulder and says with a soft voice, "Hanna. It's time."

Her brow twitches first. Then a soft inhale. She stirs beneath the blanket, head turning slightly toward the sound of his voice. Her lips part, dry and swollen, and she swallows weakly.

"There you are," Mulsae murmurs with a shy smile. "You're safe. It's just time to drink more water."

Hanna blinks slowly and mumbles, "I need to pee."

Mulsae stills for half a beat, then nods once. "Alright." Damion looks up from his stirring, surprised, but it's good. It means the oral rehydration therapy is working.

Mulsae gently pulls back the blanket, helping Hanna ease upright. Her arms tremble as she tries to push herself, and Mulsae supports her weight with a hand behind her back.

"It's funny. I don't feel any pain, but I certainly feel quite weak." She goes to swing her legs off the side of the bed when a puzzled wince crosses her face. She goes very still. Her eyes drop to her right leg. The bandage wrapped around her upper thigh is blotched through with cloudy patches of fluid. The skin above it is darkened, angry red around the edges. Her breath catches.

"It's healing," Mulsae says quietly, "but the damage went deep. You were burned badly before the flames were adjusted for your mortal body."

Hanna says nothing for a moment, her throat working. "Didn't feel it at all."

"That's why I had suddenly ordered you to scream wildly. I needed you to alert them that something was very wrong." She nods in understanding.

"You were unconscious when we dressed it. And I've been dulling your pain while you sleep."

She continues to nod faintly, absorbing all of that information, then tries again to swing her legs over the edge of the bed. Her right one doesn't cooperate. Mulsae catches her before she can fall.

"I've got you," he says, carefully lifting her under the arms. "Lean on me." They shuffle together toward the bathing chamber and to the toilet. He helps balance her as she lowers her underwear then sinks onto the toilet.

He leaves the room to give her privacy while trembling a little. He's remembering how he humiliated Damion with the toilet. Made Damion urinate in front of him. Required they make eye contact. He shudders and holds his nauseous stomach. Was there a good reason for that? No. He was just drunk on control. His breathing becomes quicker.

"I'm done," she murmurs, a little breathless. He holds his breath and clears his thoughts. He rolls his neck to shake out the tension then returns to help Hanna with her balance as she stands and walks back to the bed. As she settles, Damion lays the fresh bandages and salve nearby.

"We need to change the dressing while you're awake," Damion says gently. "The wound's draining." Hanna closes her eyes but nods.

Damion unwraps the cloth with slow precision, revealing the angry, blistered skin beneath. The outermost layer has peeled away in places, leaving raw, pink flesh shining with lymphatic fluid. Damion applies more of the salve, thick and cool.

Hanna exhales softly through her nose as she looks on with horror at the severe marring of her flesh. "I don't even feel it," she murmurs.

"It's handy having an empath on your team," Damion comments as he works on her bandage, "You're getting the best pain management that is even possible."

When they're done, Damion passes her the rehydration solution, and she takes the jug with both hands. She begins the arduous task of drinking all the water from a jug almost as large as her head. She takes a few deep gulps then rests a moment.

"What other injuries do I have. What did the healer say?" She returns to sipping the water as she listens.

"Your thigh is the worst of it. Unfortunately, it will scar. There aren't enough healing resources to offer you because of all the casualties from the sacking of Mountain Sanctum." Mulsae lowers himself onto the stool beside the bed.

"The dehydration was life threatening, so most of the healing energy was used to stabilize you. You'll be fine by this evening if we continue these sleep and drink cycles. We're just getting you hydrated enough so you don't faint." Hanna nods then tilts back the jug and chugs some of it. "Your skin will be a major source of pain for days. I'm keeping it all muted for you."

She looks up at him with earnest, "Thank you. Truly, thank you."

Mulsae's heart clenches. Thank me? He absent mindedly rubs at his chest. I pushed forward your name. You're here because of me. You're permanently scarred because of me. I'm ruining another life because I'm selfish. I was so selfish to turn Damion into my slave. I was so selfish to try to save the other woman. I was so selfish I didn't consider the name 'Hanna Linwood' could belong to a real person.

He flinches when something touches his shoulder. He blinks up and sees Damion is resting a hand on his shoulder. Mulsae skims from Damion's thoughts, I don't need to read minds to know you're spiraling right now.

Mulsae looks over at Hanna and sees she's stopped drinking and is instead looking at him worriedly. He rolls his neck and smooths down the front of his tunic. "Sorry."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Hanna asks gently.

No. Yes. Maybe. He blinks and shifts in his chair. She'll just say 'No no no, it is not your fault' and Damion will agree. They're too kind. They'll absolve me of anything. He looks at each of them. My burden to bear.

"No. I'm fine."

Damion squeezes Mulsae's shoulder then returns to the opposite side of the bed. Hanna sips the water looking at him suspiciously.

He bounces his leg. "Just..." he starts then looks around the room for something, anything to save him. "Just stop thanking me. I don't deserve it."

Hanna rests the jug in her lap. "Oh," she says so softly it hurts Mulsae's heart.

The conversation dies into silence. The fire crackles and Hanna's soft swallowing of water is audible. Damion maintains vigil over Hanna. Mulsae rhythmically wiggles the toes in his boot. I don't deserve them. I don't deserve either of them.

Hanna wordlessly hands the empty jug to Damion then snuggles down into the covers. She looks over to Mulsae with expectant eyes. He leans over and brushes a gentle hand over her forehead, "Sleep." She closes her eyes and draws in a slow deep breath.

Damion nods and walks to the fire. He crosses his arms and stares into it. Mulsae rests his fingertips on Hanna's shoulder to more easily mute her pain and maintain her sleep.

Damion turns. "You've been debating the concept of selfishness." Mulsae nods slowly. "That was selfish. Denying her gratitude was selfish." Mulsae looks at him with shocked astonishment.

Damion walks forward and leans on the bed post. "Selfishness is about centering a situation around yourself. Just now, denying her gratitude, you centered this whole situation around yourself."

"What?" he draws his hand back and leans forward. "But I don't deserv—"

"It's not about you!" Damion punctuates his words with his finger. "It's about her! Think about her wants and her needs. Stop thinking about yourself, and what you deserve and what you want." Mulsae's lips part as he gazes up at Damion.

Damion rolls out the tension from his shoulders then sits on the floor in front of Mulsae. "Go back to that moment when she thanked you. What were your thoughts?"

"I don't deserve thanks. I pushed forward her name. She's here because of me. She's scarred because of me. I'm selfish. I was selfish with you. My selfishness has—"

"I, I, I, me, me, me," Damion interrupts, "That is self centered thinking."

Mulsae's eyes widen. But then they narrow and he sits back incredulous. "What would have been better?"

"Think about her." He firmly holds a hand towards Hanna, "She said something to you. What did she want as a response? What would make her feel good? What would help her?" Mulsae's face falls and his posture softens. "You hurt her by denying her gratitude."

Mulsae's gaze drifts as that sinks in. "Yeah. It felt that way." Damion nods. "But... If I behave in how I guess is what she wants or needs... Wouldn't I just be acting? It just be performative behavior?"

"Then your behavior at least would be about helping someone else. Not serving yourself. Serving another is still better than serving yourself a fat load of guilt."

Mulsae crosses his arms and readjusts his posture. He tries to think and process this information. His magic is steadily draining as he mutes Hanna's pain. Exhaustion is seeping in because he can't sleep while on pain management duty. He rolls his neck. He can't think. This concept is overwhelming him.

He shakes his head, "I have to think on that... later." He rubs the bridge of his nose, "The fatigue is getting to me."

Damion nods and rises, "Right. Remember it. Think on it again later." He turns, "For now... game of cards? You look like you're going to slip asleep if you stay still."

Mulsae stands, "Gods, yes. I think you just tipped me over to exhaustion with that concept." He settles down beside the table, "Keep me awake."

Damion grins and deals the cards.