Page 30 of A Suitable Captive

Ati’s urgency brought Fen across the clearing at a run and gave Fen no time to hesitate before he took over supporting the first bleeding figure. Ati barked at him, “Get them to my tent, quick as you can,” and then was off, darting to Lan and the one Lan carried.

Fen didn’t let himself look. He did as he was told, noting the fever-heat in the skin he touched and the delirious mumbling as he half-dragged the wounded figure into Ati’s tent.

He didn’t get a chance to decide what to do with them once there. Ati reappeared, snapping for Fen to get the person onto his bed, fuck the laundry, and then for Lan who came in close behind him to drop the person he was carrying into the tent’s one chair.

Fen did not meet Lan’s eyes, his gaze on his next task: removing blood-soaked clothing as fast as he could so Ati could see the wound—wounds.

He heard Tellan, then Dol, then new voices, and spared moments to identify speakers whenever he could. But his sleeves were rolled up, his hands and the beds of his nails wet with blood and things that were not blood, and he thought he would be sick and yet had no time to be, so he moved as instructed and narrowed his attention to only that.

The injuries were from days before, some healing when they should not be because they hadn’t been cleaned, according to Ati, and needed to be reopened. Some had places that had begun to rot. Ati had an answer for that too, one thatdidturn Fen’s stomach, or would have if he’d had time to linger.

He had expected to fetch water, if that, but Ati called to him again and then again, praising Fen’s hands for their steadiness and strength, and waving Fen toward herbs and concoctions Fen had only recently learned of. Dol and others brought water when needed, then took away bloodied scraps of clothing. The pregnant person, and it wasperson, someone fae-like though not of the fae, bore weapons and insisted they were fine enough, but Ati ordered in another bed and would not let them leave.

Fen used some of the boiled water for teas for them and for the others to keep them sleeping as long as possible, and to prepare blends to keep away more rot and fevers. Shouts echoed in his ears even though nearly everyone slept now. He used Ati’s needles alongside Ati, sewing quickly to stop bleeding and determinedly ignoring how flesh did not stitch together like linen. He asked Dol to bring porridge for their one conscious patient when Ati deemed it all right for them to eat.

He did not sit. He did not think. He moved.

Ati declared everyone in the tent alive for the moment then collapsed into another chair that now crowded the tent. Fen hadn’t seen anyone bring that chair in, but merely stared at it in confusion before belatedly nodding in response to whatever else Ati told him.

“You’re not hearing a word,” Ati complained tiredly, barely raising his head. “I said well done. Thank you. You did well. Go rest now.”

Fen nodded again and stood there, blinking to also realize there were oil lamps around the tent. He hadn’t noticed those being lit either.

“Go rest, Fen-flower,” Peari echoed Ati from the extra bed, waving Fen toward the door. Fen was too tired to wonder where and when they had heard that nickname for him. Perhaps when someone had brought in the other chair. “Rest before you fall over.”

Fen gave them one last nod, then turned to find his way out of the tent, only to stop once there because the sky was dark and the air was cold. The fire nearest to Ati’s tent seemed unusually bright and high and had a much larger crowd seated around it than he was used to seeing.

“More water,” someone ordered quietly, catching some of Fen’s attention as he stood wincing at the light. “Bring it to my tent, along with whatever will do for towels.” Then Fen was off his feet, Lan’s arms around him.

Fen thought he could have walked but his mouth didn’t allow a protest out, or words of any kind.

Lan spoke for him, “And something to eat and drink.”

Maril was in Lan’s tent when they got there, lighting the lamp and candle on Lan’s table, and then another lamp that had appeared from somewhere. He moved Lan’s travel pack from the chair and gave Fen a smile before slipping away.

Lan’s arms left Fen after he put him down in the chair, so Fen looked up. Lan was even broader with the candle casting shadows around him.

Fen got his tongue to work. “Ati said ‘well done.’ Will they be all right? What happened? Are more coming? I could—”

“You’ll stay here.” Lan stopped him there, then turned to greet Tellan, who carried a steaming bowl on some folded cloth. She and Lan exchanged a heavy look, then she was gone. Lan turned back to Fen. “Hold still, cub.”

The bowl went onto the table. It apparently contained hot water, which Lan used to wipe Fen’s face and then scrub at a lock of hair by Fen’s temple. “I saidstill,” Lan ordered sternly so Fen tried not to move again, although he didn’t recall moving in the first place.

“What happened?” Fen asked, uncertain if he had before. He wondered if he should lift his chin to be helpful when Lan turned his attention to his neck or if that would count as “not still.” Then he abruptly remembered what had led to the splash of blood there.

At his shudder, Lan slowed his movements, gentling further.

“They are Hestabarri warriors who barely survived some border dispute and then were chased from the edge of Ty lands by some of their guards, who probably thought them part of a larger force. Or possibly didn’t.” Lan pulled back. “Your shirt has to go, probably the undershirt as well. Raise your arms.”

Fen frowned until he got his arms working so he could lift them. They were heavy, like the rest of him. As though he had run through the woods all night again, when he hadn’t done anything nearly so strenuous.

His shirt and then his undershirt were tugged over his head, stirring his hair. His chest was wet and sticky, his skin already pebbling in the cold air.

Lan exhaled. “Good boy. Now be still again for me.”

The washing resumed, hot water trailing over chilled skin. Lan met Fen’s eyes at Fen’s first shiver. It occurred to Fen that he could wash himself now, but then also that he’d more than likely fall asleep before he could finish, and then that even the fleeting touch of Lan’s hands felt good. So he said nothing of it and studied Lan’s ear and the side of his face whenever Lan was distracted with the blood that seemed to have gotten everywhere. There was some on Fen’s pants. Perhaps Lan would remove those too. He’d have to kneel down to do it.

Fen’s body was weighted to the chair while his mind floated. He was grateful. Otherwise, he would have to worry about the open tent door or getting hard. As it was, Lan kneeling was a new, incredible thought that came and went while he let Lan move and wash him as he pleased.

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