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He should have said ‘No’.
His step was light and rushed, and he could barely hear anything for the stagger of his thundering heart. She was so very heavy in his arms, her forehead beaded with sickly sweat, features scrunched in pain. He was too slow, much too slow, and the castle seemed so far away, but Alucard dared not beam them forward lest it complicated her condition.
When Greta insisted she join the search for the missing shepherds, eagerly tapping the head of her warhammer and throwing her will unto him, damn him he should have said ‘No’.
Alucard stared down at the woman as her hand gripped weakly at the lapels of his coat before it fell away, lifeless, and her head tilted back, hanging limply like a broken doll in his arms; her heartbeat was sluggish, and she had lost much blood on the way already.
If anything happened to her—
No, he would not entertain that outcome; could not.
With rising distress, Alucard walked the path to the healing ward as fast as he could manage. After what seemed like ages, he was placing her weakened body onto a cot, and the white bedding stained crimson with her trickling blood as healers and apprentices roamed frantically about.
Marta, the head healer, was already rushing towards them, having been alerted by the others. “What happened?” she asked, rolling her sleeves up to the elbows and tying a sash over her head.
“Slash wound; night creature,” Alucard spoke swiftly, tearing the cloth off Greta’s leg. He moved fast, spurred by fear and guilt, and hopelessness beckoned and taunted him but he willed it away, unable to consider the unthinkable.
He would not lose her; not like this.
Alucard tied a tourniquet around the mangled mess that was her leg, and the creature’s talons had cut deep into her calf, shredding through tender living tissue; he smelled the affliction in her blood, but luckily it had not gone far. “The poison has entered her bloodstream,” he said. “I know the antidote, but I must prepare it first,” Alucard turned to the long shelves stocked with medical supplies. When Greta moaned faintly he whirled around, and his heart sank. He leaned over her, his gaze on her half-closed eyes as he palmed her burning cheek. He had to move fast. His gaze snapped upward. “Do you remember how to use the cautery powders?“ he asked the healer.
“Of course,” Marta groused, and set to work, unlocking another shelf where she retrieved a jar with white powder and a small, pointed wooden stick.
Apprentices cleaned the area around the wound with warm water as, with shaking fingers, Alucard took three flasks and measured precise quantities in a beaker, mixing thoroughly. He then went to Greta and leaned over her as the woman opened her eyes.
“Can you understand me?” he asked softly.
“Of…c-course…” she struggled to look at him. “Too… warm…” her hand reached for him like a broken wing, and Alucard grasped her fingers like his life depended on it, moving and lifting her against him with all the care he was capable of.
“We’ll fix that right now,” he said, bringing the beaker to her lips. “Drink this, all of it,” he hedged.
She complied, and her throat bobbed as she swallowed the colorless solution. “… horrible,” the words crumbled from her, and Alucard nearly shattered in relief that she was still there, her presence and will undaunted by what befell her. It was not too late. He wrapped his arms around her and glanced at Marta, who was ready to begin.
“Listen,” Alucard followed, speaking into her hair, “we will cauterize the wound; seal the blood vessels to stop the bleeding and reduce risk of infection. “Are you still with me?”
“… can’t get rid of me…that easily,” Greta whispered faintly, fingers gripping his shirt.
Alucard huffed, in both delirious concern and admiration at her boldness. “This will also destroy the diseased tissue affected by the poison. Ready?”
“…as I’ll ever be…” Greta muttered, turning her head so her cheek came pressed into his chest.
“This will hurt,” he said.
“Used to it by now…” the woman croaked as Alucard wiped her forehead with a wet cloth.
He shifted slowly so her upper body rested against him and his arms wound around her from behind, supporting her with his taller frame; he looked at the healer and nodded.
Greta shuddered and fisted her hands in the folds of his fine shirt, her breathing shallow, squirming as the compound burned into flesh, and every stifled cry of suffering was a tear at his own fortitude.
“Is there nothing you can give her?” Marta asked. “For the pain?!”
“No,” Alucard shook his head. “It would interact with the antidote, possibly weaken its potency.” He lowered his head to the woman gripping him, her face contorted in suffering. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. It must be done.”
Greta nodded weakly, and Alucard reached for her hand; her nails dug into his pale skin as the healer continued her work, cauterizing the damage with methodical precision.
Alucard held her and whispered encouraging words he forced himself to believe, ones Greta never heard amid the flares of unbearable discomfort, and she squirmed and cried and cursed, the back of her head striking repeatedly against him.
“It’s all right,” Alucard steadied her, carding shaking fingers through her drenched hair. “It will be all right, you’ll see.” It had to. He would never accept the alternative.
Suddenly Greta arched her back and fell against him, and did not move again. Alucard sharpened his focus, sensing her pulse was regular; she had merely lost consciousness.
After moments - or hours, he could not tell - Alucard looked through red-rimmed eyes at the healer, who was wiping her hands.
“It is done,” Marta said. “I’ve used an antiseptic. She will have to be watched.”
“I’ll be here,” Alucard said, perhaps too curtly. He sighed, regretting it immediately. “Thank you, Marta.”
Marta bowed her head, and a hopeful smile brimmed on her face. “She saved my life once. If nothing else, it’s the least I can do. Watch over her, lord Ţepeş,” the healer said. “She will need you this night.”
Alucard was slow to extricate himself from her, lowering Greta in a reclined position. He stood and brought a chair close to her side, then a bowl of warm water and sat by her. He rinsed and wrung the cloth, then wiped her forehead. Alucard looked up at the domed ceiling, heaving a sigh. Without warning, his breathing turned fast as invisible claws gripped at his throat, and air would not reach his lungs; his sudden growl of frustration sent concerned looks his way, but he heeded no one.
He should have been more careful; more vigilant. They fought so well together, almost as one, and it was the dance they knew best. But this time, this time, he had been too late. And now…
Alucard leaned close to the one he cherished, listening to her breathing before placing his lips to her fevered temple. “This too will pass,” he murmured, gazing at her sunken features. “Return to me.”
She would; she had to.