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“Vernon.” The battle had been rough, the siege really. Because Vizima had been under siege and Regent Vernon Roche had refused to stay off the fucking battlement walls. “Vernon, bastard, I need you to say something.” There was blood on his hands, he’d been holding hands with the dying young the last Iorveth had seen him, too busy firing arrows and directing his archers to watch closer.
The sun was rising, dispelling fog across the field of dead.
“ Vernon .” He knelt a foot away, poised between Vernon’s knees. “Are you hurt?”
“No.” His voice was wrecked. His skin was clammy and his eyes weren’t focused, his breath was coming too fast.
“Regent!” Someone yelled from down the wall, feet pounding on the stone. Iorveth’s head snapped to the side and he glared at the man with a hundred years of fury and annoyance. The man froze and took two steps backward. Iorveth shook his head. Deal with it without him. Iorveth took a deep breath, “Find Vesemira. She’s in charge.”
Roche hadn’t seemed to even hear the man approach despite having yelled with the strength of a war trumpet. They could have him back when the sun was high in the air, but not then. They weren’t surviving the night just to destroy him in the morning.
“Well if you’re in such fine spirits you can stand and walk yourself back inside the castle.” Vernon licked his lips and stood, swaying once on his feet. “That’s a good boy.” There’s no fuck you or piss off, elf . It makes something in Iorveth’s gut clench.
They walked by the dead, the wounded with healers by their sides, and then down to where civilians were huddled and quiet. Vernon stumbled and tripped every few steps, he didn’t react when Iorveth put hands on him as a guide- and he really was cold . Cold and clammy and not okay .
Once they were safely ensconced in the walls of Iorveth’s study he pushed Vernon onto the couch and wrapped him in the first blanket in reach. He was shaking then, eyes wet with unshed tears and mouth working like he was chewing tabac.
Iorveth had a pitcher of water somewhere, he remembered having it brought up before the first war horns rang out. Vernon grabbed his wrist, suddenly looking afraid like he’d realized something isn’t right but he didn’t know how to fix himself.
“I’m getting water, dh’oine.” He didn’t know if it would help and he’d very much like to get a healer in the room but Vernon wouldn’t accept that. Not until every last soldier was looked after first. “Drink this.” Vernon took two sips and grimaced like he was going to be sick.
“Sit with me?” He whispered. Iorveth sat and placed a grimy hand on Vernon’s terribly dirty knee. He sat and watched the color return to Vernon’s cheek slowly, shifting grip from his knee to his hand, rubbing the muscles until they were no longer bone white.
Alive again.