Rain-swollen clouds filled the darkening evening sky, their colors gradually shifting from grayish white to reddish orange, then to magenta. At some point, Gideon had given up on the chase and laid back in the grass, watching the clouds lazily meander towards the setting sun far above him. It had rained off and on over the last few hours, spawning the mud he’d feared might appear.
He had no idea where he was. His memory of the battle was spotty—frightening images of violence and death. Sprinting, lunging, striking, leaping, swinging, screaming, and an endless amount of blood. He was a mess—covered with blood, sweat and mud from head to toe, and he dearly hoped the clouds would unload the rest of their water soon to wash it all away.
The drug had diminished, but it was still active inside him. He could feel it like a physical presence—an irritating buzzing in the brain. It exhorted him to get back up and continue, to find more Kenanites before it became too dark to see. But staring at the clouds brought him a measure of peace. His eyes roamed them, clinging to the small amount of relief their gentle images provided.
I don’t want to live with this. I don’t want this in my head for the rest of my life.
But he knew he would somehow find a way to keep going. To live with it, just as he always had before. Something about that realization only made him hate himself even more.
The sound of footsteps in the grass nearby drew no outward reaction from him. Vaguely he wondered if they belonged to Kenanites, and thought it wouldn’t be so bad if they did.
At least I won’t have to live with these memories.
He remained still on the ground, aware of but indifferent to the sounds of people approaching.
Two young men entered his eyeline, staring down at him. The one on his left was a dark skinned Forelian with a square jaw and eyes set close together. On his right was a black haired Losoan, whose sharp, angular facial features and large nose gave him a somewhat hawkish appearance. Both wore leather armor and had sheathed swords strapped to their belts, items they’d obviously looted.
They both stared down at Gideon with raised eyebrows, though it was hard to tell what exactly they were surprised by.
“This guy’s alive?” the Forelian asked.
His companion frowned. “His eyes are open.”
The Forelian waved his hand in front of Gideon’s face, eliciting no reaction.
“I think I recognize him,” said the Losoan. “I saw him hanging around the princess once.”
The mention of Surelin caused Gideon’s eyes to shift focus from the clouds to the Losoan.
“Oh, he’s awake!”
“Are you hurt?” The Forelian asked.
Gideon said nothing, staring blankly. He wanted to ask after Surelin, but couldn’t bring himself to speak.
“Something’s wrong with him.”
“Well, he’s no Kenanite,” said the Forelian, sighing. “Let’s go get one of the wagons.”
They disappeared from view. The crushingly painful image of Surelin lying upon the surgery table, bloodied and unconscious, appeared in Gideon’s mind.
I should have insisted. I knew she was making a mistake and still let it happen.
Stress manifested as stiff tension in his neck, an unwelcome addition to the pain and discomfort emanating from his arm and ribs. He went back to scanning the clouds, hoping the mere act of looking would provide the same solace.
Some time later, the quiet clunking of wagon wheels sounded in the distance, approaching him. He remained where he was, now dreading to hear news about Surelin.
The wagon rolled to a stop nearby, and he heard several people drop off it. Then a voice, one he quickly recognized as Kara’s.
“Gideon?”
She appeared above him, looking deeply concerned.
“It is you. What’s wrong, are you hurt?”
Gideon surprised himself by shaking his head.
Her eyes searched him up and down for a moment before settling once again on his face, her expression becoming more anxious.
“I dunno what’s wrong, big guy, but you shouldn’t be laying around out here. Let’s get you home. Can you stand?”
Slowly, he pushed himself up into a seated position. Behind her stood the Losoan and the Forelian from before, staring at Gideon with looks of confusion and discomfort.
She reached down and pulled him to his feet, then supported him by the arm as he trudged towards the back of the wagon. Gideon pulled himself up wordlessly, only to find a dozen or so wounded men and women inside, all of whom looked up when he entered. They filled the wagon, sitting on the benches and laying in the space between.
He scanned their faces, then turned around and sat down on the wagon’s lip.
“Hang in there,” Kara told him as the Forelian and the Losoan climbed up into the wagon. “We’ll be back at the encampment in about an hour.”
Gideon finally spoke up, his voice frail.
“Uh, is Surelin…?”
“She’s alive,” Kara replied hastily. “But she’s in really bad shape. They…”
She shook her head. “...You’ll see for yourself soon enough. Hang on.”
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The wagon trundled slowly through the grassy hills, its bumpy movements eliciting a steady chorus of pained groans from the wounded. Clusters of bodies were spread randomly throughout the countryside, places where the Kenanites had been caught and killed. Gideon recognized more than a few of them, the acts of violence he’d committed there flashing uncontrollably through his mind. He forced himself to look, though it felt like torture to see his handiwork.
I’m never going to pick up a sword again, he decided. Even if it means I’ll die. I don’t care anymore. I’m finished.
The sun had finally set by the time the wagon reached the Kenanite camp. Gideon watched as men and women walked about between the tents, holding lit torches for illumination as they worked to organize the loot. Others were setting up rows of simple cots inside. Someone, Len probably, had apparently given the order to use the Kenanite tents as overnight dwellings for the migration.
Many of the people walking around wore Kenanite armor and weapons, and in a strange way it began to set Gideon's feelings at ease. The people of the migration had started the day with little more than the clothing on their backs, but now they had gained many of the things they needed. It didn’t excuse what he’d done, but it did give him more perspective.
It wasn’t a totally bad thing. A lot of mostly decent people benefited from it.
Dirt crunched underneath the wagon’s wheels as it cut across the road to the north, towards the medical tents. Ghastly mounds of Kenanite corpses, perhaps a dozen or so, had been piled up where the battle had taken place hours earlier, waiting for someone to come along and set them alight. Gideon finally averted his gaze, staring down at his sabatons until the wagon passed around the far side of the hill.
He dropped down once it came to a halt between the medical tents. Wounded men and women lay in long rows in the grass nearby, being cared for by nurses. Children followed the nurses about, holding up torches or carrying the goods needed for treatment. Meanwhile, orderlies carried select wounded via stretchers back and forth.
It was by no means the first time Gideon had visited a busy aid station after a battle. But this time, something about the sight of so many wounded left him deeply affected, and he felt very strongly that he did not want to see anything like it ever again.
Kara approached him from the front end of the wagon, followed closely by Edea and Celaena. Both women eyed him warily as they approached.
They came to a stop before him.
“It is good that you remain among the living,” Edea said neutrally. “You are best suited to deliver the news when she awakens.”
Gideon’s stomach twisted into a tight knot. “...What news?”
She took a cautious step towards him, and spoke in a low voice.
“Surelin’s hand has been amputated. The bone had been damaged beyond recovery. They had no choice.”
He blinked hard, and let out a deep breath. His gaze darted to the tent he’d left her in.
“Her eye—”
“Should still be functional. However, we will not know for sure until we remove the bandages. In either case, she is sure to be left with a very large scar.” She took another step closer to him. “She will be upset if she sees you in this state. Come with us.”
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“Where are you taking him?” Kara asked, worried.
“To clean him up,” Edea replied, turning away to walk towards a nearby tent.
Celaena openly stared at Gideon until he started moving.
She’s right to be suspicious of me.
Edea entered the tent, followed closely by Gideon and Celaena. It was empty inside.
“Celaena, please find Tia or Siora and send them to me. Ask them to bring water and rags.” She turned to Gideon, scanning him briefly. “Are you injured?”
Gideon gave her a reluctant nod.
“Find Silas as well,” she continued.
Celaena visibly hesitated, shooting a wary glance at Gideon.
“I will be fine. Go, please.”
Reluctantly, she obeyed. Once they were alone, Edea stepped up to Gideon and began to remove his armor.
“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he said quietly.
“I simply don’t care,” she replied sharply.
They were both quiet for a time. She removed his armor piece by piece, setting it all on the ground by his feet.
“I am not a fool,” she said eventually. “I have seen how she looks at you. How she smiles more often when you are near. I cannot bring myself to cause her harm by removing you.”
He watched as she suddenly shook her head, sighing. “I’ve become soft in my old age. My younger self would never have hesitated to take the necessary steps to ensure your death during the battle.”
“...Meaning you would’ve sent Celaena to kill me.”
She glanced up at him, but said nothing.
The tent flap opened behind him. Tia walked inside, carrying a bucket full of water between both hands. Silas stormed inside the tent after her, wearing a surgeon's apron smeared with blood. He entered the tent so quickly that he nearly bowled Tia over.
“Really, Edea, I’m very—oh.”
“He requires care,” Edea said simply.
“Yes, I can see that. His shoulder is obviously dislocated. What else is wrong with you?”
“My ribs hurt.”
“Hmm…”
Silas stepped up and placed his hands on Gideon’s shoulder. With one swift, violent motion he pushed his arm back into place, causing a pained grunt to escape from between Gideon’s gritted teeth.
“There. Now lift up your shirt.”
Gideon obeyed, wincing. Silas peered at him for a moment, then probed the area lightly with his fingers.
“Fractured, I think. Six weeks, if you actually let them heal. Stay off your feet as much as possible.”
“Alright,” Gideon muttered.
Silas looked to Edea, waiting impatiently.
“Thank you, Silas.”
He instantly turned and left the tent, muttering under his breath.
“Tia, come,” Edea beckoned. “We’ll wash him together.”
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Gideon stood before Surelin’s tent, scrubbed clean and wearing fresh clothing. He knew she was still alive, and was relieved by that knowledge, but some part of him still feared what he was about to see.
After taking a moment to gather his courage, he finally pushed the tent flap aside. Simple standing torches had been driven into the ground around the edges of the tent, casting more than enough light to illuminate Surelin where she lay upon the surgery bed. The empty table nearby held several items; surgery tools placed in a neat line, a pile of dirty bandages, and a water flask.
Surelin was asleep, her head resting against the bed at a somewhat awkward angle with her mouth slightly ajar. Bandages covered most of her face, including her nose, right eye, forehead and left cheek. Her mouth and left eye were the only features left uncovered. She’d been bundled up in a heavy wool blanket, with her arms resting atop it.
Her left hand was gone. The stump was covered in tightly wrapped bandages, slightly red at the end.
His eyes traveled up and down her unconscious form, a feeling of helplessness swelling in his chest. Slowly, he walked around to the opposite side of the bed, sitting down on a stool that’d been placed nearby.
He reached out and took her remaining hand in his own. It felt small within his grasp, but also warm.
It should’ve been me. I wish this had happened to me instead.
A choked sob suddenly escaped from him. Tears slid down his cheeks before he angrily pressed his fingers against his eyes, trying and failing to halt the flood. More sobs wracked him, silent this time.
It lasted for only a minute or so, but he still felt deeply ashamed. An exhausted sigh left him once the tears had stopped flowing. Soon afterwards, he felt Surelin’s fingers begin to move.
Gideon watched as her eye slowly opened. She stared at the tent above her for a long while before her gaze shifted to Gideon.
He wiped some residual wetness from his cheeks with his free hand before greeting her.
“...Hey.”
She blinked wearily, then turned her head to stare down at her missing hand. Something about the way she did it spawned an intense feeling of worry within him.
…I don’t know what to say. How do I make her feel better?
His gaze settled on her lips, which were chapped.
“Are you thirsty?”
She said nothing, still staring at her missing hand. Gideon reached over and grabbed the water flask, then held it up to her lips. It took a little more prodding before she opened her mouth, and he carefully poured some water for her.
Her hand withdrew from his, reaching up for the water flask. He released it, and she continued to drink under her own power.
“We won,” he offered carefully.
She glanced at him while drinking, then set the water flask down in her lap.
“Is my eye gone?” she asked weakly.
“...They said it’s probably fine. But we won’t know for sure until your bandages come off.”
Her eye shut, and she let out a quiet, shaky sigh as her head settled back.
“...What happened?”
“Uh…Bismarck threw a dagger at you. It hit you in the face and knocked you out. You’re…probably gonna have a pretty big scar. From your left cheek up past your right eyebrow.”
A tear suddenly sprang from her eye, soaking into the bandages on her cheek. Gideon bowed his head with frustration.
“...And?”
“...After that, I brought you here. Uh…”
He quickly decided not to tell her about Edea and the drug. Or the rampage he’d gone on afterwards.
She doesn’t have to know about that right now.
“I killed Bismarck. Cut his fucking head off right in front of all the other Kenanites.”
Her eye flew open, and she stared at him.
“You were right, Surelin. It crushed their morale. We charged. The battle didn’t last long after that.”
“You killed him?”
He nodded slowly. “...But you were the one who beat him. We’re still here because of you. Only because of you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. You were amazing. I’ve never seen anyone fight as well as you did.”
A brittle smile touched her lips.
“I knocked his dick in the dirt!” she said, slightly more energized.
Gideon let out a surprised scoff. Cursing didn’t suit her at all, but she had the right spirit. And seeing her smile felt very good.
“You sure did,” he smiled. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you curse.”
“I think that’s the first time I’ve ever cursed, period.”
Moments later, the tent flap opened. A crowd of people had formed outside, the members of Surelin’s council standing up at the front. Edea and Edwin stepped inside, and Surelin lifted her hand to them in greeting.
Edea approached her, then began to gently stroke her hair.
“My darling girl,” she said, her voice wavering with emotion.
Edwin looked very concerned as he walked around to the opposite side of the bed. He took Surelin’s hand silently, and she gave him a weary smile.
How long were they listening out there? Gideon wondered.
“Everyone wants to come in and see you, darling,” Edea told Surelin gently. “Just for a moment. To thank you.”
Surelin gave her a tired nod, and Edea turned to beckon towards the crowd. The rest of Surelin’s council walked inside first, led by Len. Before long, dozens of people were crowded around the bed, murmuring quietly to one another.
Len walked up and stood next to Edea, grasping her hand, then looked down at Surelin with a warm smile.
“You saved us, ma'am.”
Surelin blinked hard. “...I didn’t do very much. It was because of you all.”
“That’s not true,” Celaena smiled. “You united us, and freed us all from bondage. The only reason we have hope is because of you.”
Smiles spread across every face, and many heads nodded in agreement. Surelin looked around at them, her eye watering.
“You didn’t just save us,” said Edwin. “You gave us our future back.”
Surelin stared at him for a long moment. Her lower lip began to quiver, and soon after she burst into tears. She sobbed quietly, squeezing her eye shut as her tears leaked into the bandages.
Hands began to reach down to comfort her. Gideon reached his hand out as well.
She saved me, too, he thought. Before we met I didn’t think there was anything good about the world. I thought it was all darkness, forever. But she’s living proof that it isn’t true. There’s light within that darkness.
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The next morning, Silas carefully changed Surelin's bandages under the watchful supervision of the council, and everyone was relieved to discover that she had not lost vision in her right eye after all. It was an important piece of good news that spread quickly throughout the migration, giving heart to the wounded and unwounded alike. Surelin would have a very noticeable scar on her face for the rest of her life, but that was the extent of the damage done by Bismarck’s dagger.
The migration remained in the encampment for several weeks, allowing Surelin and the other wounded time to heal. Almost two hundred people died in the battle before the Kenanites broke and ran, and hundreds more had been seriously wounded. The Kenanites, however, appeared to have taken approximately ten times the amount of casualties. As for those few who managed to escape, the migration had captured all of the supplies the Kenanites had brought with them, meaning they were very likely to die of starvation and exposure before they ever made it back to Kenan. The Kenanites, it seemed, would not have the capability to threaten Forelia again for a very long time.
The captured supplies were perhaps one of the most important boons the migration had gained from the battle. They acquired many more months of food, far more than enough to last until they reached Forelia, and even longer besides. Hope gleamed brightly within the migration, and many people, wounded or not, openly expressed anxiousness over finishing the journey.
Finally, Surelin gave in to the pressure, and the migration took off to the west once again, though at a slower pace out of consideration for the wounded. For the next month, it traveled through the green, gently sloping hills and scattered forests of the Forelian countryside.
The days and nights became warmer as summer approached, and before long the migration was forced to deal with the increasing problem of heat stroke amongst those who were making the journey on foot. But heat stroke was much easier to heal than frostbite, and in comparison to all the other travails the migration had overcome it hardly seemed like a problem at all.
On the morning of the final day of travel, the migration entered the sprawling alfalfa fields located east of Forelia City. The fields had become heavily overgrown in the year that had passed since the siege, and Surelin’s council debated amongst themselves over how they would solve the problem of getting them cleared out, to make them productive and fruitful once more.
Eventually, the migration passed through the same intersection Gideon had stumbled upon one year ago, just after Dance had died. Gideon stopped to look down the road he had once taken for a long while, deflecting Surelin’s questions when she noticed his stare. He felt it wasn’t the right time to talk about it, not when the end of their journey was so close.
A few hours later, the migration reached the same long, sloping hill just beyond the edge of the alfalfa field that Gideon had once climbed alone. At it’s top they finally saw what they had been ardently hoping to find for the last four months. The ruins of Forelia City. It was utterly still and silent, waiting, perhaps, to be reborn.