ways_infirmary | (no subject)

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It is a rather bedraggled group that makes its way into the Milliways infirmary.

Most of them are in some stage of exhaustion or near-collapse, with both visible and less visible battle wounds. But Mary Lennox is the focus of the attention for the moment -- she is still unconscious, limp and huddled in Dickon's arms, and the Dark's trap-spell is still upon her.

With a wave of his hand, Merriman directs Dickon to put Mary down on the nearest empty bed.

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Tom is one of the exhausted ones, but he's not as wounded as he could be. Still he's glad to have Gavroche by his side. He steadies himself by placing a hand on the boy's shoulder.

The ice shard is melting quickly from where it's embedded in his right bicep. He staunched it with a first aid spell, but much like trying to tickle yourself, healing works better coming from others.

Gavroche is very tired - the spells he did tonight took energy - but not too much to let Tom lean on him.

"You sure you're all right?" He finds a place for them both to sit. They can wait while the others are attended to.

"Yeah. Just tired."

"You held your own well out there. I'm terribly proud of you."

He winces as blood begins seeping out of his wound again.

"Blast..."

Gavroche looks up, sharply, careful not to dislodge Kennis from his shoulder.

"There are healing spells..."

"You want to give one a try? It's not so bad. Just a puncture."

He pushes his tattered robe sleeve up to take a look. It actually looks worse than he thought.

Gavroche eyes the wound, worried, and starts to recite the spell Kennis supplies - for something like this, it'll need some blood to work, but not very much. Fortunately, Gavroche has a knife already.

There's the sense of the universe leaning in to listen as he speaks, and his face pales with the further energy expenditure and the pain he takes on himself.

Tom's eyes widen as he watches Gavroche cut himself to add to the magic. It works - the wound stops bleeding, and the pain lessens a great deal.

"Here now, your turn, little one," Tom says, sending the warmth of one of his own general healing spells into the tired boy's body.

"Thank you, Gavroche. You didn't have to do that. If I'd known what it entailed, I'd have not asked."

"I know."

That's why he didn't tell him.

"I ought to check and make sure everyone's getting help that needs it."

He stands up, wavering slightly, but regaining his balance easily.

"There's people looking after them", Gavroche half-objects, half-reassures.

He scans the group, and things do seem to be settled.

"Looks to be so. Shall we go back to the House, then? I think we could both use a good night's sleep."

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street-sparrow.livejournal.com - 2006-01-06 05:51 (UTC) - Expand

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young_tmriddle - 2006-01-06 05:53 (UTC) - Expand

Dickon carries Mary over to the bed and lays her down, then steps back, but not very far.

His expression anxious, he takes one of her hands and then looks up at the man who seems to be in charge.

"Does tha think she'll be all right, sir?"

'She will be,' Merriman replies quietly, reaching out to brush a few strands of hair out of Mary's face. 'Once this spell is destroyed.'

He will have to delve for the trap-spell, since it has sunk in so deeply. And in his already exhausted state, it will take longer to break the threads and undo the knots and tangles.

He glances to Will, and says silently, It may take both of us to free her. But I will start, and see how matters progress.

He takes Mary's hand then, and closes his eyes. A faint glow, almost invisible under the lights of the infirmary, glimmers where their hands touch as he begins to work.

After everything Dickon's seen tonight, the glow gets no more than a slight eye-widening. He looks anxiously from the wizard to Mary and back again, still holding her hand.

Mary Lennox is the fourth person to be freed from the White Rider's trap-spell, and each time the experience has been different. She will not struggle or fight back, and she has no magic to interfere with the Old Ones' power at work.

Even so, the amount of energy used to prevent the Rider from entering the greenhouse had been tremendous. And so Merriman's look of fierce concentration is almost pained as he works to loosen the threads, picking them apart with a patience that has already been worn thread-bare over the last few weeks.

The bleak expression relaxes slightly when Will reaches out and clasps Merriman's free hand, adding his own magic to the painstaking process of disenchantment.

The threads are teased and ripped and pulled apart, though the process takes a good deal longer than either of the Old Ones would have liked. But finally, Merriman draws a deep breath, and the glow around his hand blazes brightly as the Light destroys the shreds of the trap-spell, breaking Blodwen Rowlands' hold over Mary at last.

He lets go of Mary's hand then, the glow vanishing, and all but sinks into a nearby chair. He pinches the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, eyes still closed.

'The spell is destroyed,' he murmurs, though the words come out more like a long sigh.

Dickon lets out a relieved breath, and then makes a sort of half-bow to Merriman--he's uncertain of etiquette where wizards are concerned--touching a hand to the brim of his cap.

"Thank'ee, sir."

He looks down at Mary for a moment, then, his worry over her somewhat allayed, drops her hand and goes to a nearby sink, coming back a few minutes later with his pocket handkerchief dampened and folded into a sort of compress, which he presses to her forehead.

Gently, "Miss Mary--can tha hear me?"

A few moments, and then Mary says accusingly, without opening her eyes, "My forehead is wet."

Another pause; then, in a very different sort of tone: "Mrs. Rowlands -!"

She cuts herself off, mid-cry, and opens her eyes, and, slowly, pushes herself upright.

Cordelia is watching silently from a little ways away, one arm crossed over her torso a little above her waist, the other hand to her mouth.

"...Aye," Dickon says after a moment. "Tha fainted."

He holds up the compress as evidence.

After a moment, in a more hesitant tone, "How does tha feel?"

(I swear I will shatter that rock into fragments that cannot be repaired -)

"I am not hurt," Mary says instantly, a little too sharply.

(will you sacrifice this mortal, too, in order to stop me?)

"I remember -"

She stops, a moment.

Dickon bites his lip for a moment, then reaches uncertainly for her hand.

"Tha--tha remembers what 'appened?"

Suddenly fierce:

"Yes, of course. I remember everything."

She aims a glare at him, but her shoulders hunch in on themselves.

Dickon doesn't look hurt. So far as he's concerned, Mary's entitled to some snappishness after what she's been through.

After a moment, "I'm graidely sorry, Miss Mary."

For all of it.