— - She wanted to collapse
into his arms. To let
someone else stitch his
leg back together while
she clung to him.
But there was no one else. She had to save him. She had to. He had to let her go so she could. All the other nurses were busy with their own soldiers, wounded boys. And as much as she knew that they were her brother’s brothers, Margaery could not bear a second thought to any of them. There was only one person that held her attention now, and he was clutching her as if she were life itself. She knew what she had to do. But it would kill her to let go of him now.
So she wrapped her arms around him.
— - “Willas, I have to help you,” she cried, hands clutching into his back. Words came out in a jumbled rush, and she doubted that he could even understand them.
”Brother, please.
I love you, I love you.
You’re here now,
but I have to save you.
Willas, my love.
Lay back, you’re only
hurting yourself more.”
It took all the strength she had to push herself away, to press her hands flatly to his chest and press his back against the bed. She wanted to crawl into his arms and stay there. She wanted to hold him and let her pain come out, to sob into his hair and tell him that she was sorry. That she had never wanted this. That no freedom was worth his harm. But she couldn’t. She had to be strong for him.
But she allowed herself one last indulgence, knowing that it might be her last. Unable to continue without at least a taste.
She had kissed her brother before. As chaste as siblings should be, and otherwise. Hot lips against her own, flames that licked her chest when he touched her. And she could not get enough, could not bear to go on without feeling them once more. So, despite the dirt on his face, she brushed his hair back and touched her lips to his.
— - The kiss was rushed, light. Hurried. No one else in the hospital noticed.
But her heart slammed into her ribcage.
Her breathing shallowed and sped.
And her face flushed.
Now, she had the strength to save him. “Lay back, my sweet, it’s not that bad,” she lied, before pulling away, hands trembling to the bloody wreckage of his leg. He would live, if she hurried to stop the bleeding, so that was exactly what she did. As hands worked quickly, cleaned the blood away to look to the wound and pulled out alcohol, she knew that she would not allow his heart to falter. But his leg might not be able to be saved.
”Do you remember the night before you left, Willas? You held me and promised me that you would be back. And now you’ve come back to me. You kept your promise, just as you always said you would. I never doubted you, my love. My life.”
Margaery was rambling, but there was a purpose. She had to distract him. Because when she dropped the alcohol soaked rag onto his wound, it would sting. She had treated enough soldiers to know of the pain.
“Look at me, look into my eyes. I’m here. I’m with you, I love you.”
And she pressed the cloth to his open flesh, watching it cleanse the hurt from him.
Willas only faintly felt as Margaery's body pressed against his own ; she was l i g h t as a feather & his senses had long been dulled by a horrid medicine. He inhaled the sweet, clean smell of her body that reminded him of home.
It was no surprise to him when Margaery had kissed him, but still his eyes opened wide at the gentle touch. His breath grew heavy as sought out her lips continuously; but knowing that behaviour such as this was enough to get them killed; he too, reluctantly, pulled away.
❝ Be strong, Margaery
-- if not for me, then for yourself.❞
he saw the pain in her eyes
& it made him forget everything
else for a brief moment.
Hurt was in her eyes,
which meant that he,
had failed to shield
her from just that;
Pain. When he had left their home, he had promised her that he would return to her - he had kept that promise so far - but amongst so many other vows, he had whispered a promise of safety into her ear, & he had failed at keeping his word.
I'm sorry -- he thought, looking up to catch a glimpse of his sister's eyes.
She had moved aside now, her hands now working on the binding of his leg. He had heard her soft whispers of concern, yet he did not want to think of them -- perhaps the wound was not fatal, if they managed to stop the bleeding, but it would come to cause him so much pain in the future.
How she was the one treating his wounds were beyond him. She deserved better than to see her brother pale & drained from energy, whilst she was covering herself in blood -- his blood -- their b l o o d.
The next thing he feels, as he looks to her sister, is a horrible stinging feeling in his leg -- it hurt, but he did not want to s c r e a m nor to cry out.
❝ — Don't stop talking, please. ❞
his voice weak, but soft no less.
❝ I won't get through this without you. ❞
A moan spilled from his lips, & forced himself to close his eyes once more. There was little he could do, but to lay still, & hope that his sister would not be terrorised by this event.
She was still so young, scarcely a woman, but she fought on so bravely -- showing nearly as much courage as those on the battlefield. She was a hero in his eyes, a hero whom he wanted to bring close, to embrace & never let go of.
Once more he felt a cloth pressed to his leg, & although the procedure was not unknown to him; it left him in a lingering pain. The pain was unimaginable - even to him - & he could only hope that if he closed his eyes the pain would go away.
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