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adrift-in-thyme · 6 months

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Whumptober Day 21: "Don't Move"

- Four, Warriors, & Twilight

- Summary: Four awakens to find himself in a rather tough spot

CW for impalement, blood and injury, and brief references to death

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Four’s world is a blur of light and sound. His ears ring. His eyes are wet with tears. Everything is too loud, too harsh, too bright. Everything hurts.

He can’t remember why. His thoughts are mere shreds of things, insubstantial and quick to skitter away when he grasps for them.

He needs to get up though, he knows that much. His instincts are screaming at him to move.

Gritting his teeth he tries…only to bite back a scream as excruciating pain shoots up his leg. Something warm oozes out in its wake. The unpleasant sensation drags Four toward consciousness.

Gasping a thin breath, he forces open his eyes. His surroundings swim nauseatingly. The ringing lessens, replaced instead by a hissing sort of sound like the wind brushing at blades of crisp grass. He is drowning in an ocean of pain. He is drowning and desperately trying to fight it.

Four shuts his eyes, holds them closed until the muscles behind them ache, then drags them open again. This time things are a bit clearer. Not that he is particularly glad of it, however. Because once he gets a good look at his surroundings, he sees why everything feels quite so unpleasant.

He is lying on his side, propped up awkwardly on one arm. Surrounding him are the remains of what he guesses was once a monster camp. Shreds of tarp and large pieces of wood are scattered everywhere that he can see — which admittedly is not too far thanks to the abundant smoke that has yet to settle. It hovers over everything, its thick grayish-black plumes reaching toward the sky. Four coughs into his hand as it tickles his throat. Something escapes his mouth and splatters onto the back of it. Slowly, he lifts it up so he can peer at it.

Flecks of deep crimson dot his skin like gory confetti. Four swallows hard.

It could’ve been there before he coughed…right?

But no, the bitter taste of iron negates that hope.

Four inhales again, clenching and unclenching his hands.

Keep it level. Don’t…don’t hyperventilate. Makes things worse.

If he stays calm, he can figure this out. It’s not the first time he has awoken wounded and disoriented. He dealt with it before, he’ll do it again.

…only that seems like quite a difficult feat at the moment with the world still struggling to remain still and his stomach churning in time with the suffocating ache of his body. And then, his gaze happens to drift to his abdomen and everything becomes much, much worse.

The pain is more severe there, he realizes now, and has been since he awoke. He supposes in his hazy state he just hadn’t fully registered it. But now that he has realized it — now that he has seen the reason — he cannot possibly ignore it.

One of the spikes that border many monster camps juts out of him, bloodied and cracked.

Four chokes again, spewing more blood. This time it dribbles down his chin. He can’t bring himself to wipe it away. All he can see is the spike sticking out of him, lifting grotesquely with each strangled breath. All he can hear is his heartbeat thudding so loud he is certain the entire world shakes with it.

Damage of organs, internal bleeding, infection…the consequences swirl in his mind, tripping over one another in an effort to be heard. He has read about injuries like this.

Pulling it out alone is enough to do him in. If the pain doesn’t, the blood loss certainly will.

A fairy might be able to make a large enough difference for him to manage but he doesn’t have any on him. At least…he thinks he doesn’t. Truthfully, he can’t really remember. Maybe he should just check…

He tries to reach for his pouch. But the movement sends white-hot agony streaking through him. His hand falls back to his side as a strangled scream breaks loose. His vision goes spotty. The world seems to fall away and he’s floating, weightless, wrapped in the bitter embrace of pain.

….

“Smithy?”

Four opens his eyes with a groan. He doesn’t recall closing them.

Must’ve blacked out, he thinks dazedly. Wish I’d stayed unconscious.

Oblivion was blessedly painless. This reality of sharpness and light is anything but.

“Smithy!”

Warriors races into view, scarf billowing behind him like an expanse of night sky. He stops short a short distance from Four, eyes widening slightly. Twilight appears right behind him and his expression quickly comes to mirror Warriors’.

“Sweet Ordona,” he breathes.

Four blinks, long and slow. Everything feels as though it’s moving at the speed of a slug. Thought alone seems impossible, much less speech. His tongue feels like a leaden weight, his lips sealed by dryness and blood.

As his brothers rush forward all he can do is watch.

“Don’t move, smithy” Warriors orders, eyes already roaming over the smithy’s body, analyzing the situation and finding a way out. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you free.”

“C-can’t,” Four manages. The word grates on his abused throat, drawing forth a weak cough. More crimson liquid bubbles out, spilling over his lips. It runs down his chin to soak into his tunic. “Can’t pull it…”

“He’s right.” Twilight steps forward now. He links his fingers with Four’s, touch warm and welcome. “We try and pull that out and it won’t end well.”

Warriors kneels, heedless of the blood and dust muddying his immaculate uniform. His brow furrows as he gazes at Four’s wound.

“We don’t have any other choice,” he says after a few seconds. “If we keep it in him he’ll bleed out, just at a slower rate. Or…well any manner of things besides that can happen.”

None good, Four thinks wryly. At least, they all seem to be on the same page here. But…he blinks again, struggling to remain alert…but there has to be a way for this to work out. He isn’t going to die here, is he? Skewered on some monster’s makeshift boundary, unable to even recall how he ended up there?

He can’t. Not when he promised Wind he would tell him more about the Minish. Not when he promised Zelda he would come back to her. Not when he still has to drive his sword through that cursed Shadow’s heart.

Not when…not now.

“Four.”

Four drags his gaze up to the captain’s, squinting to try and see his face through the blur.

“I know how to get you free…” Four’s eyes widen slightly, some small hope squirming through the haze he lacks the strength to resist. “...but it’s going to hurt.”

“We’ll do it as fast as possible,” Twilight says. “Should only last a moment or so. But none of it’s gonna be pleasant.”

Warriors cocks his head. “Think you can hold on for us?”

Four nods. If this is the only way then he’ll take it no matter the cost.

“Alright, then. Rancher, you know what to do.”

He is vaguely aware of people shifting around him, footsteps thudding on soft earth. Calloused fingers slide between his own, into the place that Twilight’s were mere seconds ago (he hadn’t even registered them slipping away). Then, Warriors’ voice comes again, closer this time.

“Ready, smithy?”

Four gives the hand a light squeeze. “R-ready.”

Warriors – for that’s who he guesses the hand belongs to – squeezes back. He says something directed away from Four, words he can’t make out past the renewed rush in his ears. And then his very existence dissolves into molten pain.

Agony slices up from his abdomen, licking at his veins like ravenous flames. He screams, harsh and strangled.

“It’s okay,” someone assures him. “It’s almost over.”

Desperately, he prays that they are telling the truth.

The pain increases abruptly, gaining momentum until he is certain his skull will split, bones break, body disintegrate beneath its assault.

“It’s out! Do it, captain!”

His nostrils fill with a familiarly sweet scent wafting from above. Something blankets him like a plush comforter. Slowly, the pain begins to lessen. The weight that had been pressing down on his lungs lifts and he can breathe again. Relief washes over him in a dizzying wave.

Four cracks open his eyes just in time to see a fairy zip over his head, dancing in dizzying circles over his prone body. He is lying on his back now, he realizes dimly, held securely in someone’s arms. A few good blinks and he can make out Warriors’ face drifting somewhere above him.

“Cap-captain?”

Warriors gives him a small smile. “Hey, smithy. How’re you feeling?”

Twilight appears over Warriors’ shoulder, a concerned look on his face. Four manages a small grin for both of them.

“Been…been better.”

The captain nods. “That’s understandable. The spike is out and the fairy healed the major injury. But you’re not out of the woods just yet.”

“Don’t you worry about it, though,” Twilight says. “We’ll get you to safety. You just rest.”

Rest. That sounds wonderful right about now. Four can already feel his eyes slipping closed, his mind and body begging for true slumber instead of the endless darkness of unconsciousness.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, softly. “B-both of you.”

“You would’ve done the same for us,” Twilight replies and Warriors nods.

True, Four thinks as they start back toward camp and he lets himself begin to drift, but he really, really hopes he’ll never have to.

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starlit-hopes-and-dreams · 8 months

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Chapter 19 ~ Hope is a dangerous thing

Hidden Depths

Previous ~ Masterlist ~ Next

Also on ao3

Genre: Fantasy whump

CW: everyone is just *full* of self-blame, are we happy? Huh? So uh, blood, impalement–technically if you’re shot with an arrow you get impaled, right? Right. Also, *drumroll* lots of angst *gasp* and a healthy dose of denial. And I guess a tiny bit of minor whump, bc Orla, but it’s next to nothing, I swear. Unless you count the angst, cuz then we're all screwed 😂

WC: 2735

In which I really wanted some whump. I'm sorry but not really XD

AN: Ch 19 AKA the bitch chapter. I don't think I'll ever be completely happy with it so here it is. Sorry it took two months 😅

Orla

A grand adventure.

That’s how Orla had imagined the idea of leaving the city, traveling north until they found a quaint little village or maybe even a town to settle in.

She’d pictured it in her mind, aided by the sketched illustrations in some of the books she’d read in the palace’s library. A small village, each house a cozy cottage with a thatched roof, filled with kind people: families, grandparents, children, a whole community, one who would welcome them in with open arms. Resh could take up their father’s business or maybe even return to carpentry, although she wasn’t certain he’d apprenticed long enough.

A wave of longing for a life long gone washed over her, leaving behind slimy strands of loss and guilt. She pushed them away. Carr and her brother had those emotions covered in spades.

She glanced up from her book at her brother. The dark circles under his eyes were deepening, looking like bruises that worsened with each day that passed. Carr had noticed them as well and clearly had as much clue about how to deal with her brother’s sleepless nights as she did.

The guilt resurged; Carr thought she was at fault for what happened to Resh, but Orla knew better. Her brother had sold himself to the Crown for her, because she’d been ill. The words on the page before her blurred, so she looked out the carriage’s window instead, distracting herself with the view.

Dappled sunlight filtered through the leaves adorning the great trees of the Seleni Wood, leaves that were as big as her head. She’d found one on the ground and tested that claim, then rolled it up and stuck it in her bag to study closer later, fascinated with the white veins that contrasted sharply with the dark green of the rest of the leaf. Sturdy too, that leaf. The locals used them to wrap food they intended to smoke.

Orla liked the Wood. The shade provided some relief from the oppressive warmth they’d found in the north, warmth that didn’t seem near to tapering off even though it was late summer.

She would’ve liked to live here, but none of the towns or villages west of the Wood had been suitable. The people had either been too insular or downright hostile, so they were heading back east. Weeks of travel had dampened Orla’s initial excitement as much as her brother’s declining state. Nothing was as she had imagined, and she had an active imagination.

Like now. She had to be imagining all those eyes glinting out of the undergrowth as they passed by on what felt like increasingly unstable ground. It was bad enough that she closed her book and replaced it in her bag, right in time for the carriage to lurch to the side, slamming her into the wall with a squeak of surprise.

“The fuck!” Carr shouted.

Orla was impressed at how quickly Carr roused from her nap to full awareness, anchoring herself before she could be tossed from the bench seat. The carriage picked up speed, and the wood creaked, protesting the increased pace. Resh and Carr exchanged a loaded glance.

“What is it?” Orla asked, her voice cracking as the carriage pitched again.

Resh caught her arm before she could hit the wall a second time–Orla was thankful, her shoulder already throbbing from her previous impact. He said something to her, but she wasn’t very good at lipreading, despite Carr’s efforts–something with a b, and the rest was lost; she shook her head, wiping her sweaty palms on her skirts.

He shoved himself in the corner, one arm on each wall, one foot on the ground with the other on the bench. Then he moved, pointing to her. Oh. Brace yourself, maybe? Orla followed her brother’s example, clenching her teeth to keep from biting her tongue when the carriage bounced roughly again.

Sometime during that demonstration, Carr had put her boots back on and opened the sliding door to the front.

“We bein chased?” Carr asked the driver.

The rest of the conversation faded to the background as Orla caught a glimpse of a bearded man on horseback through the opposite window, holding a bow. Rangers carried bows, Orla knew. Maybe this one needed their help with something? The carriage veered sharply then, and Resh lunged across the seats to stabilize Carr.

The bearded man returned, slightly behind and to their left, but visible to Orla nonetheless. He smiled when he caught Orla’s gaze, and her eyes widened. She’d never seen a smile that looked less like one than his. A chill skittered down her spine, worsening when he pulled an arrow from what looked like out of nowhere and nocked it.

She felt frozen, her muscles locked in place. Her throat closed up, refusing to let more than the barest whisper of air through, nowhere near the scream she wanted to loose. The arrow flew through the window, embedding in the wall right next to where her brother was holding Carr steady. Orla watched as a crimson stain spread on her brother’s upper arm.

He grimaced, but the wound didn’t stop him from grabbing her and Carr and shoving them to the floor of the carriage. Orla curled into a ball, shivering. Why was this man chasing them? Was there only one, or were there others? The eyes she’d seen in the brush returned to haunt her with possibilities.

“Damnit, Resh, I can help,” Carr snarled, popping back up to rummage through the compartment under her seat.

But Resh spun, his hands going through one of the short, succinct signs Carr had taught them, one Orla recognized as ‘hold’.

The sign wasn’t really necessary, though, not with her and Carr both staring at the purple glow overtaking Resh’s brown eyes.

Orla gasped; it was the first time she’d seen him use his magic since he’d come back. She’d missed it. Missed the bond she’d shared with her brother because of it.

When she was little more than a toddler, she’d been more fascinated by the pretty purple light than the blocks Resh would float in the air for her entertainment. It was their secret, he would tell her as he built impossibly high towers for her to knock down.

It was their secret, he’d whisper, when he’d return with some fruit or bread at the end of a miserable, rainy day spent cowering under an alcove, hoping no one would kick them out for loitering.

Their secret, when he’d brush what remained of her hair out of her face, allowing just a hint of purple to shine in his eyes because he knew she loved it so.

Later, when the queen had deemed her well enough to resume her schooling, she’d learned more about magic. About how dangerous it had been to be a mage in Elysia. How it was still dangerous, the population’s opinion on magic widely divided.

This must be bad if it wasn’t their secret anymore.

“Orla.”

A hand patted her cheek with stinging force, just short of a slap. She blinked, feeling confused until the carriage tilted crazily again. Her arms shot out, bracing against the seats.

“You can’t freeze up, Orla,” Carr said, grabbing her hand and pressing a dagger into it.

The leather-wrapped handle felt foreign in her hand. It felt wrong, and she wanted to drop it. The look Carr leveled at her changed her mind, her fingers tightening around the hilt almost on their own.

“If anyone comes near you, stick that in them, hard, as hard as you can, you hear? Then you run. Run as if your life depends on it.”

“Who…” Orla’s mouth was far too dry. She watched, wide-eyed, as Carr pulled dagger after dagger out of the compartment, strapping them on. She always had the ones in her thigh sheaths, but now there were two hidden beneath her boots, two strapped to her wrists, one–Orla blinked. Where had that one gone? Or that other…

“Why do you have so many knives?” she asked, feeling her eyes getting wider and wider with each weapon Carr withdrew.

Orla glanced around, wondering if her brother knew about all this, but he wasn’t there. He wasn’t there he wasn’t there! Her breathing sped up, wondering if he’d been shot again, but then her eyes snagged on the opening to the front of the carriage. Had he climbed through that? It didn’t look nearly big enough…

“It’s gonna be alright,” Carr said, strapping something around Orla’s waist before taking the dagger she’d given her back.

An ominous creak sounded as the carriage bounced extra hard–followed by a nasty-sounding crack. The carriage listed heavily to the side, and Orla bit back a scream, held by the steadiness in Carr’s eyes even though her heart pounded. Her hand felt empty, and she suddenly wished to have the dagger back, craved its security even though she had no idea how to use it.

“It’s gonna be alright,” Carr said again, sliding the blade into the sheath at Orla’s hip.

Orla sucked in a breath, feeling a little better with the weight at her side. She stared at Carr, repeating her words in her head, over and over. It’s gonna be alright It’s gonna be alright It’s gonna–

The glow of Resh’s magic grew brighter, stronger, illuminating the entire cabin in lavender. Thank gods, he really was still there. It’s gonna be alright. Her brother would protect them. Whatever was happening, if the carriage crashed, his power would keep them safe. It’s gonna be alright.

Carr turned to look at him, and Orla found herself mimicking her motions, relieved to see Resh’s face peering into the cabin. It’s gonna…

Someone screamed as an arrowhead broke through Resh’s shoulder, jutting out from under his collarbone in a flash of crimson and silver.

No! Nononono… a high-pitched whine filled the cabin as her brother’s body sagged against the opening, blood staining his torn tunic. It was supposed to be alright! It still could be, right? Right?

But the purple light flickered, and the carriage lurched again, the motion flinging Orla back against the wall. It kept tilting until it seemed she was weightless, the world beyond the window a smear of green and brown. Carr reached for her, her body floating within the remnants of Resh’s fading magic.

This is not alright, Orla wailed in her mind as she careened past Carr but somehow stopped short of the opposite wall. Fingers grasped Orla’s flailing hands when she flew back in the other direction–Carr, dragging her closer, her mouth moving. She was trying to speak, but Orla couldn’t hear her through the terrible noises the carriage was making. Through the terrible noises she was making.

Carr’s arms curled around her shoulders, hugging her tight right before…

Purple light shattered.

Wood shattered.

Orla’s world shattered.

~~~

Carr

Carr stifled her groan as she came to, unsure of her surroundings or why her body ached so bad.

The floor felt soft beneath her, the scent of crushed grass and moist earth filling her nostrils.

Not the floor then. The ground. She was outside?

Her eyes snapped open. Outside. Bandits, chasing them. She raised a hand to her head, met a sticky patch of half-dried blood above her eyebrow. Well, that explained why that part of her hurt.

Wherever she was, it was dark. She listened, but aside from the sound of the wind rustling the leaves, everything was quiet. Unnaturally so. The bandits–ah, right. The carriage–it had crashed, flinging her and Orla around like ragdolls.

Flashes of memory assailed her. Resh’s magic, surrounding them, cushioning them from the worst of the damage. The cabin splintering apart, Resh’s magic fracturing, Carr’s arms surrounding the small, frail form of Resh’s sister.

Desperate to shield her when they were flung from the cabin, Carr had called earth, and it had answered. The impact had still been enough to knock her out, though. She hoped Orla had survived.

And Resh–his face as that arrow went through his shoulder. How had he managed the strength to shield them after that? Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back. She would make no assumptions. Having been through this once already, Carr told herself she could do it again. She’d find him alive again. She would.

Clenching her jaw, Carr dug her fingers into the ground and stared up at the weave of greenery above her that she could just make out. Vines. She’d cocooned herself in vines.

She waited a few minutes, listening. Were the bandits still around? But she heard nothing except the sound of the wildlife slowly picking up its natural rhythm again. Good enough. The light still streaming through the forest’s canopy stabbed into her eyes as she pulled the vines back.

Her head throbbed, but the ache wasn’t too bad. She lay still for a few moments anyway, letting her eyes adjust. The light was weak and patchy but not too much different from before, which meant she hadn’t been out for long. Hopefully.

Okay, enough with the waiting. Carr pushed herself up to find she was laying in a small patch of undergrowth, and… oh, thank fuck. Orla was splayed out next to her; if Carr had reached out inside her cocoon, she probably could’ve touched her.

The girl looked pale, too pale. Carr held her breath, waiting… there! Her chest rose and fell ever so slightly. Thank the gods.

“Orla?” she whispered, reaching out to touch the girl’s cheek.

Her eyes fluttered at the contact, but she didn’t wake. Fuck. Carr supposed she could leave the girl here; she’d be safe within the vines, provided she didn’t make too much noise, but what if Orla woke and was scared?

Carr didn’t have an answer for that, so she spent a few more minutes trying to rouse her. Just as she was about to give up, Orla whimpered.

“Orla?” Carr said, feeling a little desperate at this point. “C’mon, kid, I need you to wake up.”

“Lemme sleep,” Orla mumbled, swatting her away.

“No can do. We gotta move. Can you sit up for me? Are you hurt anywhere?”

“I don’t… think so? But my brain feels scrambled,” Orla complained, finally cracking open her eyes. “What… where? Ugh, we crashed?” The girl winced as she sat up, her breath coming too fast. “Resh!”

Carr peered at her pupils, relieved to find them an equal size. “Yeah, we crashed. Can you walk? We need to find him.”

Now that Resh’s sister was awake, Carr burned with the need to find him, make sure he was still alive and stayed that way. Hopefully, the bandits had raided the remains of their carriage and left him lying in a ditch somewhere. Hopefully, one of the horses could be found. Hopefully, the sun wouldn’t set for a few hours yet.

Hopefully, hopefully, hopefully.

Orla was a little unsteady but able to walk. Thank fuck. Carr guided her, sticking to the underbrush for cover as she searched for the crash site. It didn’t take long to find; she followed a trail of splintered wood until she found the twisted, shattered mess of wood and metal at the bottom of a hill.

She stopped, looking up at the bank, then over her shoulder where she and Orla had been thrown. Without Resh, without her using earth at the last moment, they would have died, Carr had no doubt. A sudden stab of fear pierced her chest; had Resh saved any of his magic for himself?

“Oh gods,” Orla whispered behind her.

Resh had shown Carr, over and over, that he didn’t give a shit about himself as long she was safe. Add his sister into the equation…

“We need t’ find Resh. Now,” Carr said, her voice harsh.

Orla started crying. “How could he survive that?”

“He’s alive,” Carr said. “Has t’ be.”

She sent Orla to search the immediate area around the carriage, then started climbing the hill, which was steep enough that she was forced to use elemental earth to aid her. Maybe he’d jumped before the carriage tumbled down. Maybe that’s why his magic had broken. He’d be up there, hurt, sure, but alive, waiting for help to come.

She wouldn’t accept any other possibility, not until she was presented with his cold, lifeless body, and maybe not even then.

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[ID: The banner is a blue-green background, with tree branches arching over a set of blue-green eyes, forming an approximation of a face. The words Hidden Depths are written in white above the eyes. Any other images are purely decorative lines. end ID]

#hidden depths #whump #whump writing #original writing #original characters #fantasy whump #warnings above the cut #impalement tw #kind of #angst #minor whump #also kind of

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