athelstanthescribe | (no subject)

(no subject)

Athelstan had been doing better, it seemed, talking with more strength and lucidity and staying awake longer at a stretch.

Not any more.

He's lying on his front again, sweat standing out on his skin, when Sinric approaches the bed, and mutters something unintelligible when Sinric touches him.

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He reaches for the handle and closes his hand around it - and opens the door.

On the other side is a plain-looking corridor.

"That is home?" the doctor says.

Athelstan stares out at it, confused, then at his hand on the door.

"I... I think it must be..."

And he takes a faltering step forward.

"Will you be all right there?" the doctor asks.

"I'm not going to die." Even lost in fever, he's oddly sure of it, before returning to his fixation. "And I'm going home."

The doctor lets go of his hand.

He stumbles, steadies himself with a great deal of effort, and steps through the door.

It closes behind him.

Sinric makes it to the landing of the south stairs but his forced to sit and rest. His ankle is badly swollen and turning blue with brusing. Likewise his hand is red when he tried to stop his fall and grazed it.

Tears of frustration and panic for Athelstan flood his being and he bites back a sob and he tries to stand, crying out as he pushes himself on.

Edited 2015-08-10 00:05 (UTC)

Hannibal is coming upstairs and stops, deep concern on his face.

"Sinric!" he says. "What happened?"

He reaches out to help Sinric stand.

Sinric's eyes light up at the sight of a familiar face. "Sir, you must hurry! It's Athelstan! The fever is on him and he raves. I can looking for help and tripped on the stair. You must go to him! Please, I beg of you. He needs your help!"

His own injuries mean nothing to him compared to getting Athelstan help.

The doctor pulls out a rather large handkerchief, and kneels down at Sinric's feet.

"I'll bandage your ankle quite tightly," he says, "and then help you downstairs -- he will know you and trust you, even in a delirium."

Sinric shakes his head but doesn't push Hannibal away. "You mustn't waste time on me. Please, he is burning and my foolishness has already cost dearly in time. Please, leave me and go to him." It comes out as a frightened sob.

Hannibal ties the handkerchief very tight.

"It may hurt a little, but you should be able to walk with a little help from me."

He stands, puts a strong arm around Sinric's chest, and starts to bring him downstairs again, taking at least two-thirds of Sinric's weight."

Not at Sinric weighs much. With Hannibal's help he hobbles down the stairs, straining forward to reach Athelstan all the sooner.

Once on the flat ground he pulls away and runs, in a way that can only cause him pain, all but falling again as he reaches the infirmary door.

And finds it empty.

Edited 2015-08-10 00:55 (UTC)

Hannibal follows right behind him.

"Where is he?" he asks, taking Sinric by the arm to help him stand.

"He was here. He was raving but I begged him to stay till I can with help." Sinric's voice is high with panic.

He pulls away from Hannibal's support, almost not noticing the man's arm was around him as he darts to and fro searching all the rooms of the infirmary.

Only then does he notice the bloody footprints, all colour draining from his face. "Oh no!"

Hannibal has been standing by the infirmary door during Sinric's frantic search; when he comes out and sees the footprints, the doctor reaches out to steady him again.

"That would have been Athelstan?" he says. "I am so truly sorry, Sinric."

"His feet, they bleed. Where they drove the nails-" He swallows roughly, bile rising in his throat. He staggers unsteadily, fearing that he might faint. "I have failed him." He whimpers. "I have failed him and now-"

Hannibal holds him up, and strokes his hair.

"And now?"

Tears fall freely. "He is in such danger. I swore. To he and Ragnar both." He hides his face in his hands, sobbing. "I have failed them and now Athelstan- he is back with those terrible people."

The doctor is holding him steady.

"What terrible people?"

"The men of god," he spits the words, "who did this to him. The Northumbrian king who took him down from the cross." He's shaking now, his whole body. "He is far from home, from people who love him and will protect him."

He falls into Hannibal's arms. "I failed him!"

Hannibal holds him.

"What did they do to him, those men of God?" he asks, stroking Sinric's hair and back as he is sobbing.

"They beat him." He sobs, his face buries in Hannibal's shirt. "And crucified him. The cruellest torture. His hands," He gasps and clings, his small body shaking. "His hands."

"They drove nails through his hands and feet?" the doctor guesses, still holding Sinric. "Hence the bloody footprints?"