Itami Castle

His jest was not well received. For it, he got THE LOOK. Not the smothering one that sent men into battle for her, but the one that stated he would get his mouth popped if he sassed her again. The MOTHER look. His manners was not her current concern. What was concerning was the blue steaks in the purple hued blood.

"Are you human? Completely?" She asked as the maids left the room after playing her medicine bag down on the round table near the fireplace. She undid the ties and pulled it one to show jars and cloth covered containers. A leather roll which contained the tools of her trade. From within, she took out a hair cage and twisted the long strains into a bun. She weaved the wooden rod through the bars of the doomed cage to hold it in to place. Next, she withdrew a long apron made of otter skin. Naturally liquid resistant. It was not trimmed with finery. It was the only plain thing she owned.

She took out a pair of long, white sleeves and placed them over her own. A reusable pair of gloves came on next.

He removed his own eyepatch, leaving open a puckered hole like a dried out barnacle. Not a whence did she give. Not a nose curl of disgust. This was not some flea ridden peasant before her, but even if he were, this person was now an aliment and Osma did not turn her noses up from an ailment.

It was moments like these where she felt at her best. Truly at her best. How she walked or talked or wore her hair faded. Her body was just a thing in which she used to observe and learn. Her mind could be sharp and her willpower a force of nature when there was healing to be done.

He became her child, her passion and her frustration all at once. A person, but not a man. A life, but not a name. Apathy made for killers or healers.

She wiped his skin carefully, but without guilt or fear of hurting him. She pushed here or there and used a spyglass to see the details. She demanded a candle and behold it was brought. She ordered silence and not even a chair creaked. In times like these, Osma the Beautiful was Osma the Focused.

She found it easier to work without bossing around another pair of hands. "How did this happen?" She asked as she placed her gloved hands into a bowl of steaming water she had ordered. A maid used a clean towel to wipe them. In order to treat him, she would need to know more. "What kind of memories spark the oozing?" 

She was learning a lot of his secrets in one day, as his doctor. That meant a sealed tongue, though help him if he ever told her this when she was not wearing the otter skin apron and ever royally pissed her off. Her gloved fingers she kept curled, elbows close to her sides as she stood beside him and listened. Dew drops of sweat on her forehead gleamed in the firelight.

His fathered did this to him?

Professional detachment, Osma. She must remember that. She couldn't however, detach herself from knowing that he laid on the floor with a dagger in his eye, still enough to play dead. He probably fainted and doesn't want to tell me. she thought.

Why was she so mean? Osma shifted her weight under her silent, self scolding.

She wasn't sure what happened to the guard, who would have known of the intended murder. Somethings were best left unsaid.

What could she say to his story? Nothing that would change it. She said nothing directly about his story.

No, "I'm sorry" because she wasn't. He would not be who he is now if it hadn't happened. Her respect for the man he seemed to be was growing. Perhaps he was made better by this mutilation. 

No, "you're emotionally strong and incredibly well in control of your body" because he already knew he was. At least she thought he already knew.

She looked at his good eye. "The purple and blue that mingles with the blood is not normal. It doesn't appear to be infected, not by normal means. With such a long time past, you should have to be keeping it moist, not having it oozing. I would like to test a sample of it, but to do that, I will have to collect one from farther in the cavity. It will be painful. If you allow it, I can give you something to knock you out, or at least numb you enough that you will need to be carried to the bed." Her head nudged toward the large bed in the room.

Really? That easy huh? Osma figured a leader would be too suspensions to be knocked out by someone who claimed to be a healer. No one had actually seen her at work. No one had asked to see her degree or her license to practice. Yet there he was, all ready to get knocked on her bed.

This kingdom won't last long. She thought as she prepared a drink that would knock him out. Lucky for naive lil' Shin, Osma was not trying to kill him. Maybe she was tempted to write the words "gullible" on his forehead in charcoal, but she kept professional.

Osma was at the round table, sipping wine from a wooden reed as her tools boiled in a kettle over the fire. A maid was in the room, gathering up the bloody muslin cloth. A new bandage was over his eye socket. The drug she gave him usually made people woosey and "sharpened" their tongues."

Osma didn't realize how she had messed up until after Warlord-Prince-Whatever was asleep in HER bed. She had given him the only room he had given her and now, did not know where to sleep. The chairs in the room were not very comfortable and she was not about to sleep on the floor nor curled up at the foot of the bed like some dog.

She could go find another room, demand another space, but he had taken a mixture that could stop his heart. The only way to be sure it hadn't was to stay awake and constantly check on him.

Oh, bother.

She took a mixture that would given her energy and while in it's burn she: constantly checked his breathing, reorganized her supplies, and tried out five different ways to wear her hair. She read half a book before she got bored of it and hung out in the window seal, watching clouds roll over the moon.

Osma startled awake and turned her head to face the bed. "What?" The heavy thud of the book sliding from her lap and hitting the stones startled her a second time. Where was she?

Big window seat. Large room. Warm fire. Fur on the bed. Man on the bed!

Oh right. That leader guy and his eyeball thing. She gave a groan as she lowered her barefeet to the ground and began to zombie walk towards the bed. She had to to the table first and snatch up a candle to see his face. She set it on the bedside table and placed a hand on the bed to steady herself.

Nope, not close enough. She sat down on the bed beside him. For her all fumbling to get to him, she was careful with the bandaged. "I think the dagger was tipped in poison. Some kind of magical, but plant based potion to keep the wound festering. Either your father kept his dagger tipped in poison, just in case, or he didn't actually mean to kill you. Just to leave you suffering the rest of her otherwise long and healthy life."

"I've got what is natural to counteract it. I think it will lesson the pain the and duration of it, when it does arise. But you'll need to see an elven healer to counter the spell. At least, I think it is was elven. Magic is not my area." She set the bandage back down. "No oozing now. That's good. Do you feel anything in the back of your socket?"

He had taken her bed. Most people would have said they didn't mind, but Osma did mind. Boo-boo eye or not, that was where she needed to get her beauty sleep! Ohhhhh, she hoped he hadn't soiled himself while he was out. She was NOT cleaning that up.

She would need her own servants for that kind of shit.

"Let's see if you can walk!"