---[ POV: Gwenvar ]---

After a moment of awkward silence, the red-haired man smiled and started to speak to Gwenvar in that foreign language she could not understand. It was clear he was not expecting her to, but she knew he was at least trying to convey a tone for his intentions and attitude; relief, happiness, mindful concern.

I wonder what kind of faraway land he is from? Everything about him is so different, so exotic. I have never even heard of the Black Sun emblem. Maybe it's the symbol of a god or the lord he serves? God would make more sense given his powers. I doubt such a man would serve anyone. He must be a proper lord in his own right. But noble joining the rank of a templar order for fame or simply by devotion is relatively common.

The knight extended a hand toward the woman, palm pointed toward the ceiling, and made a sign for her to show her amputated arm.

Gwenvar raised the stump for the man to see. The healing magic he had used previously had erased the pain so thoroughly that she had almost forgotten such a grievous wound. Her heart sank at this view. A warrior without its right arm - the dominant hand in Gwenvar's case - was not much of a warrior at all.

The man took her arm and started to gently peel the pale, fleshy membrane that covered it. Dried blood and dead skin peeled with it. Gwenvar tried to remain impassible at the unusual sensation of a foreign touch. Except for the princess, she had trouble accepting anyone else to touch her. Her reflexes unconsciously wanted to fight against it. The man seemed to sense her apprehension and offered her a bright and encouraging smile. As if to convince her that everything was fine, he finally raised the exposed stump in front of her face and made a satisfied comment.

Gwenvar starred at her arm in disbelief; instead of the mess of torn flesh and crusted blood clots she was expecting to find, she discovered a regular, soft and pristine stump of freshly created scar tissue.
“This can’t be…” she muttered for herself.

The warrior did not seem surprised so it was obviously the intended result. On the contrary, he seemed a bit disappointed but he quickly erased the expression from his face.

How can he heal me so quickly?

She used her intact left hand to traces some of the innumerable scars that covered her body with the tips of a finger. She was covered in them from head to toe - not a single centimeter on her skin was spared - and she knew everything there was to know about healing processes by now, both natural and magical.

That shouldn’t be possible, especially on me; even the best clerics and healers summoned by the princess said I was particularly difficult to work with.

The man left her to her contemplation and went to the back of the room to get some supplies. He came back and offered her a crystal-clear water bottle of strange design and a small brown stone pellet. Gwenvar took what she was offered and examined it with wonder in her eyes. The knight gestured toward her and mimicked eating the brown stone and drinking the content of the bottle. It was not hard to understand what her host wanted but, despite her thirst and hunger, Gwenvar was puzzled as to how she was supposed to do that. Eating a polished bead? And, first of all, how was that bottle supposed to be opened? The woman had never seen such mechanism, or what seemed like flexible, malleable glass for that matter. She tried to use her remaining left hand and her teeth to pull out the bottle cap but was unable to do so. Feeling the eyes of the man on her, she felt a bit embarrassed and stupid to fail at such simple a task so, with all the dignity she could muster, she put down the bottle as if she was not that interested in the first place and instead threw the brown pellet in her mouth.

The man looked a bit confused and surprised, which made Gwenvar feel mildly annoyed. So what?! I’ve never used a magic bottle before! I am not a wizard. Not everyone is as gifted as you. If you want me to use it, you’ll have to help me a bit. She bit the pellet to quell her frustration but instead of simply chewing on a hard rock pebble like she had expected, she felt the pellet crack and rupture. So it was not a rock after all? A foul-tasting powder spread in her mouth, absorbing her saliva and drying it in a moment. She gasped in surprise but it only contributed in her inhaling a bunch of fine powder and being seized by a coughing fit.

The man jumped to help her with a guilty look on his face. He took the water bottle and with a simple twist of the wrist, opened it and tried to have her drink. Red from embarrassment and the lack of air, Gwenvar grabbed the bottle from his hand to drink it by herself. The man said something and let out a nervous and apologetic laugh.

Please, someone, kill me already…

Gwenvar had no choice but to spit the powder in her mouth before drinking as much water as she could to wash the rest away. The powder turned into an equally disgusting paste when mixed with the water, and she could not resist spitting it out too. After some time, her mouth was cleaned and she was able to breathe properly without coughing. She stared at the mess on the floor in front of her - there was even some on the knight’s armor - and wished she could just disappear and never be seen by the knight ever again.

Well, that’s just great Gwen! Talk about a way to thank your savior; just go ahead and spit everywhere on him and the floor of his house!

Fortunately, the man did not seem to care about that. He seemed more concerned about her than anything else. This was both comforting and infuriating. Once he was sure she was able to breathe properly, he went back to grab some more water and traitorous pellets. This time, he sat in front of her and made sure she looked at him as he consumed the supplies the way they were intended to. The brown pellet first - and no bitting - then the water to wash it down whole. He also showed her how to open the bottle, which was relatively simple once you understood the underlying principle. Once he was done, he gave her a new bottle and pellet. This time she was able to consume them without making a fool of herself but the damages were already done; her ears were still red and burning from the embarrassment of her first failure.

The water felt absolutely great after the tribulations of the day, but the purpose of the brown pellet was not immediately evident. Probably some other kind of medicine? The knight had turned his attention from Gwenvar and back to the blue owl, both of them engaging in a discreet discussion some distance away while glancing at her from time to time. They seemed a bit agitated. Gwenvar could identify a mix of interrogation and excitement in their tone.

Seeing they were not paying too much attention to her for the moment, Gwenvar got up and walked toward the ramp that led to the second floor. She wanted to check on the princess’ condition. As she started to go up the ramp, she threw an interrogative stare at the knight but he didn’t seem to mind so she took it as a sign she was allowed to go as she pleased.

Once on the second floor, she followed the catwalk to the right, passing an alcove furnished by a table lined with benches, before reaching the rectangular cavity where her ward was resting. The newfound hopes that had slowly built up inside Gwenvar since she had met the black knight suddenly crumbled; Princess Amaryllis was sweating profusely and shaking with small convulsions despite being unconscious. Her already delicate skin was now as white as a corpse except for the blue veins that pulsated with an irregular rhythm underneath. There was a trail of blood coming out of her nose and from the corner of her eyes. The large gash on her face had started to miraculously mend just as Gwenvar’s arm had but the affliction of the poor girl was clearly not from one of her external wounds.

By the gods, is the infection back? thought Gwenvar. She seemed better after the black knight treated her earlier. I thought he had cleansed her blood and humors from the infection with his magic. Was he not successful or unable to do so? Maybe he could only delay the inevitable? He spent so much mana and energy fighting the goblins, maybe he had not enough left to heal her completely? And I let him treat me first! I should have had him concentrate his efforts on the Lady first!

Gwenvar put her left hand on the forehead of the young girl and, sure enough, she was absolutely burning with fever. Such a fever would kill the largest and toughest of man before the end of the night. Gwenvar let out a desperate and plaintive cry.

“Hang in there, my Lady! You can’t give up now! Not now! We are so close. We found him; the black knight. You were right, he exists, and he is both selfless and chivalrous. I am sure he will gladly hear our plea once you get back up. But you have to get back up… please…”

Gwenvar fought to contain her emotions as she heard the rapid footsteps of the knight running in her direction to see the cause of her agitation. The man slowed his pace behind her and frowned upon seeing the precarious condition of the young girl. She was alright less than an hour ago, after all.

Gwenvar turned pleading eyes toward him. She got on her knees in the position taught to children for when they had to ask favors from the gods or implore a member of the nobility to hear their plea. She lowered her head toward the ground and brushed her hair on the side to expose the back of her neck, a gesture that indicated she was putting herself at his mercy and was offering her very own life to be dealt with as he wished.

“I beg of you, Sir Knight, please, save her. Save her, and I will do everything I can to repay you. If I need to forfeit my life to serve you, I will. If your desires force me to betray previously taken oaths and sully my honor, I will gladly do it. If it means she can live, I’ll do anything. There’s not much a failure of a knight like me can offer you, but every breath I’ll take, until the very last, will be to repay you.”

Gwenvar knew the man could not understand what she was saying but she was sure he would understand that gesture - the Forfeiting -, which was, while not common, universal in all the nations under the umbrella of the Pantheon and its gods. She waited, trembling, for him to speak and press his hand against her neck to signify he accepted her request and her offer. But he never did.

Am I not good enough? Of course, I am not! The only thing I am good at is fighting and he saw me getting trashed by goblins. What can a scarred and crippled degenerate like me offer him that he doesn’t already have?

Silent tears of helplessness fell from her remaining eye and blurred her vision. She wanted to curl up on the ground and sobs from despair but her remaining dignity prevented her from doing so. She had already despoiled most of it by offering herself and being denied, there was no way she was going to dig deeper. That would be an unsightly scene for the Lady anyway. After she had made sure there were no more visible tears on her face, she gritted her teeth and raised her head back. She expected to find the warrior looking at her with pity, scorn, or disgust, but instead, she realized he was not even paying attention to her. He had turned toward Lady Annestrahd and was examining her with anguish and confusion painted on his face.

The blue owl flew over and perched itself on the railing beside them. The man and the bird started to exchange back and forth and, after some time, the man left for another small room at the end of the catwalk. He quickly came back with a metal tray mounted on a rolling structure. There were a lot of bizarre-looking instruments placed on, or part off, the tray. The man placed it near the bed of the sick girl and started an incomprehensible ritual, using the instruments one after the other, sometimes coming back to one he had already used. He administered some of what Gwenvar imagined were potions and pills of medicines to the young girl while mumbling to himself but the condition of the princess was not getting any better. On the contrary, it seemed to deteriorate quickly. After almost one hour of this frantic routine, the man shook his head in denial and brushed his hair with both hands while cursing in silence.

Gwenvar lost all hope when she saw defeat appear on the face of the black knight. If that man was powerless against the illness of the young girl, then only the gods were left, and they were not particularly known for saving random people from naturally occurring diseases and infections, noble as they may be. After having used or tested what seemed like his entire repertory of tricks and miracles, the knight just turned to Gwenvar with a sad and defeated look on his face.

“No. No!” Gwenvar took the hand of the princess in her own and squeezed it, maybe a little bit too hard. This time she could not keep her sobs bottled. “Please Amy, please… Stay with me. I’m nothing without you. If you leave me, I don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep going. You’re my Ward, my friend, my family… my home. Please, don’t leave me alone in a world that doesn't want me.”

The man tried to put a comforting hand on Gwenvar’s shoulder but she was numb to anything that wasn’t the only person to ever love and see her as something else than a freak of nature dying in front of her. The pulse of the young girl was getting weaker and weaker, and her respiration was growing thin. Gwenvar was about to fall on her knees for the second time that night when a hoarse voice made itself heard from outside the lair.

“Hey-oh! People of the Metal Temple?! Knight and maidens of the mountain?! I can sense that horror and tragedy befell you! The Weave dance with madness and the gods cry! Surely you wouldn’t be against the help of a passing sage?!”