He lasted long enough to scan the destruction of the battle, the cratered earth, the scattered weapons, the charred forms and severed limbs.  The intake of breath was shuddering, an effort that in and of itself was nearly insurmountable.  His sweep complete, the broken sword fell from blood slick fingers, blue grey steel hitting the blackened rock he had stood upon with a dull clatter.  The glow went out of his eyes, and all that was left was pale as eyelids fell.  The rest of him soon followed.

For someone who remembered everything it was always a strange experience to wake up somewhere different than where his memory last knew he had been.  Disorienting was the word he had settled on, to have a stark break from seemingly one moment to the next.  A bit of thought reminded him that it had not been one moment.  He had come to a few times, his vision swimming, some shot of pain sharp enough to drive him back out of sleep.  There had always been her.

He knew these tent walls, the pattern of the fabric, the spots he had been forced to patch or mend over the years.  The sheen of the wax in the canvas.  It was his tent, the larger field one he kept in his pack.  A further look noted that some of the knots where wrong, secured to the pole not in his usual manner.  Which was obvious because he had not done it.

She would have.

A an alarm flared in his mind, a thought that wanted out but which he knew would be a reprimand.  It was not something he wanted to deal with and so he distracted himself with accounting for his state.  He lifted his right hand, saw the bandages wrapped around it.  Knew them as those he kept in his pack as well, good ones he got from a family in Koric when he was running low.  His left hand lifted the blanket over him.  His shirt was gone, bandages packed and wrapped there.  A slight lift more confirmed his pants were still on.  A wiggle of his toes noted that his boots were not.  The tarp had been laid out as cover over the ground, the walls secured so he couldn’t tell where they were.  It was flat, something which the battlefield had not been once he had finished with it.  It was dark outside too, that much he could tell by the temperature and the lack of light pushing in around the tent’s seems.  He tried to guess how much time he had missed.  Memories didn’t offer him a full accounting, feelings might.  He was thirsty and hungry, but not excessively so in either case.  A day then maybe.

He’d have to ask.

The thought pushed harder now, dragging the memory with it.  The last time there had been a gap like this had been a very long time ago now.  It had been after he had fought the Archdragon, after he broke everything and the Cycle turned.  That time had made sense, the effect worthy of the moment.  This time had been…

A reminder that he was diminished.  A pair of dragons, and their combined horde, was indeed something mighty.  He had only her with him, but he alone would’ve been enough back in the day.  Not maybe to emerge unhurt but not to have needed dragging off the battlefield.  He would’ve sighed but his earlier movements had sapped his strength, his breaths feeling now like the blanket on top of him was made of rock.  He’d be even less so while he healed as well, and what would that do to the legend?

“You’re awake aren’t you?” even tired there was that melodic carry to her voice.  He opened his pale eyes again, shifted himself just enough towards her voice.  There she was, resting on the ground.  His and her pack were cushions, as was her token blanket and a pair from his pack.  There were dark bags under her eyes but she gave him a smile.  “I was worried you might grow feverish, wasn’t really sure how I’d deal with that.”
“Be a poor way to end,” his voice was hoarse, painful to speak.  He didn’t want her to know and so he pushed for more words.  “Don’t think I’d go not knowing it’s my end.”  That dimmed her smile somewhat and he regretted it.  With a groan of her own she pushed to her feet.  Nearing she laid a hand on his forehead regardless, then checking the bandages on his hand, before pulling up the blanket to inspect those on his chest.

“You are particularly hardy,” she commented as she finished.

“Thank you,” he offered after a moment.  Shock flashed across her face for a moment and then she smiled at him again.

“Wasn’t like I could leave you just lying there.”

“Better comment is good job.”  His bravado carried past his strength and his voice gave over to a cough as he finished, one that racked his frame and reminded him of the injuries he had racked up.  As he got the fit under control he realized that Keto had departed and returned, his mug filled with water.  She eased him up, enough for him to take some sips.  He laid back, fighting to catch his breath.  Noting the anger that wanted to rise as his weakness.

“It’s impressive really what you have in your pack, and how easy it was to find.”

“It’s meant to have the things that you need,” he managed, swallowing as he finished.  He waited for her to say more, she always had words.  When she didn’t speak he looked over at her.  One of her hands was tracing the handle of his mug, she was tired.  He would have to get an accounting of what she had done to help him but the toll on her was apparent.  She was also beautiful as ever.

“You should try and rest,” she offered after a moment, her blue eyes were gray like storm clouds as she looked up from the mug to him.  “I set up the swords and Keid outside, just in case anything had survived.”

He managed a nod, taking a breath and giving up the fight against keeping his eyes open.  He’d remember to tell her how good she had done when he was awake next, when talking wouldn’t be quite so painful.

“Quartes,” she drew him back from giving into his fatigue.  He managed to raise an inquisitive eyebrow.  “Do you know that you’re crying?”

He nodded.  He swallowed, working his way to talking despite the pain.  “It’s been a very long time since anyone has been around to care for me.”