Bandaged Wounds

When the sky finally stopped spinning and dancing, Gabriel found himself alone. His entire body throbbed, both sharpening and distracting his focus at once. It took a moment before he found the strength to haul himself up into a seated position. The night was cold. Twilight had long fallen and the stars sparkled weakly behind a cloud of light pollution.

There were sounds, but there were still distant. If Gabriel just closed his eyes he could catch a bit of sleep before anything else. Instead he willed himself up. The fight had taken him a bit away from where Anita laid. He hobbled back over to her, looking down at her vacant eyes looking up at dim constellations. Somewhere in his heart he knew, Solas wouldn't care to receive her heartfelt prayer. He reached down to close her lids.

Footsteps approached. Even in the dead of midnight, Gabriel could sense the stalking shadow of Kline's power. It was only moments before the infamous duo appeared before him. "Wow, um. Damn, sir," Clovis said intelligently at the injuries that the High Paladin sported.

Kline, in contrast, was a lot less interested in the state of their boss, "Reporting, High Paladin sir. I got the last of them."

"Huh? YOU got the last of them? Ok sure, I guess." Clovis gave Kline a raised brow, though he didn't seem all that offended or bothered. "Anyways what exactly even happened here?"

Gabriel nodded, satisfied with their performance. "Anita put up a fight. I will call in the rest of the team to clean up," he lied.

"Um." Clovis glanced down and looked at Anita's corpse, unmarred aside from the stab wound in her stomach. But he didn't ask any more questions about Anita and their supposed intense battle at least, "Why didn't you call in the others earlier for backup?"

"It was personal," Gabriel supplied as he pulled out his phone, ordering the rest of the knights on standby to come in. The chill of the night was slowly seeping through the waning adrenaline.

"Whatever you say, sir," Clovis hummed, "I think you should really get those checked out though. Looks a bit nasty, sir."

The playfulness in his voice was devoid of any sincerity, causing Gabriel to scoff, "Don't worry about me. Focus on the cleanup." He turned around, missing the dejected look on the young knight's face at the mention of more work. He limped away towards his car, sighing when he knew that blood was going to be smeared all over. But Gabriel wasn't going to extend his stay any longer on the premise though. That was the least he could offer to the dead.

He should have gone to the hospital. But somehow, as blood drained and his consciousness became hazy, Gabriel found that he had driven himself down Goldhart Road, pulling into a wide parking lot with dimmed lights, unwelcoming of guests at this hour.

Vaguely, he registered the faint hints of shame at showing up at the mansion but Gabriel pulled himself out of his car and stumbled up to knock at the front door anyway. After what felt like an eternity, the door finally creaked open.

"Oh my!" Laurette's voice hitched upwards as she took in Gabriel's bloodied appearance, "What happened to you this time?" She quickly ushered him inside. Aside from her initial shock, Lady Laurette was calm in her actions. This was hardly the first time she had to take care of Gabriel's wounds at such devilish hours.

After putting a towel down on her couch, she ordered him to lie down. By then, Gabriel's thoughts were a jumbled mess, he couldn't quite forget the red rage dancing in Frode's eyes, his mouth snapping like the snout of a ravenous animal, "It's gotten so much worse…" he mumbled to Laurette.

Laurette frowned, not quite understanding, "Don't move, alright dear? I'm going to get my supplies."

The lobby was lit with low candlelight, making Gabriel feel even more drowsy, his thoughts even less coherent. When Laurette returned the first thing he said was, "I need to do something about that curse."

Laurette shushed him, "Be quiet and stay still, ok? I'm going to take this off and clean your wounds." Slowly she pealed away clothe that had been stuck to flesh, eliciting a sharp hiss from her patient. Laurette was no doctor nor nurse, but she was quite used to taking care of wounds and using enchanted creams to ease pain and help heal.

"I don't know…" Gabriel continued with confusing words, "How that curse can be…"

"Now, now. Stop talking about that silly curse, would you?" She smiled at him while she worked the cream into his wounds.

Dark brows furrowed in both pain and annoyance, "It's not silly."

Seeing that she couldn't get him to listen, Laurette decided to talk over him instead, "You know, this really brings me back," she hummed. "During our university years, just how many times did I bandage your wounds for you? You were so reckless then, so terribly hotheaded."

Satisfied with Gabriel's silence, Laurette continued, "You were so mysterious back then too. Even those that disliked you were oh so very curious about you, but they were all too afraid or too shy to approach you. The girls were especially enamored with your background. A mysterious heir of House Duciel that the cold Lord Farran had so painstaking hidden from the world! But those poor girls had no idea how to talk to you and could only make up charming stories and fantasies about where you came from and your upbringing."

Gabriel blinked at her and frowned. That wasn't how he remembered it. The only things he recalled were the insults suffered by his dead mother and the judgemental, disapproving glares that came his way whenever he walked down the halls.

Laurette chuckled, sensing his disagreement, "Of course you wouldn't have known. Too busy getting into silly fights. I can't believe that one time you broke Lord Svorn's nose over a disagreement over tax laws. Your father had to pull on all his connections to keep you enrolled after that mess. I always sensed that you held a deep hatred towards the Court. I never would have thought you'd become High Paladin."

Gabriel's lashes fluttered closed. There was a time he didn't think so either, but he so desperately needed a tangible goal, to breathe life into dying ideals. He exhaled sharply, "I did what I had to do."

The last bandages were wrapped around his torso and Laurette allowed him to lie back down. For a moment, she quietly observed his face before giving him a sad little smile, "Of course you did. That's the only thing we could ever do." Her soft hands clasped him with a quiet offer of comfort. "But it's ok to morn and cry. Sometimes Solas's plans seem cruel to us. But that is only because we are trapped in the confines of time."

Her words were confusing but Gabriel lets Laurette pull him into a motherly embrace. He didn't have it in him to cry. All he could do was rest his head against her with a burning ache consuming his insides. The bite wound on his shoulder was unbearably hot and yet his consciousness still continued to slip away until sleep stole him away.

In Gabriel's dreams, Anita's smiling face overlaid with another girl's.

They even wore their hair in the style, a high ponytail that would bounce with youthful vigor.

The truth was, Gabriel's memories of Estel were, in general, vague. He could remember that she often smiled and liked to sing and that her neighbors would give her flowers and fruits. People loved her and she was always glued to Camilla's side. But he couldn't remember the memories they shared, the words they exchanged over the many years of friendship they once had.

What Gabriel could remember, however, was the night that she died.

They were only four kids, hovering over a stolen blueprint of Lord Randori's mansion, without their older and wiser leader for the very first time.

The Camilla at that time was a little shy but beneath her quiet demeanor, she was brave and honest. Her face was set in a contemplative frown, "We'll follow your lead." She was the first to trust in Gabriel's words.

Estel's hazel eyes were alight with fire, her voice trembling but determined, "We'll do this, no matter what."

"I trust you," Frode said steadily. His face was more delicate then, more pretty and was more willing than not to share a smile with Gabriel. There was a time Gabriel had thought him as cute.

"Thanks," Gabriel responded with sincerity.

They had two missions that night: uncover the whereabouts of a missing baker's daughter, who was seen flirting with the elusive Lord Randori days prior to her disappearance.

Their second mission was plain and simple, kill Lord Randori.

But these missions were easier said than done. Because the mansion that awaited them was deathly quiet, not even a trace of servants could be found. They searched the mansion from top to bottom.

Nothing was found. Not a soul breathed in the entire mansion. They searched each room, from the kitchen to the study to each and every guest room, servant's rooms, Randori's own master bedroom, and even the attic.

Nothing.

"Are you certain you saw him return home?" Gabriel couldn't help but question Camilla, who'd scouted the area beforehand.

"Of course I did," she said with certainty, and Gabriel knew that she wasn't lying.

"He has to be here, somewhere," Estel's normally soft, smiling eyes were blown wide, brows furrowed with both fear and frustration. "I swear he's here!"

It was then, Gabriel heard the creaking below the floorboards.

They'd discovered that below the mansion was a whole maze of horrors and nightmares.

Chained to the walls were abominations groaning and crying, various stages of possession, transforming slowly into demons. Others lie, unmoving with the stench of decomposition abound.

Gabriel remembered that Frode had thrown up and Estel wouldn't stop shaking.

Was Lord Randori responsible for all this? Was he a man or a monster?

Their determination to exterminate the terror in the disguise of a man increased with new-found fear gnawing at their bones.

No matter what, the four quietly vowed, they were to stop him.

Four kids separated into two groups. Camilla with Frode and Estel with Gabriel. One of them was lucky in tracking down the murderous lord, while the other found themselves corned by a group of possessed that had broken loose from their bounds.

When an opportunity to escape arose, Gabriel was quick to abandon the girl who had called him a friend.

He could still recall the sound of teeth crunching into bones and the squelching sound of flesh being torn to shreds. Estel didn't even have the chance to scream or cry.

He left her behind, with empty promises to return as he went to help Frode carve Randori's head off his shoulders.

That night, Gabriel traded the life of a friend for the death of a monster. That night he decided, he would live without regrets.

Just how long had it been since? A whole decade? He lived a life with those thoughts as both sword and shield, walking a bloodied path to the only justice he could bare to reason with.

"That's the only thing we could ever do," Laurette's soft words drifted into his thoughts lulling him deeper into sleep. And while Gabriel couldn't say that he slept well that night, at least he slept, drifting and drowning in fragmented dreams and memories, old and new.