The Battle of Shrewsbury [Werewolf AU]

[tiltingwithlips]

The day of the battle dawns cloudy and cold. The men on both sides form up as the sun rises behind the clouds, facing each other across a field of gray snow in orderly ranks.

When battle is joined, most semblance of that order disintegrates. The leaders of each army range here and there about the field, directing their troops, and soon the snow is churned and brown with mud and blood.

Most of the soldiers are too busy fighting for their lives to notice the gray wolf creeping around the edges of the battlefield, crouched low to the ground, her hackles raised and lips pulled back in a snarl. Kate has never seen a battle. It's not exactly what she was expecting.

Comments

[tiltingwithlips]

Oh, her heart.

She licks his cheek again, then drags one of the cloaks over him.

. . . It's really not easy to tuck someone in when all you have handy is your teeth and your paws.

[valiantrebel]

Harry squeezes his eyes shut.

His mouth moves, silently at first, but after a great deal of concentration: "...what."

[tiltingwithlips]

Kate whines and flops down next to him, as close as she can get without actually being on top of him.

This isn't going to work. She's going to have to change back before moonrise, and it will be uncomfortable and she'll be naked and cold and vulnerable if anyone comes back -- but if she's frightened now, how much worse it must be for Harry. He doesn't deserve to go through this with no explanation.

Where are those other cloaks, then? She pulls one over Harry, and then clumsily arranges the last over herself.

[valiantrebel]

It's good of her to stay with him so long while he's dying.

Harry watches her closely, even though he cannot quite fathom her actions.

[tiltingwithlips]

She licks his cheek one more time before burrowing under the cloak. Even now, changing is -- private. The stretching and compressing of bones, the itch of fur disappearing, the shift of muscles . . . it isn't painful, precisely, but it's the least pleasant part of the whole process, and she doesn't like to think of what it must look like to someone else. The bulging and shifting and glimpses of fur and skin under the cloak are probably strange enough.

By the time it's done, she is absolutely ravenous and freezing cold. Shivering, she wraps the cloak around herself with clumsy fingers and sits up. Her hair is a wild tangle around her head.

[valiantrebel]

His own change is instantaneous: his breathing quickens, his eyes light up, and he even manages a smile. He tries to push the blanket out of the way, to reach for her.

[tiltingwithlips]

"Harry," she croaks, putting a hand over his. "Lie still, love -- oh, love--"

[valiantrebel]

Kate, when did telling your husband to do anything, least of all lying still, ever result in him actually doing so?

Not only is he not lying still, he's trying to push himself up.

[tiltingwithlips]

"Stop it," she growls. "Thy hurts, Harry, think on them!"

[valiantrebel]

"'Tis done," he rasps, and swallows. "Kate."

[tiltingwithlips]

"Hush, Harry."

Leaning in, she kisses him lightly on the lips.

"Thy pardon, my love, my lord, thy pardon for the hurts that I have done thee myself. I knew no other way to make thee safe."

[valiantrebel]

He frowns.

What can she--?

Had that not been a fever dream?

He tries to move one hand toward his throat.

[tiltingwithlips]

She almost reaches to stop him, but restrains herself.

"Take care. If -- if thou canst stay with me until the night, 'twill heal."

She pulls the cloak closer around herself, clenching her teeth to keep them from chattering.

[valiantrebel]

Is she saying what he thinks she's saying?

He knits his brow deeper.

"The king?"

[tiltingwithlips]

"I know not. I drove the prince away."

[valiantrebel]

He looks down at her cloak, and his -- one of each side's.

No one has found him, but no one has come to look for him either.

He exhales (ah, the hole in his side). "Lost."

[tiltingwithlips]

"I know not," again -- and then, angrily, "I care not, Harry, if thou art alive."

[valiantrebel]

A frustrated noise rises in his throat. He rolls his face away.

Ah, Christ! His muscles seem to twist and wrench around his bones! His vision whites out for a moment. Can he be expected to live?

[tiltingwithlips]

"--Love," she says, concerned, reaching out take his hand. "It will pass, if thou canst bear it."

But will he? He has not died of his other wounds yet, and that gives her hope. But watching him wracks her heart.

[valiantrebel]

"Pass?"

His breath has gone shallow again. "Kate?"

Say so. You must say why.

[tiltingwithlips]

Ah, if God still knows her as His daughter, give her strength.

"I bit thee, Harry," she says, as steadily as she can. "As I was bitten by the wolf as a girl. And tonight is the full moon." She swallows. "If thou canst bear it and -- and stay with me, my lord -- then thou'lt change, as I do."

[valiantrebel]

 

 

 

The noise may sound like more coughing, or moaning; certainly his chest is quaking, and his mouth is crooked.

Look to his eyes, though, and it's plain enough: Harry is laughing, however much it pains him (and it does).

[tiltingwithlips]

Kate blinks at him.

And then, almost tearfully, starts laughing herself, and squeezes his hand.

[valiantrebel]

"I'll stay," he croaks, and lifts his eyes to the sky. "How long?"

[tiltingwithlips]

"Do, villain," she says, sniffing, "or I shall have to chase thee even further."

She looks up at the sky. "A few hours more."