Dedicated to NorthStar464 - my very first follower and commenter! Thank you x
~~~

The next morning Tristan was awake and out of his room earlier than usual. He went to the kitchen, hoping to catch some early breakfast so he could be on his way. He had not been able to find Mistress Eudora the previous night. The servants were not sure where she had gone so he had gone to bed, after a futile search for her, hoping that she was okay.

Mistress Eudora was in the kitchen, her usual smile was absent. Her brow was furrowed and her face pale. She looked up at the sound of Tristan's footsteps and gasped when she saw him.

"Oh! My lord!" She dropped the bowl she had been using and hurried up to his side. The servants in the room watched them curiously. Tristan gestured for Mistress Eudora to follow him to somewhere more private. They went outside, it was still early and not many people were around. Mistress Eudora was quiet as she faced him, she looked fearful.

"I found her," he told her. She let out a loud sigh.

"Thank God," she breathed out in a whisper. "Is she... is she well?"

"She is injured." Her hand flew up to her mouth at Tristan's words. "She was attacked by a wolf. I was not fast enough in reaching her. I left her with Brianne – she was unconscious at the time." Mistress Eudora's eyes filled with tears that did not spill.

"This is all my fault. If only I had not sent her to fetch me that awful rosemary then she would be well. Dear, sweet Rose, she could have been killed and it would have been my fault." She seemed in shock. Tristan tried to comfort her by patting her on the shoulder.

"Fear not. She is alive and that is what is important. It is not your fault." Eudora looked at him as though she did not believe his words, but she nodded anyway.

"Thank you, my lord, for finding her. You are a good man." Tristan could not help the smile that spread across his mouth at her words.

"You are very kind. I was hoping you would have some food I could take. I do not think I will be at breakfast this morning."

"Of course, Your Majesty. Follow me."

Mistress Eudora supplied him with a bread roll, dried fruit, and some cheese. He left the palace and walked straight for Brianne's, taking bites of the food as he did so.

Tristan knocked on Brianne's door lightly. It was still fairly early but she was probably already awake. The door swung open after a moment to reveal Brianne. She looked a little tired and worn out.

"Your Majesty," she greeted, smiling. She curtsied and stepped aside, allowing him to enter. "I did not expect to see you here so early." Tristan walked inside, his eyes instantly flickered over to where Rose was. Her eyes were closed. She did not look like she had moved even slightly since he had placed her there. Her face was very pale but it was a comfort that her shallow breathing could just be seen.

"How is she?" Tristan asked Brianne, pulling his gaze away from Rose. Brianne frowned and pursed her lips before speaking.

"I have examined the wounds. They are deep but mostly puncture wounds. A couple of areas were worse and I had to stitch them up."

"But she will be okay?"

"I believe her ribs have protected her from any internal bleeding. It is now a matter of how the wounds heal," Brianne explained, still not fully answering his question. He glanced at Rose again. She seemed so peaceful, it almost made him smile at the thought of not seeing her constantly glaring or frowning.

"Why is she still unconscious? Has she woken at any point?"

"No, Your Majesty, she never stirred. She has been like this since you brought her to me."

"Why?"

"She lost a lot of blood, my lord. She is unwell and injured. Sometimes the body just needs to rest." Brianne shrugged and walked towards Rose. "I cannot say how long it will be until she awakens."

"But she will awaken?" He pressed anxiously. Brianne chuckled and nodded.

"Yes, my lord, I am convinced she will. I believe you reached her just in time. Had the wolf held on much longer he would have undoubtedly killed her. She was very lucky." Brianne touched Rose's forehead lightly, but immediately a frown fell on her face. Tristan's heart skipped a beat at her expression.

"What? What is it?" Brianne turned and began rummaging through her supplies.

"She has developed a fever." She mixed some herbs together into a cup and left it on her table. "I must check her wounds." She rushed back to Rose's side in a hurry. Tristan silently prayed she would not make him leave again, he would not feel at ease until he knew what was wrong. Brianne glanced at him.

"Please do not ask me to leave," Tristan said in a hurry, widening his eyes. "I only wish to know if she is well."

"Very well, you may stay. But turn and avert your eyes. I must preserve the girl's modesty, my lord." He turned around willingly enough and stared at the fire. There was a pot of water heating in the edge of the coals, it was simmering away. He knew the healer's often made tea to help with pain and sickness. Tristan was silent but he could not hear much, Brianne was very quiet as she presumably unwrapped a bandage. All seemed to be well when suddenly Brianne sucked in a breath rapidly. Tristan desperately wanted to turn around but he forced himself to stay staring at the fire.

"What is wrong?" Brianne came to his side and he turned around. A sheet was covering Rose up to her neck for privacy. Brianne's face was nearly white.

"The wounds are infected." Tristan froze at her words. Infected wounds were rarely successfully treated. Often they were fatal. "Normally I would use bloodletting to try and remove the infection... but she has already lost so much blood." He swallowed and took a deep, restricted breath. If Brianne could not stop the infection the wounds would fester and turn septic. Rose could die... Rose could die. Tristan could not bring himself to comprehend the thought. Such a fate seemed so impossible for one who had already fought so much.

"Can you not help her?"

"I will do... everything that I can think of. But I have only seen a very few amount of people recover from infections, my lord. It is perhaps best not to hope too strongly for a recovery. I need to tend to her, you must go," she spoke gently but her words brought no peace to him. She pushed him towards the door.

"What can I do?" He asked her desperately.

"Pray, my lord. Pray."

~

Rose's dreams were vivid and her head was thick with a foggy confusion. She could not understand if she was awake or sleeping.

She saw strange, strange images. Wolves chased her and snapped at her. Dark trees crowded her vision. Sometimes the image of Tilly would dance through her dreams. Faces flashed before her. Mistress Eudora, beaming and always baking. The townsfolk, ignoring her as she begged for food. She could see Anabelle laughing, but her voice was far away and echoed around Rose until it faded.

Perhaps she was asleep. Confusion wafted through her. What was she doing?

Try as she might, she could not wake up. She felt in a haze. She could not move; she could not even remember how one moved. She was left, immobilized, to watch the scenes before her eyes.

Sometimes the images faded into a deep nothingness. In those moments it was quiet, but the sound of a crackling fire would break through the dark. The fire led her to dreams of wandering in the woods and warming herself by the flames at night.

As time went by – or perhaps no time had passed, she could not comprehend the answer – she heard other noises. There were voices, but their words blurred together and rang in her ears. There was a deep voice that rumbled around Rose and made her want to sigh blissfully. A higher voice, unfamiliar yet calming. She tried to make sense of the voices but it was all too fuzzy, so she relaxed back into her dreams.

At one point she became aware of a burning through her abdomen. Her dreams frantically tried to make sense of the feeling and led her to images of boiling water being poured down her stomach. It hurt, but the dream soon passed. Sometimes she could feel something tickling her, almost like hands that were brushing her skin lightly, leaving mysterious objects on her. Rose dreamed that she was laying down and someone was placing cool leaves on her. They brought refreshment to her. She was swimming through a lake. She was racing through the wind on a horse. She was dancing. She was given wings and flew through the air.

It was all so pleasant.

Suddenly the dreams began growing fast. Too fast. She could not focus on one and understand what was happening.

The sounds and images began to ring together in a frenzied cacophony. Voices and memories and images. They grew louder and louder, faster and faster, too rapid for her to follow as they muddled together discordantly.

The images and noises were so fast, so loud, it was overwhelming. She wanted to scream, to break through it all and demand it stop. She wanted to go back to her dream of flying. The dreams and voices surged, louder and wilder until she thought she could bear no more. Abruptly, they stopped. Silence rang in her ears as she looked at nothing but blackness – emptiness. How odd.

With a gasp, she opened her eyes.

Light blinded her momentarily until her eyes adjusted. She was laying down on what felt like a straw bed. Immediately she became aware of a dull throbbing around her midriff. She frowned, confused. Rose lifted her hand and poked her stomach gently. Intense pain flared through her and she removed her hand with a gasp. It was like a fire that strung at every cell in her body. What had happened? Where was she? Rose turned her head and took in her surroundings. She was in an open room. In the opposite wall a fire was crackling away. The room had a cupboard nearly overflowing with small containers and pots. There was a table in the middle of the room with supplies on it. Rose dropped her head back onto her pillow in exhaustion. She was simultaneously ferociously hot and completely freezing.

A few minutes passed when a lady walked into the room. She looked to be in her thirties, but she appeared very well and still seemed young. Her hair was mahogany and very curly, she was of a slim build and had very serious looking blue eyes. The lady did not notice Rose was awake – she walked up to her cupboard and began rummaging through the containers.

"Excuse me," Rose croaked out. Her voice was husky and quiet; she was very thirsty. The woman jumped and turned around. She rushed to her side immediately.

"You're awake!" She exclaimed, looking rather pleased. She turned to her table and picked up a cup, then headed to the fire and filled the cup with hot water.

"Where am I? What happened? Who are you?" The lady was at the table stirring the cup. Watching the woman's movement made Rose's head heavy with dizziness.

"I am Brianne, the healer." Rose made the connection in her mind. She had heard of Brianne; she was known to be a successful healer – even the Royal's called on her when they needed assistance. Rose frowned as she tried to remember what she was doing with a healer. She could remember flashes of images, but they were all fuzzy with no detail. Brianne came over to Rose with the cup in her hand. "I need you to drink this, I was waiting for you to wake up." She helped pull Rose up into a sitting position. Her stomach burned in protest from the movement. Rose gasped in and out as the sudden pain flared through her. "Sorry," Brianne said, looking at Rose sympathetically.

Brianne handed Rose the cup and she sniffed it suspiciously. The healer had made what looked like tea. Little leaves and parts of plants were mixed through the water. Rose's nose wrinkled. It did not smell like tea.

"Must I-"

"Yes," Brianne interrupted, foreseeing what Rose was about to ask. "You are not well. The drink shall help bring down your fever." Rose sipped on the drink. It was bitter and tasted foul. She resisted the urge to spit the liquid back out and forced herself to swallow it. "Drink it all," Brianne told her firmly.

"Please, will you tell me what happened? I cannot quite remember..." Rose trailed off and forced herself to take another mouthful of the vulgar drink.

"You were attacked by a wolf." Immediately the memories became clear. Rose could see it all now. How it had been so dark, she was all alone. She could remember the wolf leaping towards her, remember the searing, agonizing pain as it attacked her stomach. Death had not come fast enough; she was forced to suffer the pain as its fangs pierced her skin.

She remembered being released from the wolf and falling to the ground. Someone was there... they had a sword and faced the wolf alone. Who was it? Rose delved further into her memories and recalled the wolf slumping to the ground, dead. The person turned around and dropped next to her. His face was masked in the shadows until he drew closer to her.

"The Prince!" Rose cried out suddenly, sitting up further. It was Prince Tristan; he was the one with the sword. He had jumped in front of the wolf to save... her. What had happened to him? Where was he? Had he been injured? Brianne hushed Rose and patted her shoulders.

"His Majesty is well," she told Rose, reading her thoughts. "He carried you here. He was in only a few hours ago to check on you." Rose was still in shock. Prince Tristan - the man who she thought had no heart – had been willing to sacrifice himself to save her. Her mouth dropped open slightly. He had faced a wolf on his own... to help a servant girl. Why? Why had he chosen to save her? Gradually, she could remember more and see it all in better detail. She recalled him picking her up, trying to comfort her, telling her to stay awake. For once she had not viewed him as the heartless Prince, but as a noble, brave Knight who had come to save her.

Despite how sick she felt and how much pain she was in, Rose could not stop a small smile slipping onto her mouth. He had saved her.

"Your wounds were not as bad as I had expected," Brianne told Rose. She blinked in response. "However," Brianne frowned deeply, "they are infected." Rose's heart stopped then flew off into a rapid pounding. She felt all the blood drain from her face. She knew as well as anyone that people rarely survived from an infection. The fear seemed to wrap around her until she was so constricted she could not move.

Rose looked down at her stomach. She was wearing a male's shirt and a petticoat. Rose widened her eyes at the horrific combination. She could understand how it would make it easier for Brianne to tend to her, but she desperately hoped no one else would see her like this.

"It is possible," Brianne continued, unaware of Rose's horror, "that I tended to the infection fast enough to prevent it from being serious. But infections are tough and rarely relinquish their hold. Miss Rose, I hope you have a strong will to live. You will need it." Her words did not comfort Rose but made her anxious. A will to live? Did she have that?

There was no one here for her, no one she loved, and no one who loved her. All the closest people to her were dead.

Despite those morbid thoughts, she knew she still did not wish to die. Tilly and Beth would have wanted her to go on with life and make them proud.

Rose spent the day laying down and staring at the roof. Brianne told her it was vital that she rested. She was bored, but she was mostly able to occupy herself by daydreaming. Later that day, Brianne walked into the room.

"I must check your wounds," she told Rose. Brianne pulled over a stall and sat down by her side. She sat Rose up and lifted her shirt above her stomach. She had unwrapped Rose's bandage within minutes. They both looked at her stomach. Rose's wounds were covered with different herbs and honey that concealed the wounds beneath. Brianne began cleaning away the substances with a wet cloth. With each brush of the cloth, Rose was forced to grind her teeth together to keep from crying out.

Her clean stomach revealed a series of wounds. Some were large and had small, black stitches closing them up. Most of the wounds looked like deep holes that went all the way around to her side, following the shape of the wolf's jaw. Her whole stomach looked tattered and injured, but she was grateful that the wolf had not pulled out a large section of her stomach. She was lucky.

The skin was red and looked inflamed. Some of the wounds oozed a clear, watery substance. Some were filled with what looked like a hard pus. Rose looked away as her stomach churned from the sight. Brianne was frowning, her lips pursed and eyes focused.

"They are still infected," she told Rose. Rose tried to keep breathing steadily. "But it looks no worse and no better than it did at first discovery. I shall clean the wounds and continue administering my herbs."

"Then what?" Rose asked the healer timidly.

"'Then we must simply hope that your condition improves." Brianne leaned forward and touched Rose's forehead. "Your fever has gone down some. That is a good sign."

"Have you healed many people from infections?" Her voice was hopeful and pleading. Brianne hesitated and did not answer for a moment.

"I have seen some recover... but not as many as I would like."

"Am I going to die, then?" Rose's breathing was fast and shallow as she felt panic flood through her.

"I cannot say, but I shall do everything I can to help you." Rose squeezed her eyes shut and tried to force herself to calm down. Panicking would not help her situation. Please, God. You protected my life, do not let me lose it now.

Brianne walked to her cupboard of supplies and began pulling down certain containers. She walked over to the table in the room with a pile of ingredients in her arms.

"I must try to sterilize the wounds. This may hurt," she warned Rose. She opened a vial that smelled strongly of alcohol. She tipped some of the liquid on to a clean cloth and walked over to her patient. Rose braced herself as the healer leaned forward and began cleaning the wounds. She held back a shriek as immense stinging erupted across her stomach. Each little wound felt like it was on fire. The infections only increased the pain as Brianne attempted to clean them. The healer worked carefully and made sure she attended to every injury. By the time she had finished Rose was desperately hoping she would fall unconscious. Sweat beaded her forehead and her breath came out in shallow rasps.

Brianne put away the cloth and Rose sighed in relief. The pain was severe, but at least her stomach was no longer being touched. Brianne headed back to the table and took a small bowl. Rose watched as the healer heaped different ingredients into the bowl and stirred them with a spoon. She picked up another container – Rose could see it was full of honey – and poured some into the bowl. She stirred vigorously for a minute then walked over to Rose with the bowl in her hand.

"What is that?" Rose asked her.

"A concoction I use when treating wounds – particularly infected ones. It is not a miracle salve, but it does more good than damage," Brianne responded. She began spooning some of the mixture onto Rose's stomach. Rose sighed blissfully, it felt relaxing and eased some of the burning. It was mostly made of what looked like herbs and plants mixed in with the honey.

"What is in this?" She asked Brianne as the sensation of the honey relaxed her. Brianne answered as she continued working.

"Herbs that are known to help with healing. The mint is purifying; I use it for most wounds – particularly venomous ones. Saffron I use to treat the infection. Lavender shall help ease the infection and promote healing. I also added a fair amount yarrow – it works wonders in treating all wounds."

"And the honey?"

"Honey helps bind all the herbs together. It shall also seal the wounds and keep any further infection out. I use it to treat infections, it always reduces the severity of the wounds and helps heal." Rose remained silent as Brianne continued working. She found the mixture to be rather cooling.

By the time Brianne had finished, the previous pain Rose had experienced was almost forgotten. Brianne wrapped a new bandage around her midriff and turned to put her supplies away.

"Thank you," Rose mumbled.

"I will do this two or three times a day, the infection should reduce at least by a little. By God's grace you may be healed."

Rose closed her eyes and drifted off into a peaceful sleep to the sound of the fire crackling away.