Pieces of Eight

Chapter 7

For as reticent as Areli had been to allow Phoebe to see him, there was no hiding the pure relief and joy on his face at seeing his daughter. He'd been able to stand today for the first time, and though he was unsteady and needed support, he was able to sit and bathe relatively independently. After cleaning his wounds and changing his bandages, Mykel and Emaylia helped him dress, and made sure he ate before allowing Phoebe into the room.

Phoebe was nearly as emotional as her father as they were reunited: she was freer with her tears than he was, not bothering to restrain them or wipe them away, where Areli only allowed them to be implied and not seen. Clutching Phoebe close to his chest in a huge bear hug, Tehraiza watched his bandaged hands shake against her back as Phoebe clung to her father and told him over and over again that she loved him.

"I'm glad you're safe," Areli finally whispered, forced to sit back after several seconds by his aching back. Tehraiza knew that the entire thing was still open and raw: she had asked her healers to prioritize his hands to try to maximize the use he might get out of them as he recovered. Now, she wondered how limited his motion might be if the muscles in his back did not properly heal, or if they heavily scarred.

"You, too, Da," Phoebe replied, smiling through her tears. "I was afraid..."

"None of that," Areli chastised her, folding her into another hug. "You should know I'm too tough for anybody or anything to chew."

Tehraiza wanted to retort that he'd been chewed up plenty, but held her tongue.

"I was still afraid," Phoebe confessed. Areli nodded, validating her feelings, and let her sort out her thoughts without interruption over the next few seconds. The girl's eyes and face were downcast, her shoulders slumped, her hands nervously fidgeting until Areli took them in his own. He had to reach for them, but the narcotics Tehraiza had given him seemed to be keeping the worst of the pain at bay for the time being. Propped up with multiple pillows with his legs covered by a blanket, he looked fragile and weak, but he was holding his own.

"When do we have to go back?"

Tehraiza's heart twisted in her chest for Phoebe. The girl was so young, and already grown past her years...she knew that they would have to face this threat again, see it through, finish what they'd started, because her father had made a promise. There was no turning away from this. It was horrible that she was so young, and already so well versed with the horrors of war.

Areli seemed to struggle just as much. For a moment, his eyes flickered away from Phoebe's, and his mouth worked soundlessly before closing again. A deep, shuddering breath raised his chest, and Tehraiza could feel the echoes of pain in the gesture. "I don't know," Areli confessed. "But it will be some time before I am recovered enough to travel." Phoebe still didn't look convinced, so Areli beckoned her closer so he could place an affectionate kiss on her forehead. "Try to rest," he advised softly. "We are safe here. We will cross our bridges as we come to them, and not before."

Phoebe looked somewhat mollified at this. When she left a few minutes later, her expression was significantly lighter, and she stood a little taller. Areli, however, only appeared that much more worried.

"What?" Tehraiza pressed, sitting next to him after Mimi had left with Phoebe and before she called Emaylia and Mykel back in. Areli helplessly shook his head.

"She's right," he admitted. "Sooner or later...I have to go back."

Tehraiza nodded slowly. "Of course you do," she replied succinctly. "But take your own advice: cross the bridge when you come to it, and not before.

"Worrying means you suffer twice."

***

A week had done wonders for Areli, Tehraiza noted. As her healers recovered, they were able to help him more and more, and his own body began to accelerate in response. Now, seven days after she had pulled him out of a hell neither of them were certain he would make it out of, Areli had managed to eat, stand, walk, and bathe on his own. His right hand was healing remarkably well, and Areli told her that, after Andrea had had another go at it, it felt completely normal again. His left, which had seen a day's delay in healing, had difficulty closing completely, and had patches where he could not feel anything. Andrea ruefully informed them both that the nerves may never regrow, and he may he left with limited use for the rest of his life. Areli hardly seemed concerned: the limb was certainly functional, if somewhat less dexterous, but was not his dominant and he could still depend on it to draw a bow or grasp a sword or accomplish daily tasks. He knew how lucky he was.