Kindly edited by @CollinHarrison4
Kelton opened his eyes after Juno's closeness had pulled the brunt of the battle-sting from his bones. Men were moving with purpose. Some he recognized, others unfamiliar, though they all operated as if they had been part of his force all along. The wounded were being led to care, and the dead carried far from where they fell. Sanlina could be heard barking orders from the trees, where the injured were taken. To his surprise, even the King's Own were being treated. Many who surrendered were moving at Bynard's direction, assigned duties they did not shy from.
"I must help," Juno said.
"Aye," Kelton agreed, releasing her. There were women he did not recognize abiding by Sanlina's word, moving this way and that between fallen men.
Juno took his hand and drew him toward the makeshift healing ward. "They deserve your words," She said. "It is you they risked all for, and I am most grateful for their arrival."
"Aye," Kelton sighed. He straightened, letting his full height return. He nodded to the uninjured in passing, some choosing to kneel as he neared. Signaling for them to rise was taken as notice and permission, not the end to the genuflecting he intended. New guilt was building for achieving such respect through the dealing of death. Kelton would prefer to earn such a thing through building, not destroying. In truth, he desired the equal grasping of wrists, and nothing else.
The first wounded man they came upon looked to be more farmer than soldier. His face was shockingly pale, as if the blood had drained from it and refused to return. A young woman sat at his side; the wilted rose on her wrist. She was holding his hand and cooing as if the man were a child, ignoring the labored wheezing that usurped his normal breath.
"It is a chest wound," Juno whispered into Kelton's ear. "He will not see tomorrow." Blood coated the man's tunic, and a fresh pool glistened anew with each gasp.
Kelton knelt beside the man, "I would know your name."
"It is you," the man said, his words broken and weak.
"Aye," Kelton said. He forced a smile, for it is what he would desire to see at his last. He took the man's hand, which brought out a smile from the woman who cradled the other. Her duty was a horrid one - better if it were shared.
"Motie, sire," the man gasped.
"Sire?" Kelton said with uplifted eyebrows, "It is a term for kings, and I am but a name in a tale. It is you who deserves the crown, Motie. Your courage has preserved what will be. Had you not arrived, I would have surely fallen." Kelton bowed his head. "I thank you, sire."
A sputtering laugh rose from the man. He showed teeth separated by thin lines of blood. Kelton returned the smile with all he had. A short moment of bonding, broken only by the last breath leaving the man's chest - a long sigh, hopefully painless. The young Cursed reached up and closed Motie's eyes with a tender touch.
"It was a good last breath," the woman said. She looked at Kelton with eyes that evoked memories, though Kelton could not place them. "You are taller than I remember, though you were tall then as well." She indicated his torso. "There are more marks upon you this day. Were you not happy with only one?"
"These were not of my choice," Kelton said. He stood and offered his hand. The woman took it and rose. She released it, and her eyes shifted to Juno.
"Juno?" she asked.
"Aye," Juno replied, exposing her wrist as if it were a badge of honor instead of the curse it was.
"Mother has sent me to seek you out. There is much I am to share with you. The way has been loud with word of the Answer, and you."
