Pain, Francis found, had noise and color. It had taste too, bitter and metallic on his tongue.

His ears flicked frantically as he tried to make sense of the ceiling above and the noises around him. With a groan he turned his head to where he heard the low hiss of words between the subaltern and Corporal Silversmith.

“He needs something to ebb the pain. At this point he might have a heart attack and bleed out from shock.” Adrian’s placid voice washed over him. The calm helped Francis focus in on what they were saying and turn away from the pain he was in.

“We don’t have anything like that here. Perhaps in your fancy Empire-.”

“Save it for later. You have no morphine?” There was a pause, a loud ‘thawp’ and a grunt. Francis made a noise as he felt his tail grabbed harshly and tied to the cot.

“Damn thing,” Adrian growled. “You don’t have anything?”

Silversmith shimmered into foggy view as Francis focused in on his face, his dark eyes were bright with pity and his mouth pulled into a frown. “We do. But precious little.”

“Go get it.”

Silversmith’s head jerked up. “You don’t order me about Imperial and let’s not forget that we have other men injured and in worse pain!”

“So we amputate then hmn?” Adrian’s voice was brutal and swift. A whimper of terror left Francis as he tried to find that man, the one who had promised to save his leg. The candles and lamps lit on the walls had given him a golden halo and his long hair was frizzed from its braid. But Adrian’s cold golden eyes pinned Silversmith with a sneer. “Will that justify using it for him? Just taking the whole thing? I can tell you if he’s thrashing and screaming I’m more likely to bleed him dry than save him.”

There was a long pause, silence. Francis was certain he had passed out for a moment, only to be roused by Adrian’s hard, warm grip on his arm. His blue eyes fluttered open and he looked down as a needle was pressed to his skin and sank inside. Blood bubbled around the sharp end and a few moments later the pain in his leg died. A heavy fog settled on his mind and Francis’s head dropped back with a nauseous groan.

Francis gripped Adrian’s arm as he pulled away and he fought his heavy mind for some semblance of control. He wanted his voice to be stern, but it stayed breathy and weak. “Subaltern.”

Adrian paused and leaned over him, haloed in gold and red. “What is it?”

The world had fallen back and dipped into a clouded abyss of the morphine or whatever it was Adrian had shot into his arm. “Thank you.”

Silversmith frowned to the Colonel now unconscious under their hands. “Are you sure you can help him?”

“Not if you keep asking me questions.” Adrian murmured and turned towards the tables brought in. “I need any tinctures you might have- and my medical bag. Where did your men take my medical bag?” The man picked up a knife, a pair of tongs, and a pail of water and brought them to the bedside of the Colonel.

Silversmith frowned, “I took it. I didn’t know what was inside of it but I put it all aside.”

“I need it. I have a full supply of antidotes and tinctures to kill bad bacteria.”

“There’s good bacteria?”

It was such an innocent, simple question and the ignorance behind it made Adrian turn in surprise. “You are sure you are a medic?”

Silversmith stood up taller and lifted his chin. “Yes.”

“What did you do before the war and your...rise in station?”

A long, silent pause. Silversmith shifted on his feet and cleared his throat before he spoke, “I was...I was a tanner. We made shoes.”

With a suppressed scoff, Adrian waved a hand. “Hurry and go get my bag and the other supplies. I need it or his leg will never heal.”

“What-”

“Stop. Don’t ask questions. I can’t explain right now- just go.”

Silversmith hesitated and turned to the guards before he dashed out the door. “Keep an eye on him!”

Glad that the Colonel was unconscious from the morphine, Adrian deftly began to rip his pant leg off from above the wound. Using the scraps of fabric, he tied off the man’s leg in a makeshift and quick tourniquet. With a soft, quick prayer under his breath, he scooped water onto the wound and sighed in relief. It was deep, but had not hit any major arteries and the bleeding had already slowed. With delicate precision, Adrian wiped the blood and dirt away from around the wound and wished for the precious iodine from the hospitals back home.

Silversmith returned to the room then and stopped short in shock. Adrian’s hands were already covered in blood and his had leaned in close as he carefully sank the knife into the Colonel’s wound. “What are you doing?!” he cried, outraged.

“I have to widen it so I can get to the bullet.”

“You can get the bullet out?”

“I can if you be silent and hand me my supplies. Did you bring my bag?”

Determined and fascinated, Silversmith set the familiar medical bag between Francis’s legs. Another time, maybe, Adrian would take the time to feel the emotions seeing it brought. It was one of the few items that was his, that had come with him from across the sea. But for now there was work to do and he dug in the bag to pull out a long, adamas tipped set of tongs and two glowing bottles. “Thank the gods you didn’t clean this out.”

“We’re not thieves.”

“I never said you were. But it would have been a problem if this were emptied.”

Adrian moved back to the leg, dousing his hands now in some of the bright red and swirling blue liquid of an oblong shaped tincture. “This is to sterilize. It’s not as good as iodine, but we managed to replicate some of the effects of iodine using adamas and some herbs.”

“Iodine?” Silversmith breathed, “I’ve heard of it, but we’ve never seen any of it brought over here.”

“You wouldn’t, even I couldn’t get my hands on it unless I was at court in Pracis. It’s too hard to make and the laboratories are too unstable.” Adrian leaned in close to douse the wound with precise drops from the tincture. He watched it foam and bubble on the wound pulled a flat metal instrument from his bag. Carefully, he doused that too in the tincture and spread it and the blood around the wound.

Silversmith sucked in a breath and made a small, fascinated noise and stretched up a bit to get a better look. Adrian sighed in relief to see the reaction and hoped it was a good sign for everyone that the wound had a reaction to the medicine. Now came the difficult part. He lifted his head to look at Silversmith, both of them were sweaty and dirty and Adrian was suddenly nervous. “Hold his head, put a cloth over it just in case he wakes up. He doesn’t need to be seeing this."

Silversmith narrowed his eyes in focus and nodded. “Do you think he’s going to wake up?”

Adrian puffed a laugh through his nose. “Let’s hope not. For his sake.” Taking the tongs, he dunked them into a thick ointment and squinted past his fogged glasses at the wound. Gently he pulled the skin open and ignored the hiss of surprise from Silversmith as more blood poured out onto his fingers. “Oh thank the gods,” he breathed when he saw the glimmer of an adamas bullet.

“What is it? What’s happened?”

“Nothing. It’s just not as deep as I thought. It didn’t hit the bone.”

“What happens if it hits the bone?”

Adrian glanced warily to Silversmith and frowned. “He loses the whole leg. The bone shatters into thousands of pieces inside of him and there’s nothing to save him from that. But it was a graze…hit more of the fat of his thigh.” He looked back down with an annoyed wave of the hand to keep Silversmith from asking him more questions.

Careful as he could, he sank the tongs down into the wound. More blood poured out and a horrible noise filled the room that only came from someone’s hands being inside a human body. Silversmith looked a little sick, but Adrian just looked delighted, like he was more alive and focused than he had been since his capture.

Silversmith looked to Francis and frowned at the little convulsion of his body. A groan left the Colonel and under the cloth he could feel the Colonel’s face contort in pain.

“Should we give him more morphine?”

“No,” Adrian snapped, “Not if we want him to wake up after this is done.”