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“Are you dead?”
Fox groaned, shifting as something jabbed his side.
“No, I’m not fucking dead. Knock it off!”
The poking ceased, but the voice hummed skeptically.
“Are you almost dead? Almost is nearly completely dead, you know.”
Fox did not have nearly enough brainpower to be processing this right now.
He cracked open his eyes, squinting against the light. Damn, his head was pounding.
The sight before him was a woman, frowning severely. Clearly a peasant — her dress was plain and unadorned, with deep pockets along the sides that seemed to be full of herbs. She had short hair, that dark shade of tight curls, so typical of the Vode Kingdom.
Well, at least he knew that he wasn’t far from home.
“If you’re not dead, you should really move,” she said, shifting the woven basket in her arms to plant her hands on her hips, expression entirely too judgemental. “You’re blocking the path.”
Blearily, Fox glanced around — he was in the middle of an isolated dirt road, with plenty of space on either side of him.
He frowned, looking back up at her.
“You could just go around me, you know.”
“Bad luck to walk by a corpse without at least saying hello,” she said seriously.
Fox let out a tired sigh, leveraging himself up, trying to push past the pain radiating throughout his whole body. He kept a hand on his stomach as he tried to stand, but the nausea almost immediately overwhelmed him, leading to a faltering stumble.
“Oh, don’t go doing that now. I’ll really be walking by a corpse if you’re not careful.”
She grabbed his arm, easily hauling him up and draping his arm over her shoulder. Fox blinked, unused to being so easily manhandled, especially when he was still wearing his full armor, but he couldn’t help but be grateful for it when the world tilted before his eyes and he nearly collapsed again.
“I’ll be fine,” he grunted, struggling to remain upright.
“Oh, I’m sure you would be,” the woman agreed cheerfully. She sounded surprisingly sincere, and when Fox glanced over at her, she gave him a gentle smile. “You’re tough. All those burns around your neck… That’s dark magic, right? Anyone who could survive that is strong in my book.”
Fox stiffened, almost tempted to pull away, but anyone under the command of Palpatine wouldn’t have waited for him to wake up to lure him into a false sense of confidence. They would have just stabbed him to death on the road, because for all that the Diplomat from the kingdom of Naboo clearly saw himself as some kind of grand mastermind, his minions weren’t nearly as smart.
Example one; Fox was still alive, despite all their best attempts to the contrary.
She clearly saw his suspicion, because she continued, saying; “I’ve seen some cases before, though we don’t usually run into dark magic practitioners out here. I’m Nightingale, a healer for the Aran.”
Ah. A village way out on the borders of Vode, known for being relatively isolated from the rest of the kingdom.
“Fox,” he replied gruffly, returning the courtesy. “Commander of the Royal Guard.”
Nightingale whistled. “From the Capital, then? That’s a long way away, Commander.”
“Just Fox is fine,” he said, and had to close his eyes again for a moment when a wave of dizziness hit him. “I’m not exactly making a good showing right now.”
“Better than most,” Nightingale laughed. “Usually my patients are trying to run away by now.”
“Couldn't possibly imagine why.”
Her grip was just on the edge of stifling. Anyone trying to escape her grasp would probably find themselves in a choking headlock a moment later.
“Good man,” Nightingale said approvingly. “Now, come on. My clinic isn’t far. You may be a tough guy, but even the strongest need some fixing every once in a while. I’ll get you healed up in no time, Fox.”
Fox nodded, stumbling along as she began walking.
“Alright. Quickly. I need to get back… I’m sure my attacker has already told his side of the story, and I need to set the record straight.”
That would be just like Palpatine. For as long as Fox had been guarding the man during his ‘diplomatic’ trip to Vode, he’d known that the bastard was desperately searching for a way to say that they had broken the treaty, and demand some kind of compensation from the Kingdom. Maybe even a war, if he felt particularly rat-like.
Or if there was sufficient motive, like, say; a military Commander attacking a poor, helpless diplomat, who only barely managed to escape with his life?
“I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to see you,” Nightingale said, a secret smile playing on her lips.
Fox huffed out a laugh, leaning against her as they continued the short trek back to her clinic.
“Yeah. It’ll be a riot.”