(2022-06-23) A Healing (?) Light

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Author:	inkie
Summary:	Mizzy comes to collect her husband after his weekly outing to Bruuk's, and Ben gets a lesson in healing.
Rating:	M for Mature 17+

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blood

No hour of the day can truly be called ‘quiet’ in Ironforge, not when the forges themselves run without pause, not when the lava flow gurgles and mutters as it rolls through the city. Still, there are hours that are quieter than others, some that even occur before midnight. 9:30 pm, for example; most of the city has finished its work for the day, shops are closed, dinners out have been completed and the taverns haven’t yet begun to spit brawling drunken dwarves into the streets.

It is a little odd to see a petite human woman walking with a baby wrapped against her chest, and it’s also odd to see one in the Military Ward. Nonetheless, there is Ismene Hazan making her way toward Bruuk’s. The wrap is of simple cloth, akin to what fieldworkers wear when there’s no one at home to watch the baby, which is also odd against the finely spun pale green linen dress Ismene wears. It has dark gold silk striping down the bodice, as if to both cover and highlight the delicate boning of the corset (scandalous!), with matching lacing, knotted belt with trailing ribbons in back, and hems on the short sleeves.

She meanders closer to Bruuk’s, one hand rubbing the baby’s back.

The young man who emerges from Bruuk’s is neither brawling nor drunken (nor, for that matter, a dwarf), though one might be excused for assuming drunkenness at a first glance: his hair is wildly unkempt, his eyes bleary, and his gait has a sort of shambling quality to it. His vest is unbuttoned over his rumpled shirt, and there is a … coffee stain? on his collar. He’s carrying a large book tucked under his arm.

At the sight of Ismene his stride hitches. He pauses and considers her a little dubiously. “Mizmainy?” He clears his throat and squints, takes a step toward her, eyes the baby. “Ismene? Is that – ?”

“Little Dane, yes. And he’s only just stopped wailing, so I don’t dare stop walking or he’ll wake up again.” She smiles at her rumpled husband. “Though since his name is Dane, I admit to thinking about pitching him into a tavern.” She gives him a second look as she continues her meander, catching up to him. “You look terrible. And handsome.”

Ben looks blankly down at himself, and then drags a hand through his hair, which does not help. “Damn,” he says. “Both? I am talented.” He looks up at her again a little wryly. “You look beautiful. Like always.”

He shifts the book to beneath his other arm, and falls in beside Mizzy as she strolls. “Reckon I will wake him if I come along?” he asks, low-voiced, and eyes the baby warily.

She starts to sigh heavily, but checks it and exhales slow and soft. “I suppose he’ll waken no matter what we do, and soon. I honestly wonder if colic isn’t something where they’re cranky and then they get crankier because they haven’t had any sleep. They tell us it’s nothing we can heal, though I confess I tried it a time or two anyway.

“And you always look handsome to me. I even like your rough-and-tumble look. Quite roguish,” she adds. “Still studying, I see?”

Ben’s ears redden faintly and he scrubs at his hair again. He nods. “Yeah. It’s, uh–” He takes the book from beneath his arm and squints at the cover. “A History of the Modern Church, Volume 3: Faol’s Reconstruction and Reformation.” He grimaces and tucks it back under his arm. “It is drier than Hellfire dirt. Reckon I am bein’ punish for something.”

“So who said you had to read it? Surely there are better or more interesting paladin books out there. Maybe Sir E– Maybe Elohad can recommend some to you.” She’s swaying a little as she walks, more an exaggerated hip movement that might cause some uncultured swine to make a remark. But probably not at 9:30 at night.

“Also, I had a thought about teaching you to heal with the Light. Though you do look rather exhausted and now might not be the best time.” She thinks about it a moment. “Or it might be the perfect time, now that I think about it.”

“Duthorian Rall said I had to read it,” says Ben, his tone resigned. “Like I said: probably punish.” He glances down at her and perks a brow. “Teachin’ healing how? If you tell me it is a book, I am gonna fall over right here, I warn you.”

She tries not to laugh, at least out loud, but there is some huffing laughter anyway. “No books. I was thinking about how I heal and I think it might work for you, too. I think maybe you’re just not used to it, that you think too much about it.” Coming from her, one might laugh. One oughtn’t, but one might.

Ben has clocked the hip movement. He does not remark on it, because he is not an uncultured swine, but he is definitely distracted. It takes him a moment to realize Mizzy is making mouth noises. “Sorry, I’m– what? Thinkin’ about what?”

I mean, we can guess what you are thinking about, Ben.

“Healing. Are you all right? Maybe I should put you both to bed when we get to Elohad and Niris’ home.”

He rubs his eyes one-handed and gives his head a brief, brisk shake. “Yeah, no, yeah. I’m good. Healing. Tell me about healing.” He peers at her. (At her face.)

“Oh, I’d have to show you, not really tell you.” She looks him over, sidelong. “I don’t think you’d actually hear what I said anyway. Do you need to sit for a minute?”

“No, I’m listenin’. I’m listenin’,” he assures her, and squares his shoulders. He takes a deep breath. “I promise. Healing. Go on.”

Skepticism. But… “Well, I think healing can come from a couple of places. For me, it’s about compassion. I just can’t stand to see someone in pain. We discussed something like this before, remember? How you’re protective? So healing might be the same. You have to see the injury as … as damage done to something of yours. Something you have to protect. To keep safe, see?”

Ben knits his brow. He nods slowly. S l o w l y. “I– okay. Okay. That– I mean, it makes sense in my head? Just, like … thinkin’ of a injured person as … my responsibility? I dunno how it would look– how it would feel to do it.” He frowns, his gaze drawn inward.

She would hop, but baby. “Exactly!” she says happily. “And once you do, I think you’ll be able to do it again more easily, because now you know what it feels like, see?” Her smile is bright and happy. “This is why you married a brilliant woman.”

Having informed him that he has, Ismene slides a tiny knife from under her belt and, releasing the baby, slashes her hand open.

“Fucken hell, Mizzy!” Ben explodes, and drops the book from beneath his arm. It hits the stone floor with a sharp THWACK. He seizes her sliced hand in both of his, stares at it, stares at her. “Are you fucken–”

Baby Dane in his sling gives a fitful wiggle and then a couple of the tiny, rasping hiccupy sounds that generally preface Big Baby Howls.

Ben curses again, feelingly, and his grip on Mizzy’s hand tightens. He grits his teeth and there is a brief flare of Light — not the warming, nurturing Light of one of Ismene’s own heals but a sort of cauterizing slash, a sting reminiscent of the blade itself a moment ago.

Mizzy stomps one foot, then the other, trying so, so hard not to indulge in Big Howls of her own. She fans herself with one hand, tries to fan the other hand, bites down on both her upper and lower lip. She drags in one panting breath after another, her eyes watering…

No, she’s crying. “Ow,” she whispers, “ow ow ow…”

Ben is immediately white-faced, penitent. “Shit,” he says, meekly now. “Shit, Mizmainy, I’m sorry, shit, I ain’t mean to–” He looks from her to the baby, his expression strained, as if trying to decide which Crying is most urgent. “Mizzy, Miz Kitten, I’m sorry.” He is still holding her hand, and looks down at it now despondently, to see whether his outburst of Light had any effect at all.

The flailing non-injured hand has retreated to her face, the side of her forefinger pressed under her nose. “No,” she whispers, “the cut hurt too, the books make it sound like such a romantic gesture and I knew it would hurt but they just hiss in pain in the books…”

The wounded hand shakes and, as she tilts it, the blood that had pooled spills onto the floor. Underneath, the flesh is smooth and whole. Though still sort of gross, because blood.

“Also, I think you overdid it a little,” she whispers, resuming a steady sway. Oh please Dane, please, do not.

Dane ignores her and waves his fists. Because baby Dane.

Ben stares at the healed hand. And then at the flailing baby. And then at the hand, and then at the baby. One of these is now definitely more urgent than the other. He reaches for his brother and tugs him out of the sling. “Tssh, shh-shh. C’mon, little man, don’t.” He rests the outraged baby against his shoulder and pats his back, bouncing gently. “C’mon, now,” he soothes. Baby Dane refuses to be appeased.

Ben glances wide-eyed at Mizzy again. “It’s– I fixed it, though,” he observes. It’s half a question. “I did not think–”

Baby Dane is in the middle of having a Very Important Tantrum and will not be interrupted by adult conversation. He screams and wiggles. Ben winces and pats and bounces him some more, turning in a slow circle. “Shhhhhhh, shh-shh.”

The red-faced infant is obliged to stop screaming to take a breath. Rather than renew his screams, though, he gives a tiny burp. And then a bigger burp. And then he erupts white goo over Ben’s shoulder and down the back of his vest. He hiccups, wiggles again, and then subsides quietly.

“Oh, hey,” says Ben, wryly surprised. “I fixed him, too.”

Mizzy, unable to find anything to wipe her hand on, gets practical and uses her dress. Oh well. It’s linen, it’ll wash. “If you call vomiting down your back ‘fixing’, yes you did.” She smiles at Ben, the tears slowly drying on her face. She checks her hand again. “Oh, I am never trusting books again!”

She reaches up to rub the baby’s back some more. “Poor little potato bug,” she says. “If I’d been holding all that in, I’d scream too.” Sliding her hand off the infant, she takes Ben’s arm and gets him moving toward the distant family home.

“You did heal it,” she says again, to confirm. She even shows him her palm again, now that it’s wiped off. “You can probably um… well, I’m sure next time it’ll be easier and you’ll be properly rested and you won’t… heal it as much.” Her smile shows her pride in him. Her Ben.

Ben visibly considers offering Baby Dane back to her, but checks the motion. Still clasping the infant in one arm, he allows Mizzy to tow him by the other back toward home. “You really thought from readin’ a book that slicin’ your damn hand open wasn’t gonna hurt?” he asks dubiously.

"I thought it would hurt, but in a bearable way so that one might hiss and grit one's teeth," she explains. "Because that is how it happens in the books, and they were right about other things you've never complained about, though of course they weren't exactly painful…"

Behind them, A History of the Modern Church, Vol. 3 lies forgotten on the floor of the Military Ward.