The trip to Wrys’s quarters was slow, and by the time they arrived Azama had regained some of the feeling in his legs. Wrys put in a good effort in lifting him, but it was almost painfully evident that Zelgius was doing the bulk of the work.

“Lukas! If you’re in there, we need you to get the door!” Wrys raised his voice, not quite enough to be a shout, but enough that anyone inside would have heard him.

The door opened a few moments later, and Lukas stuck his head out, “I wasn’t able to find the- oh,” he looked down at Azama, then opened the door all the way, allowing the Zelgius and Wrys to carry him in.

On the way to place him onto Wrys’s bed, Azama caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror and winced. He was a mess. He was covered in scratches, his face was twisted into a halfhearted grimace from the lingering disgust he felt from the vomiting fit, and what remained of his clothes was caked in blood and partially digested foodstuffs.

“Don’t worry, I’ve already sent Setsuna to grab you a change of clothes from your room,” Wrys said. He and Zelgius lifted Azama onto his bed, “She should be here any moment now.”

“Ah… Thanks.”

“It’s not a problem. I’d like to get this out of the way now,” Wrys started sorting through some bottles on a shelf, before grabbing a couple and bringing them over to the bedside table, “Lukas and Zelgius have expressed an interest in seeing how I practice medicine, and I wanted to know if you would be okay with them observing. Please, don’t feel obligated to agree.”

“I don’t think that’s-” Zelgius started to speak, but Azama cut him off.

“It’s fine. Just… leave when I’m changing out of these clothes.”

“Are you sure?” Zelgius remained uneasy, looking away.

“Yeah, I… really don’t care.”

Azama lied, not wanting this to take longer than it needed to.

“Wrys?” Setsuna stood in the doorway, “I brought the clothes.”

“Please put them on the dresser,” Wrys began searching through a cupboard.

“Thank you, Setsuna,” Azama said.

Setsuna looked at Azama, her eyes a little more open than they usually were, “I, uh, hope you feel better.”

“Yeah, I do too,” Azama laughed, surprised -yet glad- that she seemed to be aware of what had just happened for once.

Setsuna left, and it occurred to Azama how small the room was with four people in it. Even without his armor Zelgius was a very large man, and Wrys’s small stature still took up considerable space in a room that was designed for at most two people at a time. Lukas wasn’t particularly large or particularly small, but when combined with two others and all the furniture, the modest room quickly moved from cozy to cramped.

“So, to explain what I’m going to do here: first Azama will get out of those ruined clothes and clean himself up a little,” Wrys addressed Lukas and Zelgius, “This isn’t going to have much medicinal value per se, but it’ll make it easier to treat his wounds and if nothing else, it’ll hopefully help Azama feel a bit more comfortable,” Wrys turned back to Azama, “Right?”

Still a little dazed, it took Azama a moment to realize what Wrys had said.

“That sounds good.”

“Great! Lukas, can you grab a wash basin and fill it with water from the cistern down the hall?”

The Valentian knight perked up, clearly excited to be of assistance, “Sure! I can do that!”

“I should probably go as well; it’ll be a two-person job once it’s full,” Zelgius said, leaving before Wrys had a chance to respond.

“I’m glad they’re excited about helping,” Wrys resumed his search through the cabinet, “It took far longer to perform medicine when I had to do it on my lonesome back at the monastery.”

“Should I start changing now?”

“If you’d like,” Wrys pulled a mortar and pestle out of the cupboard, “I’m going to start mixing a few herbs that’ll calm down your stomach in the meantime.”

Azama slowly swung his body so his legs hung off the bed and used the nightstand to steady himself as he stood up. Azama’s legs wobbled, still sore from the marathon he ran earlier, and he decided it may be for the best to shed as much clothing as he could while still seated, plopping back down onto the bed.

“Do you need any help? This mixture can wait.”

“I think I’m fine for now. I might need assistance with my trousers.”

Wrys nodded in acknowledgement and began to mash some herbs together, leaving Azama to disrobe on his own.

“This is mostly to satisfy my own curiosity, but do you have experience working with herbs?” Wrys spoke up after a few moments, a little louder than before so he could be heard over the clash of ceramic.

“Not exactly. I’m a monk by trade, and in Hoshido we have apothecaries who specialize in herbal remedies.”

“Oh, really? I didn’t know that.”

“Mhmm. The main issue, I suppose, with apothecaries is that their means of healing aren’t immediate, so there isn’t as much demand for them in our military. You find a lot more apothecaries in villages, where you don’t have reliable access to healing staves and herbs are far more abundant.”

“Most people in Archanea know how to identify herbs with medicinal effects, so they typically don’t need to use staves unless their wounds are very serious.”

“That seems like it’d be convenient, but earlier you made it sound like you did this kind of thing often.”

Frustrated with attempting to preserve a change of clothes which was probably beyond saving, Azama decided to cut his losses and began to tear his clothes off. If that young prince of Nohr had been summoned -Forrest, was it?- he may have been able to repair these rags, but it still would have been impossible to get the stench of vomit out.

“Before coming here, I had started a monastery where I looked after children orphaned during the war, so I had no shortage of scratches and scrapes to treat.”

“Ah,” Azama sat on the bed, his upper body freed from the confines of his ruined outfit, “if you have a moment, I will need some help with-”

Someone knocked on the door, and Lukas’s voice echoed from outside, “Is it alright for us to enter?”

Wrys looked to Azama, who nodded in agreement.

“Come in!”

Lukas opened the door, allowing Zelgius to singlehandedly carry in the basin filled with water, “Where would you like this?”

“Anywhere that is out of the way would be fine for now,” Wrys walked towards Azama, holding a bowl with some sort of paste in it, “While you two were gone, I’ve made a mixture of ginger, chamomile, and peppermint to help reduce nausea, and some concentrated willow extract for pain relief. The bulk of Azama’s illness seems to have run its course, but this should help him feel a little less… ‘unclean’, for lack of a better term. The texture isn’t exactly pleasant, but it does its job well enough.”

With a shrug, Wrys handed the bowl to Azama.

He looked down at the paste and almost gagged. Wrys had said that its texture wasn’t pleasant, but Azama hadn’t prepared himself to eat something that looked like half-dried paint. It was lumpy and flaky in all the wrong ways, and he doubted that this could do anything but make his nausea worse.

Wrys continued his lecture, oblivious to Azama’s distress, “The main issue with vomiting is that there are a lot of things that can lead to it, so it’s hard to diagnose the exact cause. Azama, did you eat anything strange or unusual today?”

Azama continued starting at this… concoction that he was supposed to be consuming, “Not yet.”

“That narrows things down quite a bit. Is it possible you had motion sickness?”

“No.”

“And you haven’t fallen ill recently?”

“No.”

“Just to make sure, have you been pregnant recently?”

The brashness of Wrys’s question threw off Azama, “As far as I’m aware, I can’t be.”

‘Was that an attempt at humor…?’

“Alright, then. I think that for now the best guess I can give for the cause of your symptoms is either stress or exertion. I can talk to Kiran and Anna about giving you some time off, since the only real ‘cure’ for what you’ve gone through is to rest and recover,” Wrys paused, noticing Azama had yet to touch the paste he made, “You don’t have to eat that if you don’t want to, but we can still brew some tea with those ingredients if you think it’d be more palatable.”

Azama breathed a sigh of relief, and placed the bowl on the nightstand, “That would be nice, I think.”

“Lukas, Zelgius, can you head next door and ask Felicia to brew some tea with these ingredients? She should have all the equipment you’d need, and I’ve asked her for help with this in the past, so she should understand what it’s for,” Wrys grabbed a few more jars from the cabinet and handed it to Lukas.

“Sure thing,” Lukas was out the door in a flash.

“Actually, Zelgius,” Wrys spoke up, prompting the knight to turn around, “It may be better for you to brew the tea yourself. Felicia is a bit…” Wrys paused for a moment, deciding how best to mince his words, “She tries her best, but I think it may go smoother if you two handle it. Try framing it as me wanting you two to learn how to make medicinal tea.”

“Ah… of course,” Zelgius shut the door behind him and almost immediately a crash could be heard coming from next door.

Azama flinched from the noise, “I can admire her tenacity despite how the universe seems to actively prevent her success, at least.”

“That’s… one way of putting it,” Wrys turned back to Azama, “So, would you like to try to save the rest of your clothes,” he glanced towards the pile of torn fabric on the ground, “or were you planning on discarding them?”

“It’s not worth the effort.”

“Okay! What would you like help with?”

Azama thought about what would be the easiest way to go about removing the rest of his clothes, “Not falling over, I guess.”

“Then would just holding you in place work?”

“Sure.”

The older man helped Azama up, his weathered hands rough on Azama’s skin. The close contact was far more intimate than he was used to, and it being from Wrys of all people saddled Azama with a number of complicated emotions. As Azama bent over, Wrys’s hands holding him steady as he pushed the remains of his tattered clothes to the floor, Wrys continued to speak.

“I should probably preface this by admitting that I may not be the best judge of this, since we haven’t spoken much before today, but you do seem very… stressed. It may just be because of the ordeal you went through earlier today, but is there something that’s been bothering you?”

Azama paused, standing there in just a loincloth with the remains of his robes at his feet. Wrys’s concern was genuine, and when it came down to it, that only made it hurt more. Azama wasn’t ready to discuss the primary source of his discomfort with Wrys, let alone with Zelgius and Lukas potentially within earshot, but he figured he could at least admit why it has blown up into such a monumental source of stress to placate Wrys’ curiosity.

“I… meditate as a means of relaxation and of sorting through my thoughts, but it’s so noisy around the castle that I haven’t had the chance to do so since I arrived.”

“Hm…. That does sound like it would be stressful, especially since you’ve been here for a few months, no?” Wrys helped Azama step out of the pile of fabric on the floor, and then let him return to sitting on the bed, “Did you want to change your undergarments? I’d like to disinfect your wounds before healing them, and I’ll need to have access to them, so I’m going to have to ask you to wait before fully redressing.”

“Ah… that’s fine, I guess.”

“Will you need me to hold you steady while you change?”

“I’ll be fine, I think,” enough strength had returned to Azama’s legs at this point for him to not immediately fall over.

“Okay, I’ll grab it for you and start mixing the antiseptic, if you’re alright with me staying in the room…?”

If Azama was being completely honest, he would have preferred the other man to be leave the room, but a moment of heightened discomfort now was well worth it if it got him out of this situation quicker.

“Just… face the other way, please.”

Wrys nodded and started looking through the fresh pile of clothes Setsuna brought.

“It’s the long, straight piece of fabric,” Azama spoke up, having realized Wrys was probably thinking of a completely different type of undergarment.

“Ah, here it is!” Wrys fished out the long cloth and brought it over to Azama, “I guess it never occurred to me that underwear could vary in form to such a degree.”

“As far as I’m aware, Hoshido and some of the surrounding countries are really the only places that use this kind of style,” Azama grabbed it from Wrys, “But, then again, I haven’t exactly asked others what they wear so it may be more common than I think.”

Wrys turned back to the cabinet, grabbing two jars with some sort of liquid, and brought them back to the counter he was working at earlier.

“Do most of Hoshido’s clothing take some time to put on? I noticed that it took you a while to remove the upper part of your robes, and I’m not exactly sure how quickly you could wrap that cloth around yourself.”

Slowly rising to feet, it occurred to Azama that he had never really thought about it in that way. Wrys began to whisk the two liquids, causing the strong odor of alcohol to fill the room. The scent made Azama begin to feel a little lightheaded, prompting him to start changing before his legs gave out again.

“Now that you mention it, all of our clothes are a bit more complicated than they really need to be.”

Azama stopped speaking for a moment, having to hold the fabric in his mouth for moment while he wrapped it around his midsection.

“I suppose that it might be the product of us placing some sort of heightened value on tradition, and as a result traditional clothing, but I guess not enough people feel inconvenienced by the amount of time it takes to dress to want to develop some other sort of fashion.”

He paused again, focusing on winding up the ends of the fabric.

“Then again, I think would’ve appreciated this process being a bit easier…”

“Hm? Are you sure you don’t need assistance?”

“I’m almost done.”

“Speak up if you change your mind.”

Azama put the finishing touches on his underwear, adjusting how it wrapped around his body until it was snug enough for him to be satisfied. He sat back down, feeling a tiny bit more comfortable, and resumed talking.

“It’s called a fundoshi, by the way.”

“Come again?”

Why had he opened his mouth to try to make small talk with Wrys, and about underwear, no less? He barely knew the man, and while it was in some sense a topical subject this wasn’t exactly the time to discuss such things. But it was too late to back out, so Azama continued, vowing to hold his tongue should the opportunity to delay his escape from this situation arise once again.

“My underwear. This style is called a fundoshi. It’s a bit more complex than a traditional loincloth, but it tends to stay in place a bit better so it’s more appropriate for people who would be moving around a lot.”

“Ah. I was wondering if you had a specific word for it.”

Their idle chatter died down as Wrys continued to mix the two liquids and Azama rested on the bed. The metal of the whisk clashing against itself and the fluid churning were the only sounds that filled the room until Wrys once again began to speak.

“I’m not sure if it’s the kind of place you’re looking for, but they’ve been constructing a new wing of the castle, and since it’s close to completion you may be able find a quiet spot to rest.”

“Thank you,” Azama wasn’t quite unsettled by Wrys’s continued concern, but he, in a way, still felt the attention was undeserved, “I’ll look into it.”

“It’s on the north side, in case you haven’t seen it yet.”

Azama grunted in acknowledgement. He took the moment to relax, well aware that once the actual treatment began he’d likely not get a single moment to rest. He glanced towards the mirror Wrys had on the wall, taking in his own appearance again. With his clothes removed, the actual extent of the damage to his body was much clearer. Without his torn robe to frame each and every wound, it wasn’t nearly as bad as it initially appeared to be, but it still looked like it hurt quite a bit. Most of the scrapes and scratches were restricted to his limbs, but there was a particularly nasty-looking gash that had thankfully just barely missed his eye, and another that ran across his chest, and he wondered how he could have failed to notice whatever it was that caused them. The bleeding had stopped from all but the largest wounds, but his entire body was still caked in dried blood and, in a few places, vomit. He had to admit that it looked far more painful than it actually was, but that could simply be attributed to his body’s high pain tolerance. He couldn’t imagine many other people in the castle being able to ignore that much pain, so perhaps it was for the best that he of all people ended up having to run from that bear. He took a deep breath, bracing himself for whatever was to come, and spoke up.

“I’m ready.”

Wrys put down the bowl and whisk, “I’ll go see if they’re done with the tea.”

He left the room, returning with the two a few minutes later. Zelgius was carrying a tea kettle which he placed on the counter, and Lucas held a few teacups.

“So,” Wrys continued his lecture, “the first thing we’re going to do is some preliminary cleaning of your wounds, so we can have better access to them when we disinfect them. While you two had stepped out, I mixed an antiseptic solution of diluted alcohol and concentrated willow extract.”

“I don’t drink.”

“That’s not a problem; we’ll be applying the antiseptic to your wounds directly. The main issue with antiseptics is that they sting quite a bit, so some sort analgesic agent is typically combined with it to reduce the pain. In this case, I’ve used willow extract, but there are a few other things that can also be used. Lukas, if you could bring Azama a cup of tea, and Zelgius, if you could help me move this basin closer to the bed, it would be greatly appreciated. Azama, could you lie back down on the bed? It’ll make washing your limbs easier.”

Azama shifted his weight, swinging his legs back up on the bed as they all went about their given tasks.

“Zelgius, could you begin washing Azama’s legs? There should be a cloth you can use on the chair by the desk. I’m going to find the applicator for the antiseptic.”

“Sure thing,” the knight grabbed the chair, swinging it over so he could sit facing the bed.

Zelgius began to run the washcloth, now moistened from being placed in the basin, up and down Azama’s legs. His grip was firm, far firmer than that of Wrys’s weathered hands, and while it wasn’t exactly rough, it reminded Azama of how exposed, how fundamentally helpless he was in this position. Here he was, lying in an acquaintance’s bed, wearing next to nothing, being washed by yet another stranger. Azama, once again, found the amount of attention he was getting to be incredibly unnerving. He wasn’t used to being the focus of the hustle and bustle of the efforts of others, and while he knew that these men both meant no harm and had no real reason to cause him any, he couldn’t help but feel like he was on some level more vulnerable than he had ever been before.

“Here’s your tea, Azama,” Lukas appeared beside the bed while Azama was lost in his thoughts.

“Ah, thank you.”

He grabbed the cup, a simple ceramic mug, and took a sip. The tea was bitter, yet sour, yet earthly, yet cool; the mixture of tastes had no real dominant flavor, and the flavors themselves were muted enough to not be overwhelming. Taking another few sips, Azama was impressed how quickly his nausea had begun to recede, and he made a mental note to consider learning more from Wrys about different herbs.

“Should I start on Azama’s chest, Wrys?” Zelgius spoke up, having finished rinsing his legs.

“If that’s alright with Azama,” Wrys brought the bowl of antiseptic and a few things Azama couldn’t quite make out over to the bed, “I’d like to begin applying the antiseptic.”

“Go ahead.” Azama downed the rest of the tea and placed the mug on the nightstand.

Wrys took the chair from Zelgius, who moved up towards Azama’s chest.

“This will hurt a bit, but it’s important to do this so you aren’t at risk of sepsis.”

Azama looked down, beyond Zelgius’ hands washing his chest, towards Wrys preparing to treat his legs. Wrys held a small ball of cotton with a pair of tweezers, dipped it into the antiseptic mixture, and slowly brought it to one of the cuts on Azama’s legs. The moment the ball contacted his leg a bolt of pain coursed through his body, causing Azama to wince.

“Are you-”

“I’m fine,” Azama grit his teeth, knowing that delaying the inevitable wasn’t worth the effort. If he could get through this sooner, it’d be all the better.

“Please continue.”

Wrys hesitated, probably unconvinced that Azama was indeed alright, but he relented and continued his treatment. The pain was sharp, and since it was the first time Azama had really experienced such an acute, burning pain it took him a while to adjust to it, but it eventually dulled, letting Azama relax and just let the treatment run its course. Zelgius eventually moved up to wash his face, Wrys following his way up Azama’s body. Time passed, the treatment continued, and Azama was able to tune out everything that was going on.

Wrys eventually placed his hand on Azama’s shoulder, gently shaking him as he spoke.

“Azama? Are you awake?”

It took Azama a couple seconds to snap out of his reverie, but he nodded in agreement. As his awareness of the room returned, he noticed Zelgius and Lukas had already left, leaving the two monks alone in Wrys’ room.

“How are you feeling?”

Azama took a moment to take stock of his condition instead of giving his default response of ‘I’m okay’. His legs were still sore from overexerting them in his escape from the bear, but beyond that, he felt relatively close to ‘normal’. The stinging of his wounds had receded, and the smaller scratches looked like they had already begun to heal. The gash on his chest was still there, and a glance at the mirror revealed that the one on his face was still present, but he could heal those himself later if it came to it.

“Better.”

“That’s good. I didn’t know if you wanted me to heal the larger cuts using magic, so I was waiting for you to wake up, but I sent away Zelgius and Lukas because it was getting late and I didn’t want to disturb your rest.”

Azama looked out the window, judging by the darkness outside that it was a few hours past sundown. “Are there a lot of people who opt out of being fully healed?”

“Some people view the scars as a kind of trophy, or a reminder of something they don’t want to forget, and I didn’t want to make that decision for you.”

“I… Thank you. I’m fine with being healed now, if it’s not too much to ask.”

“Sure thing,” Wrys stood up, grabbing a staff from the desk, “I only have a recover staff, so it’s not going to be fast, but-”

“Please, take your time.”

Wrys smiled, holding the staff above Azama, and began to chant. A warm glow fell upon Azama, bathing him in a light warmth. When it receded, the smaller scrapes and scratches had all but disappeared and the wound on his chest began to close on its own. They repeated this process a few more times, gradually closing his larger wounds until they too had disappeared, all visible traces of the events of the afternoon gone from Azama’s body.

“That should do it,” Wrys said, placing the staff back on the desk, “Would you like to rest a bit more, or should I bring you to your room?”

“Ah, I should probably get dressed first, but I think I’m ready to head back.”

“Would you like help?”

Azama swung his body around so he was resting on the edge of his bed. While his legs were still sore, enough strength had returned to them for him

“I think I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” Wrys placed the clothes Setsuna had brought onto the bed, “Let me know when you’re ready to go.”

As Azama began to dress himself, Wrys started to tidy up the room. Going at a leisurely pace, Azama noted that the remains of the outfit had been removed and brought it up with Wrys.

“Ah, yes. Lukas brought that to the incinerator. He mentioned that he knew the person on duty tomorrow, and that they’d be able to handle it without a problem.”

Azama began to idly wonder who that person could be. Since it was such a specialized job, the only people who would be assigned to incineration duty were adept fire mages. He pitied whoever that ended up being but running though the list of people who’d be picked for it in his head, a single name stood out as someone who he’d rather it not be and, as if the world sought to spite him, they were the only one that Azama could think of Lukas being acquainted with.

That young Valentian priestess -princess, Azama corrected himself- would no doubt recognize that the shredded remains of his outfit belonged to him and seek him out to confirm that he was alright. Her concern for others was touching, but he could tell that she primarily expressed it to divert attention towards others, even if she herself wasn’t aware she was doing it. He felt that they weren’t too different in that sense; neither wanted to be in the spotlight, but while Azama was some no-name monk who wished to stay that way, Celica was the only person left in Valentia in the rightful line of succession for the throne, and she tried to avoid undue attention to preserve both the royal bloodline of Valentia and her own life.

“I’m ready,” Azama said, fitting a fresh set of prayer beads on his wrists, “Is there anything you need help with?”

“Oh, no, I can handle this,” Wrys politely refused Azama’s offer of assistance.

“I feel bad that you’ve done all this work just for me; isn’t there something I can do?”

“What you can do,” Wrys said, putting down the bowl he was washing and turning to face Azama, “is get some rest. Are you going to need help walking?”

“I think I’ll be fine.”

“Then let us be off.”

 

---

 

Chapter End Notes

Most of the medical advice Wrys gives is to some degree based off actual historical medicine (it’s commonly known that alcohol is a decent disinfectant, and willow tree bark contains Salicin, a compound the body metabolizes into salicylic acid, the compound Aspirin is synthesized from; both were used to some degree in the 1300s which is a completely arbitrary point in history I’m choosing as an equivalent to FE’s level of technology (future raen here: it’s probably worse, given the availability of magic likely stunting/replacing technological development)