The Song of the Nightingale

Chapter Seventeen:

"Arthur..." I heard Francis whimper in his sleep.

I watched as tears began streaming down his cheeks.

"Shhh..." I cooed, softly caressing his back. "Don't cry. You're safe now...No one can hurt you."

How the hell am I supposed to deal with this? I don't understand emotions, dammit!

I thought frantically.

Francis didn't calm down.

I gently shook him.

"Francis...Francis..." I pestered.

The slumbering man quickly opened his eyes.

"Are you alright?" I asked worriedly.

He nodded...I glared.

"You shouldn't lie to me, you know." I scolded quietly.

"Here." I leaned over to turn on the oil lamp. I adverted my attention back to him.

"What's wrong, Francis?" My concern spilled into my voice.

He looked embarrassed.

"I just...I have quite a few injuries from my stay with Ludwig's troops. Being a country, they can only be healed when the war stops." He explained to me.

"It's nothing, though. They can't be fixed." He smiled weakly at me. "It doesn't hurt that much." He added for good measure.

I walked behind him to fetch a medical kit.

"They may not be able to kill you...But they hurt like hell. I know exactly how it feels." I carried the box over to the man.

"Where are they the worst?" I asked him evenly.

He pondered for a few seconds before speaking again.

"My chest and my back." He concluded.

I snatched a small brown bottle along with a roll of gauze from the kit.

Francis sat up from his cocoon of blankets, revealing the state of his condition.

I gasped.

"Bloody hell!" I exclaimed, rushing over to him. "Why didn't you tell me about this earlier?"

I stared bewilderedly at Francis' injured chest.

"It's nothing, mon lapin." He smiled. "I've survived much worse than this."

I hastily cut a long strip of gauze and hurried over to the man.

"I'm afraid this is going to sting." I added quickly, dropping the clear liquid into a large wound.

Francis' eyes widened, and he yelled loudly, grabbing onto me tightly.

"Merde!" He screamed out.

I used my free hand to wrap him in a hug.

He quickly stopped writhing, as I picked up the bandages.

I tenderly ran my fingers over his wounded chest.

I unfurled the gauze, and tied it around the injuries.

I finished, and looked at Francis.

"I'm so sorry if I hurt you..." l whispered sadly.

I wasn't prepared for what happened next.

He laughed...And pulled my onto his lap.

"Don't apologize for helping me, mon amour." He smiled.