The Hidden Swann

Chapter 26 - In Which the Impossible is Improbable

Author's Note:

One or two chapters left and then the epilogue (which I might just make into another chapter). If you've made it this far into the story, you're incredible. Thank you so much!

Don't be a silent reader! 

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I wake up with a start, flying up into a sitting position, my breathing ragged and my face cloaked in sweat. The room spins out of control and I feel as if I have just been cleaved in half and quarters. I grab my head trying to make the spinning stop and after a few deep, controlling breathes, the room comes into focus.

Where am I? How did I get here? How on earth am I still alive. 

The room is unfamiliar. Small, but well organized, leaving quite a bit of room for standing and walking about. 

The closed door suddenly swings open and an older man walks in, glasses resting on the tip of his nose and his upper lip sporting a generous mustache. 

“Ah, the patient has awoken.” He says with a warm smile, “ You had us in quite a state of panic there for a while. Your father was literally tearing his hair off.”

I smile weakly at the image, “Don’t you mean he just removed his wig to give him head some air?” 

The doctor returns my grin, “That is exactly what I mean.”

“What happened?” I ask.

“You had a very large cut across your chest and lost quite a bit of blood. You have been unconscious for two days.”

Two days!

“But... but what happened?” I cry, “Did we win the battle? Is Elizabeth okay? Is Jack safe? What about Will?” 

I pause, “Forget about Will. How is everyone?”

The doctor laughs at my impatience, “Do you really think you or I would still be alive had the battle not been won? Everyone is safe, including Will. And, more importantly, so are you. You were on the brink of death with the amount of blood you lost. It is a true miracle that you are still alive.”

I sigh with relief, laying my head back down on my sweat soaked pillow. 

“You just rest for now. You need to have your strength when your family comes and bombards you with chatter once I tell them the news.” The doctor advises.

“You have also been doing a really good job at hiding that nasty cut on your face.” The kind doctor adds, “Covering your face with just enough dirt to mask the cut was brilliant in some ways and extremely stupid.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, it was brilliant because it did its job; no one ever saw it, otherwise your father would have demanded that I make sure that a scar never appears. And stupid because with all the dirt in it, an infection appeared and now, even if I had worked my ‘magic’, a  scar will always run down the length of your face.”

I had never thought of the possibility of there being a scar. I touch the scabbing cut, feeling the roughness and the dryness. Well, that’s it. I guess I won’t get married now. Nobody wants an ugly bride that has more battle scars than he. 

I chuckle darkly at the thought. Why does the role of the beloved wife have to be one of a trophy and organizer of the home?

The doctor can easily see my thoughts in my eyes and pats my hand sympathetically. “Get some rest.”