--M--
For once, Meliodas found himself ignoring Hawk's cries as he sprinted through the forest, heading for the source of—wait, was that Gilthunder flying (or, more accurately, hurtling) overhead? A flicker of relief burned within him at that—she can't be dead, not if her enemy is defeated, there's no way she'd fall now, right?—but he didn't slow his pace. The impact of the explosion had felt...off, and the prince was fairly certain that Diane had called out Elizabeth's name (and not in celebration; in anger, fear, fury).
What if she is dead? a particularly nasty voice in the back of his mind whispered. What if she died because you were too busy chasing after a stupid little piggy to save the Sin of Wrath?
Hawk isn't stupid, he protested mentally, before realizing that he probably shouldn't be having an argument with a cruel voice in his head. Still, he couldn't shake the guilt and the fear and the mess of ugly, twisted emotions bouncing around within him at the very idea of Elizabeth lying dead—wings sliced off, mutilated, her blue eyes dull as glass. Tears pricked at his eyes at the thought and he wiped them away with a gasp, bursting into the clearing—and skidding to a halt.
"You're bleeding!"
Elizabeth glanced at him, grinning that grin that always made him feel as if everything would be fine. It didn't reassure him now, though, his gaze drawn to the horrible gash that stained her cross-laced shirt with blood and ripped through her left wings, no doubt reaching her back. Why is she smiling? Stop SMILING, you've been gashed by a freaking SWORD, I know you're super strong and everything but that still looks really, really painful— "What, this?" she inquired, breaking him out of his panicked mental rambling. "Just a scratch. Really, it's nothing."
"Nothing?!" Overwhelmed with panic, shoulders shaking and his heart beating rapidly in his chest, he gestured wildly at the wound. He wasn't sure why he was so worried (surely she knew her strength better than he did?), but an instinct, bone-deep and irresistible, screamed at him to worry for her because goddamnit, someone had to. If past experience was anything to go by, she certainly wasn't going to do it for herself. "There's blood everywhere, your left wings have nearly been sliced off—"
"The Captain can handle herself!" Diane interrupted hotly. Meliodas found himself narrowly resisting the urge to punch the Sin of Envy in the ankles (not that he could even reach her ankles); didn't she see all that blood? Sin of Wrath or not, Knights died because of untreated wounds all the time. He wasn't going to let that happen to Elizabeth, even if he had to—to join a monastery and become a healing monk or something.
"I really don't think—"
"Meliodas," Elizabeth interrupted, setting her hands on his shoulders. He stiffened guiltily under her touch and averted his eyes. Who am I to tell her what to do? She's probably been hurt like this before and come out fine; she's Elizabeth, for the gods' sakes. The Sin of Wrath. But still... "Trust me, I'll be fine."
He bit down hard on his lip, willing himself not to argue, and nodded.
----
He wasn't sure when the steady rocking of the Boar Hat on top of Hawk Mama's back had become such a comfort, but the swaying of the tavern had become as natural and as easy to navigate as the most solid of floors. Meliodas found it soothing now as he tended (clumsily; he had a little experience with healing, but not as much as he'd like. As strong as the Sins were, it looked as if they didn't have a healer, and they'd sorely need one on this journey) to Hawk's burns, cracking a smile as the pig vowed revenge on Gilthunder.
His smile faltered at the thought of his once-friend. I looked up to you. I wanted to be just like you. You were the only person I'd possibly thought worthy of Margaret. What happened to you, Gil? He sighed and rested his head on the table before raising his eyes to the half-fixed scabbard and drawing it reluctantly into his lap. Have to keep moving. If you start thinking, you won't be able to stop, and you'll get lost...and get hurt.
"You know how to sew?" Hawk asked from his right, propping himself up by his trotters. Meliodas stifled a small laugh even as he started drawing the needle in and out of the fabric.
"Y-yeah. My eldest sister taught me when I was young, when it became pretty clear that I wasn't very good at hunting. Father was a little hesitant, but he agreed that it would be a lot more useful if everyone learned at least one 'household' skill. He even made a bunch of the guards learn how to cook and clean—the maids in the palace were really happy about that."
"Your father sound great—not as great as my mama, obviously, but great," the pig commented.
"He's one of the greatest people I've ever known," he agreed. I hope he's okay. Surely they wouldn't imprison him, or kill him...they need a figurehead. Images of lightning and smoke filling the room where Baltra had told him to run filled his mind, and he jolted back, horror filling him. No...he wouldn't. I refuse to believe that. Father basically took him in after Zaratras was killed.
But then again, I never could tell what he was thinking.
"You okay?" the pig asked.
No. Not even close. "There's no going back to the way things were, is there." It wasn't a question.
But maybe I can make something new. He started again on the scabbard, determination pulsing through his veins along with a vision of blue, blue eyes and bloodstained black feathers, and he didn't stop until it was stitched back up to...well, it wasn't perfection, but it was strong, functional.
It was enough for now, at least. With a hum of delight (he'd thought that it would take hours to finish, but it was already complete), he set it down and trotted towards the door of the tavern. "Morning, Hawk's mom," he called softly as soon as he made contact with her green hide, and the giant pig chuffed a greeting—at least, he thought it was a greeting—right back.
"Glad to see you're out." He jerked his head upwards, eyes widening as Elizabeth's blue gaze swept over him before traveling back up to his eyes. A small smile crossed her face and she put her hands on her hips. "What, spacing out again?"
Again? "I-I don't space out," he stammered. "O-often. Maybe once in awhile?" Meliodas ducked his head quickly, feeling his face heat up. Great. Two sentences in and you sound like a complete idiot. His gaze drifted to her bloodstained clothes and a frown tugged at his lips, a wave of trepidation washing over him. She hadn't even cleaned out the gash yet? That can't be healthy. Maybe I should ask her...but she asked me to trust her; how can I say anything without making it sound like I'm going against her? It can't not bother her–Gilthunder's skilled and that wound is deep...
"We're heading to Baste Prison first, by the way!" Her declaration cut into his thoughts and he flinched slightly, startled. "To recruit the Fox Sin of Greed!"
"Why, is he more powerful or something?" Hawk asked; Meliodas bit back a yelp of shock (he hadn't even heard the pig approach) and glanced down at the talking animal.
"Powerful? Well, yeah, but he's also closer." She clapped her hands together with a brilliant, gleeful smile, eyes shining like the calm before the storm. He watched her for a moment, spellbound by the flickers of power that seemed to radiate off of her very being, before directing down to the floor. Don't look don't fall don't look don't fall don't look--
"THAT'S YOUR ONLY REASON?" Elizabeth laughed at the pig's outrage and Meliodas stifled a giggle (an honest-to-gods giggle) despite his worries. The smile shifted to a frown moments later and he spoke up:
"U-um—I don't think we should jump right into another fight!" He resisted the urge to flinch again as Diane's sharp violet eyes cut to him, along with Elizabeth's curious blue. Oh gods...nothing ventured, nothing gained, I guess. "Your wounds still haven't been treated," he went in rapidly, "a-and there's no way the Knights will just let us take the Sin of Greed p-peacefully. S-so I think we—er, you," he amended quickly, morosely, because really, what good was he? He couldn't fight or heal or do anything to help. He was just...dead weight. Maybe a human shield at best. But I would gladly take that role to help Lady Elizabeth, he thought fiercely, and felt a flash of alarm. How had he come this far, to be willing to give his life for someone he barely knew? "T-that we should build u-up our strength and get Lady Elizabeth's wounds looked at s-so that maybe you won't get hurt...as...bad?"
Something flickered in her gaze, an emotion he couldn't put a name to. Did I upset her? Oh, gods, I didn't mean to, oh no—what if she hates me? Does she hate me? Meliodas bit down hard on his lip and scuffed at the ground with his foot, willing the seemingly imminent threat of tears back. Stop crying all the time, he told himself fiercely. If they see how weak you are, then they really will hate you.
A hand landed lightly on his head and he stiffened at the sudden contact, eyes widening as he blinked up at Elizabeth. She ruffled his hair with an easy smile, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Don't worry about me. I've got more than a few tricks up my sleeve."
"But—"
"You're right about getting some rest, though," she went on. "So on that note, I'm gonna go take a nap." She dropped her hand to her side and sauntered into the tavern with an airy salute. Meliodas stared after her for a moment, before furrowing his brow and marching after her, resisting the urge to just agree and sit down.
Because he'd seen a flash of pain—of agony—in her eyes, and he wasn't about to let that go.
...On second thought, he couldn't just barge into her room; not only would that be a total invasion of privacy, but it was simply impolite--and, more importantly, it would look like he hadn't trusted her. Which I don't, he admitted, suddenly feeling guilty. Not on this, anyways. The prince halted in the bar, frowning, before his eyes landed on the painstakingly-restored scabbard. Perfect, he decided, snatching it up and clutching it to his chest. "I'm not breaking her trust," he whispered, trying to reassure himself despite the pulsing worry in his chest (what if she hated him? What if she tossed him out at the next town? What if she stopped being supportive and started telling him the truth--that he was weak, that he couldn't fight, that he'd be a horrible leader and a worse king). "She won't worry about herself, so I'll do it for her. B-because somebody has to, if we're gonna survive, and because it's the only thing I'm really good at."
That...makes some modicum of sense, right? Meliodas clutched the scabbard a little tighter, reaching up to knock on Elizabeth's door. "U-um, Lady Elizabeth? I have your, um, scabbard...d-do you want it, maybe?"
There was no answer, just a frightening silence, one that hovered in the air like an oppressive, ever-darkening cloud. The prince bit his lip, closing his eyes and pushing the door open, waiting for a response, a shout, for something. He opened one green eye--and stumbled backwards with a gasp of horror, scabbard falling to the ground, forgotten. No, no, no, nononononononoNONONONONONO---
Elizabeth (the Sin of Wrath, the undefeatable, the unflappable, the woman who could've ruled the world if she ever so desired) had collapsed face-down on the ground, blood staining the floor, and she wasn't moving.
Or breathing.