11th June, night: Retribution

"...Sir. The man took me hostage and at first believed it to be a good idea that he escapes with me. I was weak enough that I would be unable to fight him to the extent a healthy individual could. However...He had realised that I was also slow and would not manage to go far..while Prayon had offered himself in my place. He wanted only the best for me, sir... to save my life, of which I am not worthy, and exchange it for his." He sighed and lowered his gaze. "I am most glad that lieutenant Bastien had not been harmed worse. He would have been a great loss to us.." While he believed himself not to have been.

"..I apologise, that this had even happened.., sir."

Beuret raised a brow.

"Lieutenant Bastien, is it?"

His tone was very bland, abut the gentle rebuke was clear. He didn't dwell on it, however, but continued after a moment's pause:

"I would suspect that it would be the Portuguese who should apologize. However ..."

The Colonel sighed.

"That leaves me in rather a quandary. By rights, the prisoner should be handed over to Major Ducos, but as you might have realized, I haven't told him of your adventure yet. Do you feel that it is your duty to report to him and tell him of everything that you have seen and experienced in person?"

"..My duty to whom, sir? Major Ducos?" He looked apprehensive but tried to conceal it. He had bowed his head at the rebuke. Yes, his mind had slipped and he had used Prayon's name, rather than surname.

"..If you order me, then I shall do so, sir." He answered trying to keep his voice calm.

The Colonel huffed.

"Order you? Unlikely. I'll make sure that all relevant facts are passed on, but I have yet to see that the major's methods produce more reliable informations than what I can procure with less damage."

"..Sir, I do not want to be an inconvenience to you, or our army. If it is my duty to relay the information.... I shall do so." He smiled faintly. "...if his work serves in favour to our goal....then I would have been selfish if I thought of myself before our men." He lowered his gaze.

The colonel humphed again.

"You'll serve our men much better by not deprieving this already ridiculously understaffed batallion of another officer."

With a last pat for his horse, he turned back to camp.

"Go see that Prayon doesn't try anymore heroics tonight, get your back rebandaged, and tomorrow morning I want to see both of you at eight sharp, preferably with some sensible ideas about how to proceed with our unwanted guest. And now off with you - I have to find Captain Sourette and tell him that somehow another officer managed to make himself unavailable for duty ..."

"Yes, sir." Saint-Hilaire smiled. While he did not say it out right, the other officer could see the gratitude at those words. He would return to duty and he would have himself rebandaged before that. He would do his damnest for his regiment after that and for the men he served under and with.

He turned slowly then spared one glance at the other officer and spoke softly. "...We will come before eight, and as for the guest...." He hesitated. "..I trust you will have the best solution for him but should my assistance be needed, I will certainly think on his.. fate." He was ready to go then, see to have some rest after he has had his injuries redressed so that the next day he could give his best.

The Colonel smiled briefly.

"Do that. And don't worry."

He touched Saint-Hilaire briefly at the shoulder, then turned away and quickly strode back to his tent.

Bastien was laying on Etienne's cot, twitching with impatience. He had put some things in the tent into some kind of order again. He had send a soldier to fetch dinner. He had drunken the tea his sergeant had brought. In his despair he had even stripped the bedding off, and send it to the woman who did his washing. When he had tried to go and fetch his own instead, Fernet had caught him and with a stern 'I'll do that for you, Sir' send him back. The sergeant had not only brought bedding, but also his small medical pouch and a fresh shirt, remade the cot and generally fussed until Bastien had reluctantly agreed to stay, be patient and not to move.

So now he was laying on his stomach and literally twiddling thumbs. Which was boring and not at all calming.

Saint-Hilaire was lost in thought when he parted ways with his superior officer. There were certain things that had become much more complicated. He sighed. The air at the very least, was not as hot as it was mid day. The slight breeze felt pleasant to the skin, and tugged at the shirt the man wore. At the entrance to his tent he inquired whether anybody had been yet sent for tea, wine and for food for two people. And then when two of the three had been confirmed, he requested the third be brought.

He ducked inside and walked quietly, unsure whether the lieutenant was asleep or just lying there, bored. He paused momentarily then whispered a soft. "...Lieutenant Prayon?"

Bastien had kept himself amused for the past five minutes by throwing what change he had found in his pockets at the opposite tent side, trying to make the coins bounce back so he could catch them again. It didn't work well, and by now he had run out of coins and was contemplating the spread pattern on the ground.

When Etienne spoke up, he twisted his head around in a manner strongly remining of a terrier having heard the sound of his owner with his food bowl, gave the younger man a lopsided grin and exclaimed:

"Thank God you are back. I was bored to tears here! Did you know that your pillow has twenty-one seperate lumps?"

"..Twenty-one separate lumps? " Saint-Hilaire asked incrediously. "I had known it was lumpy... yes, but I've never counted them. Do you want your own pillow perhaps?" He asked and walked to where the coins were scattered. He began to slowly pick one after another, trying to feel at ease in the possition he took.

"...I've had a good long talk with the colonel. He said he wants to see you paraded about in a dress for that terrible misdemanour.. and then he wishes you to swear a hundred times you shall not attempt to rescue this man here again." He tried to keep a straight face. "Ah...and I want you fed before you start nibbling on me out of boredom as well."

Bastien waved his pillow in reply.

"Eighteen. And if the colonel would be so good as to supply the dress, it will certainly be my pleasure to wear it. Moderately cut bodice, full skirts, and not too many frills, please. I look good in blue or a soft puce. And a stylish hat, please. I can't swear to not rescuing you, however. You're my subaltern, and I think I swore somewhen back to cherrish and protect those ... No, I think the words were a bit different. Keep you out of trouble anyway."

He shuffled to the outer edge of the cot so that Etienne could sit down.

"Sooooo. Since you seem to be unwilling to be nibbled at, what is there as a substitute? And could you hand me that brandy bottle again? I think I need some fortification before I try to change this ruin of a shirt."

"I am stunned, my dear friend, to realise that you had put thought in this suggestion, going so far as to indicate a preference of colour and style." He looked amused, and chuckled softly. Prayon could be quite silly and this was one of those days that made him particularly 'impossible'. "Out of trouble? " He arched a brow as he moved closer even.

"You say it as though I was a troublesome child and not merely your sous-lieutenant. Am I trully such a handful?" He grinned and then slowly sat, leaning a bit to the side for comfort.

He was silent and thoughtful for the last request and looked at Prayon, long and hard. Then he shrugged. "Don't hate me for suggesting better alternatives than becoming your chew toy, Bastien." He glanced at the bottle and grinned. "You'll waste brandy on a little scratch?" He shifted, ready to get back up. "Where is your bed anyway? Or am I to expect sharing has gained a new meaning and hope that the bed shall sustain the weight of both?"

"I had the battlefield carried from this tent in honour ... or something like that. Or rather, I send your's off to the cleaning woman, since she always likes to see quantities of me. Don't worry. The bed and my lumpy attempts at bedding are all your's. If the ground gets to hard for me, I'll just follow it."

Bastien gesticulated towards the bottle.

"And now hand over ... I want to drink it, not to pour it over my back. A scratch is as good an excuse as any for that."

The sous-lieutenant retrieved the desired bottle and offered it to Prayon. But unlike before, he remained standing, debating how comfortable a chair beside the bed would be, to sleep in. He certainly did not want the lieutenant to move or take place there instead, and he did not see how it would be possible that they share the bed. Men, private soldiers, did , of course, but his was neither the sort in which it was possible, nor did he believe Bastien to be eager to be hurting because the position had not been a good one.

"Here you go." He murmured and then finally sat down in the chair. He had glanced around his room again, searching for something that would make sleep easier. He could not lean back of course. Not with his back. At his worst, he could lie down on the floor directly. As a subordinate, that was only right.

"That fellow... he won't bother us again, hopefully."

Bastien's eyebrows climbed into his hair, but his voice was light when he asked:

"You killed him? Or did the Colonel ...?"

He pulled the cork out of the flask and took a large swill, then padded the bed next to him.

"Come on, that's still no reason to sit on that torture instrument you like to call a chair."

Fortifying himself with another mouthful of brandy, he began to get into a sitting position, cursing when the tight bandage forced him to roll over like a stranded whale and push himself up.

" He is still alive.. but.. .he is under guard now,.. and.. I am certain that he will be dealt with in one way or another. Let us only hope that ducos shan't need him." He slowly stood again and walked up to the spot that had been offered by Prayon.

" Need any help with that?" He asked seeing his friend struggling to get up. "Before you manage to hurt yourself worse than that man had already done.." But Bastien had already managed to roll over, so that the sous-lieutenant just moved out of the way a little, so that he could get up fully. "Do you have a fresh shirt, friend?" He asked softly as he gazed at the one the other officer preesently wore.

The lieutenant waved vaguely in the general direction of the table.

"Fernet, that old mother hen, brought one. Think it's really mine, although I will have to start borrowing your shirts again, if this continues."

He began to struggle out of his bloodied and torn one, but winced again when he tried to raise his arm.

"Oh, blast it to smithereens! Who would have thought that I would have difficulties getting undressed one day? Would you be so immensly kind as to pull it up over my head?"

"...I've only the stash of shirts that you have returned to me recently.. So I do hope that you do not need to have that many or you might have one rather ..bare sous-lieutenant to accompany you on all things official." He shook his head and moved closer. He had wanted to suggest to help Prayon first, but allowed him to see that st ruggling would hardly accomplish much and to ask himself.

It was an easy way to make him actually agree to assistance. Offer one too early and the pride would demand that he did not. "Easy there. Just.. keep your arms at this angle, and I'll do the rest." He murmured and began to tug on the shirt gently. He hooked his fingers under it at the front first, inched it over the sore areas on Bastien's body, then did simmilarly at the back. While the shirt was loose, it caused little problem at being removed over the man's head.

"There we go." He patted Prayon's head playfully, while it was still covered in fabric. "Just a few ..tugs and pulls, and you are.." And as he did just so, the shirt came free. "Done." He smiled and began to fold the bloodied piece. "...will need to have this washed first and then sewed up. " He commented looking at the area where blood had been spread and soaked up by the shirt.

"Do you need assistance with anything else, sir? I would urge you to move as little as you about need... as the hero must certainly not aggrivate his injuries!"

"Lord, don't spoil me. I'm about as far away from being the hero of this piece as you can get. Hand the laurels to the Colonel - my role was that of the stumbling idiot who moves the storyline and the damsel into a pitch from which the hero rescues both - and the idiot as well, since new actors each time are so expensive."

Bastien smiled ruefully and touched the tight bandage.

"Thanks."

"I know what I speak of, Bastien. And when I suggest you to be a hero, I do mean it, as much as you do deserve to be called so. If it had not been for you, and the Colonel, yes, I might have by now either been dead or still in the clutches of that ..creature who dares call himself a man." He placed the damaged shirt on the chair close to the entrance to his tent. When all of the clothes were gathered to be washed, he would call for someone to have them delivered to the washerwoman or.. if she was near, even for her to take them with her.

"You're no fool." He smiled as he returned. He was grateful to his friend but he could not express it with his words. Certainly not how much he was thankful for him, for helping him then even when he had put himself in danger. "And .. I have to thank you, Bastien. Now,..you could just simply.." He smiled. "scold me about how much I was irresponsible at getting caught by him myself!" He glanced at the bandage and leaned closer to see that it had not begun to bleed worse.

Considering the fact that out of the half-hour Etienne had been gone, the lieutenant had managed to keep still for only about seven minutes, the wonder was perhaps that it didn't bleed more than it did. The surgeon had swiped off some of the blood around the cut, but what had soaked into Bastien's waistband or was covering his skin in now dry, flaking crusts, togerther with the new stain forming on the bandage made a gory sight. It also seemed to itch quite a bit, if Bastien's clenched fist and apported movements to scratch the area was any indication.

With an exasperated sigh, he shook his head.

"Irresponsible? I don't exactly see how you should have avoided it. I turned my back on him and let him get a sword."

"..Let him? Dear Bastien, ..If I know you as well as I believe I do, ..I am certain that if you had any say in the matter, you would not have allowed such a man to get your weapon, nor would you have turned your back on him..Yes, we have not expected him to react, nor act as he did...But we are human, you and I." He smiled and nudged Prayon's side, where the wound was not present.

"Stop pestering your wound. It won't heal if you do." He took hold of Bastien's hand and guided it back to his knee. "There, when it begins to bother you, just scratch this. It is not perfect, but it helps." He smiled and shifted slowly. "Now, shall we have you tucked into bed, or do I have to tie you in there to keep you from fidgeting like your breeches are full of ants?"

"But it itches!", Bastien complained, obediently closing his hands around his knees for all of twenty seconds.

"If I'm not allowed to touch it, can't you at least have a bit of mercy and scratch it in a neat, controlled way? Surely you can scratch it a bit without disturbing the wound? Please?"

He did his best immitation of a small, lost puppy - if he had had a tail, it would have been crooked and wagging in an adorably hopeful fashion.