The Vampire & Her Witch

Loghlan Dunn hadn’t given Sir Gavin a command, but it was as close to encouragement as a baron could give without ordering his knight to accept. Loghlan was offering Gavin permission to take the risk, while also acknowledging that there was value in discovering the truth about a witch’s healing, regardless of what the Church might say about it.

For a long moment, Sir Gavin sat in silence, his gaze moving from his lord to his wife, from the baroness to Liam, and finally to Sir Ollie, who waited patiently with his hand still raised, the jade-green glow neither brightening nor dimming as he held the power he’d summoned at the ready.

”All right,” Gavin said at last, his voice quiet but steady. ”I’ll accept your healing, Sir Ollie. Not because I have anything to prove,” he said, pausing and turning to look at Isolde with an expression that was equal parts love and resignation. ”But because my wife is right. I’ve been living with this injury for too long, and if there’s a chance to be whole again, I owe it to her to take that chance after everything she’s done for me and all the love she’s showered on me despite my foolishness.”

He stood then, and Isolde rose with him, her arms wrapping around him in a fierce embrace that spoke of all the fear and hope and love she felt for this man who had given up so much for her over the many years they’d been married. Gavin held her close for a moment, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead before gently disentangling himself from her arms.

”I love you,” he murmured softly, for her ears alone, before he turned and walked around the table to place himself before Sir Ollie.

The flame-haired witch smiled at him, lowering his glowing hand for a moment as he gestured for Gavin to turn around.

”You don’t have to face me, Sir Gavin,” Ollie said gently. ”It will actually be easier if I can touch the back of your shoulder. This won’t hurt, I promise,” he added in an attempt to reassure the man. In truth, it didn’t matter whether he touched Gavin’s shoulder from the front or from behind, but he thought it would be easier if the veteran knight didn’t have to watch... and it would likely be easier for Lady Isolde as well if she could see the look on his face while Ollie did his work.

Gavin did as he was asked, turning so that his back was to Ollie while his face was visible to everyone seated around the table. It was a bit unnerving, he realized, to feel the weight of everyone’s expectant gazes on him, but he reminded himself that all he had to do was to stand there while Sir Ollie did his work... and to be honest about whether or not it helped him afterwards.

Ollie stepped up behind him, placing his right hand on Gavin’s injured shoulder, and as the jade-green glow intensified, the young witch’s voice rang out clear and strong, reciting a brief couplet that carried the weight of ancient tradition:

”Cypress Tree of Guardians bold,

Mend this shield arm, restore his strength of old.”

The words were simple, almost deceptively so, but they carried a power that swept through the tent like the rustling of a warm summer wind in the leaves of trees. And then, before anyone could draw breath to speak, the witchcraft took hold.

From Sir Gavin’s perspective, time seemed to slow down as he heard Ollie’s words echoing again and again and again in his ears.

The chill that had settled over the tent earlier vanished, replaced by a warmth that felt like standing in a meadow on a perfect summer day with the sun shining down on his shoulders. It started at the point where Ollie’s hand rested against his injured shoulder, a gentle heat that didn’t burn but instead soothed, spreading through his body like the relief that came from lowering himself into a hot tub at the end of a grueling day of training.

He could feel the energy moving through his body, the warmth flowing down his arm as slowly as honey poured from a jar, and with it came a strength he hadn’t felt in years. His veins pulsed with a faint jade-green glow that was visible even through his skin, tracing delicate patterns down from his shoulder to his fingertips as nature’s nurturing power suffused every inch of his weakened limb.

The shoulder itself felt like it was being unknotted, invisible hands working through the scar tissue and damaged muscle, smoothing away the rough edges and filling in the gaps where the priest’s healing had failed to reach. But it wasn’t just the shoulder that benefited from the magic. The entire arm seemed to come alive under the witch’s touch as muscles that had begun to atrophy from disuse swelled with renewed strength and vigor.

For a moment, Gavin had the strangest sensation that the power flowing through him also understood him. It understood that this was his shield arm, the arm he relied on to protect himself and others, and the power WANTED that arm to be strong. Strong enough to withstand any blow, or to shoulder any burden as he protected his home, his wife, his child, and his people.

Gavin was a knight. He was a guardian and a protector, and the power flowing from Sir Ollie not only recognized that, it RESPECTED that, and it did everything it could to restore him to the protector he’d once been, going far beyond restoring simple strength to his arm.

The pins-and-needles sensation that had haunted him off and on ever since the day of the tournament, the constant reminder that his arm would never be quite right again, simply... vanished. It was there one moment, a familiar ache that he’d grown so accustomed to that he barely noticed it anymore, and then it was gone, banished by the warmth and the light and the gentle, irresistible power of nature itself.

For the first time in two years, Sir Gavin felt whole.

And then, as the warmth began to fade and the jade-green glow in his veins dimmed to nothing, Gavin realized that everyone at the table was staring at him, watching his face for any sign of pain or distress. But there had been none. The healing had been anything but painful. In fact, it had been the most pleasant sensation he’d felt in years, like being wrapped in a warm blanket on a cold winter’s night, or like coming home after a long journey.

Slowly, almost reverently, Gavin raised his right arm above his head, lifting it high and straight without the slightest twinge of pain or weakness. He made a fist, feeling the strength in his fingers, in his wrist, in his elbow and shoulder, all the way up to the muscles of his back that connected to the arm. Everything was strong and whole again, working together the way it had before the tournament, before Sir Rain’s lance had shattered against his shoulder and driven splinters of wood deep into his flesh.

A single tear spilled from Gavin’s eye, rolling down his cheek as he stood there with his arm raised high, his fist clenched tight, feeling for the first time in years like the man he used to be.

He was whole again... and he had a witch to thank for it.