"Berodach!"
His eyes fluttered open, his vision blurred and entirely out of focus. Unable to move, his entire body was riddled with pain. Aching pain that radiated through his skin, deep into his muscles, and even further into his bones. It hurt to even breath.
His parted emerald eyes tried to find focus, on the one thing that hovered above him while calling his name. The young boy from before, he was here. He was still smiling, he was still calling out to him.
Summoning all his strength, he raised up his trembling limb to brush his claws over his cheek. "You're here." He whispered. "You're still here."
Had he slipped into eternal slumber? The young boy was once again by his side, clinging to the very fibers of his existence. For such a precious being to be by his side again, he had to have passed on. The Aesir would never be generous enough to gift him with such a spectacular being. He assumed he would only find his dear friend in death.
"Berodach! You must wake up!"
He felt his scaled lips curl upwards in a fangy smile, "Shhh little one. I'm here." in his voice rough, he cooed to the small child. Panic strung on their voice, and the warmth of their touch sent sparks of fire through his lungs.
The boy chuckled, "Berodach, you're still half asleep."
Asleep? Perhaps he hadn't perished just yet. Of course the Aesir were not so kind to let him find death so easily.
He winced when he tried to move his legs, reopening his eyes moments later to realize that it was not the boy staring down at him. It was Björn, who was now a fully grown man, who even had a fair amount of stubble on his jawline.
His blue eyes were a radiant shade of red, and beneath them were dark lines. He was exhausted, but a wave of relief washed over him once their eyes met. The prince lacked a great deal of sleep. Was that for his sake?
"Björn?" Berodach gasped, trying to push himself upright.
Björn's large palm planted against his chest, pushing him back down against the luxuriously soft earth. His lips were tight and firm, his brow narrowed in concern, his neck stiff as he looked down at the crumbled blood soaked bandages in his hands.
"You've been asleep for almost two weeks." Björn said quietly.
"Almost two weeks?" Berodach repeated, "I've been unconscious that long?"
Björn nodded, "I was really beginning to worry that you may not wake up Berodach. You were so still, so pale."
Pale? The word was unfamiliar to him.
"I tried waking you several times, yet your eyes never opened. Even as I changed your bandages, you never muttered a word." Björn exhaled slowly, releasing all the stress he had accumulated within himself. "I thought you were going to die."
Berodach coughed, "I am sorry to have to put you through that."
Björn smiled, shaking his head. "Don't apologize. I am just glad you finally woke up. It sounded like you were having quite the dream just a moment ago, perhaps that is what drew you back to consciousness?"
"Perhaps." Berodach groaned, "Remind me prince, what happened? My memory fail's to serve me to its truest potential."
Björn snorted, "You were attacked."
"By whom?"
"An ancient named Killian and two other youngsters."
"Hmmmm, Killian. I remember that name."
"He's a gold-skin. He wanted revenge for the murder of his lifemate."
He remembered, he remembered tearing into the females hide and crushing her jugular in his vice-grip like jaw. He also remembered her trying to claw her way into his bowels and gut him. "What happened to them? I cannot imagine the son of Eskil dismembering them for my wounds."
Björn crossed his arms, "They left. Believe me though, the thought of cracking their skulls against a boulder crossed my mind several times."
They laughed, only for Berodach to gasp and wince in pain. The two stared into each other's eyes, pondering the other's thoughts for a long moment. Yet neither spoke, not until Björn dropped the bloody bandage into a wooden bucket filled with red water. "Your body still needs time to heal."
He turned away from Berodach, unrolling a clean wrapping of cotton linen. Berodach groaned, once again trying to at least stretch his painful limbs. Each gesture left him feeling every wound he had ever accumulated within his lifetime. Pain should have been something he was used to by now.
"Stay still, I am almost done changing your bandages." Björn said. He unwrapped the linen slowly over a short table, one that stood no more than knee height of the man. As he unrolled the wrapping, he smeared a paste of sorts onto the fabric, then rerolled the opposite end.
Noticing the curious gaze of the dragon, Björn smiled. "It's a salve, one that the healer in my army swears by. I am not quite sure what it is made of, but it heals wounds like magic."
Björn pointed at Berodach's chest, his long finger brushing against his sore flesh. "See? The wound on your chest is almost closed."
His gaze followed Björn's tan arm, down to his chest where is pointed to the jagged wound. One that looked as if his foes had tried to rip his heart from his chest cavity, yet thinking about it. He had to assume that was their intention.
Berodach's blurry vision became fixated however, staring down at an unfamiliar hide. His flesh was smooth and pale, a sickly, living dead color. Neither gray, nor ivory, nor olive. Dark brown hair speckled his firm chest, while a narrow trail of it disappeared down his waistline and beneath the heavy wool blanket.
His outstretched wings were nowhere to be found, replaced by a pair of calloused human hands. Clawing at his face, he felt thick, prickly hairs covering his cheeks and down his throat. His canines were missing along with his long, fire-snorting snout.
Thick brown hair was tickling his shoulders, the long lustrous locks sticky with dried blood. Running his hands through the hair, the only thing familiar he found was the pair of mossy-brown horns protruding from his scalp.
For the first time in his life, Berodach panicked. His heart was pounding within his chest, as if it were going to beat out through the open wound. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.
He was not lying outside on the grass, but inside what he had to assume was Björn's parent's manor. The softness he felt beneath him, was from an overly stuffed mattress. The warmth in the room was from the stone fireplace across the room. The crafted wood walls and floors, protected him from the dampness of the ongoing rainstorm outside.
Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. What happened to me?