My Eye!

"Wah uh eh deh hih hum?"

"Ih wah eh mabig ing tone"

"Ah. Ab eh teal hears."

He kept fading in and out of consciousness. Every time he came to, it was only for a few seconds. He could only hear a high-pitched ringing coupled with indiscernible muffled voices speaking gibberish. His vision was hazy and blurred yet he would see shades of warm yellow light being cast onto clean white sleeves that reached across his helmet's limited view. 

In the few seconds he would wake, his attention would be gathered to a sharp pain on his forehead that would be further exacerbated by the constrained feeling the metal basket on his head brought. A queasy inebriated feeling would quickly follow as he attempted to keep his eyes from roaming independent of each other. He then would feel his stomach threatening to evacuate itself as he desperately tried to quell it.

It wouldn't last long, however. He would black out over and over again, sometimes waking up with streams of tears, snot and vomit running down the sides of his face, collecting at the bottom of his helmet. Then he would black out again…

*****

"Cehhull. E Han't see duh hear lades." 

Crunch! Crunch!

The pain was great enough that he continued to awake, but with each crunching sound, the helmet would loosen, and the pain would dissipate considerably, replaced by a hammering thud rushing to his forehead.

Crunch! Crunch! Shik!

"Hah hihn't sound right!"

What was once a welcome sound that brought with it relief suddenly became the harbinger of misery. A blade had slid into 'Sir Swain's' eye, causing him to cry out in agony. Whatever sort of dream this was, his only wish now was that the pinch a while ago would have woken him up. 

"Ahhh! Stop!! Pleeeease!" He begged.

He could feel his cheek growing warm with blood as the blade was extracted. All he could do was cry for mercy. He could feel that his legs and arms were broken as no matter how he moved, excruciating pain would follow. What he was experiencing right now was genuinely the worst nightmare he'd ever had.

"What are you doing you fool! Do you want to die?!?" This time, a sharp voice clearly sounded. It was that of an old man who had seen the woes of life, seasoned by its challenges.

"The acolyte only knows so much Father. Step aside Dane." Another voice clearly echoed in the hall as it approached. It was that of a young woman, serene, calming, and confident.

"Sir Swain, rest. We will hake hare om ym." His hearing dulled again as he lost consciousness.

*****

'Sir Swain' slept. He slept very long. He would wake very shortly on occasion noticing each time, through the room's only clerestory window, that it was a noticeably different time of day. Each time he woke, he'd feel his body had grown more sticky from sweat than the last time. He would awaken every time an attendant came to wipe him down and clean him. Often, there was a warm feeling that overtook him and he'd awaken only to see a refreshing green glow akin to nature incarnate before his eyes as he fell into a deep sleep again.

Sometimes he would awaken in the middle of the night. There was often a biting cold in the air that was carried by a chilling silence, as though he was the only person, wherever he was. 

Other times, he would briefly awaken in the middle of the night and notice a youth no older than 15 resting his head on the side of the bed with dark clouds under his eyes. The boy was clearly exhausted beyond measure, or maybe stressed. Regardless, it wasn't uncommon for the kid to be seen attending to him, cleaning him or feeding him. Whoever he was, he was clearly industrious.

This time however the daydreamer, now known as Sir Swain, was awoken by a sound that resembled the collision of stone, shaking the entire room. Dust scattered throughout the room as bits of brick and mortar fell from the ceiling.

'Swain' quickly sat up and looked around the room attempting to gather information from what he could see. The first thing he noticed was that the room was walled with stone bricks, and the interior of the room looked utterly medieval. There were no modern appliances, nor light bulbs. Aside from the light shining through the clerestory window, the rest of the room was covered in deep shade. There was a table with several candlelights and clean linen bandages laying atop, as well as several buckets of water that reflected light onto the ceiling.

Aside from that, there were several bags beneath the table that looked to be made of leather, shaped like messenger bags, but what they contained, he didn't know. To the right of the table was something akin to a mannequin. It wasn't noticeable at first, but it clearly contained a coat of armor. 

From what he could infer, there was a wool coat atop a chain shirt that lay atop a gambeson further made of wool perhaps. On the left arm of the T shaped figure hung two large steel plates. One was shaped like a man's chest and was cut off just before where the arm would be, presumably for enhanced range of motion. The other was likely meant for the back, as they were both strung together by leather strips.

Finally on the ground, at the foot of the figure, lay a visored, rounded bascinet. However, the front was seemingly ripped or cut apart by a crude tool of some sort. 

His eyes roamed to the top of the helm and noticed a dent that was two fingers deep on the forehead segment, causing a cold chill to shoot up his spine.

He remembered the horrifying pain he'd felt the… However many nights before. He couldn't help rubbing his forehead where he'd been hit.

"What the… Wait What…?" He could feel that, aside from a little swelling, there were no abnormalities. There was no dent in his forehead. He was at an utter loss.

Then he noticed something else. He could see with not only his left eye, but his right eye as well! His right eye which had been pierced the other night was healed, though he could still hardly bear to open it. There remained quite a bit of swelling, and the room didn't contain much saturation as compared to the other eye.

"Oof, ah god!" He couldn't help but fall back into the bed though, as his shoulders and lower back suddenly gave in causing him exceptional discomfort. His sudden rise had slowly triggered several cramps.

He could only find respite in the soft cushioning of his oddly fluffy bed. Perhaps it was made of thousands of feathers, or another comfortable material like wool or cotton. Regardless, he relaxed his back and rested his knees as the sound and shaking of the room went quiet. 

Just as Swain closed his eyes to rest again, he heard a commotion outside the door to the room.