Verlass Mich Nicht | Part II

 Each step, a stone, the weight of his heart and his body gradually becoming burdened by a boulder. 

 Onlookers saw, but did nothing, walking back to their homes or passing by to take care of matters. Maximillian held Bertram tight, the latter's leg gripped by the former.

 He jogged over, relying not only on his sight, but also his hearing, trying to filter in voices. It wasn't quite lively as it is within the night, however he saw the sign for it. 

 Maximillian sped up his jogging, passing through

 the nearest alleyway and squeezed both of them in.

 The sides of the building were covered in moss, the roof dripping with leftover rainwater. Hushed voices, few groggy, engulfs the narrow space as he marches on. Eyes thankfully did not come for them that lasted more than a minute.

 Maximillian squirmed his way through the gap, head lowered to the floor. Bertram shuffled, wailing in silenced pain. 

 He felt his companion curl and nearly fall from his back. If Maximillian hadn't held onto his arms and tightened his grip on one of his legs, he would have. 

 He gave Bertram a soft pat to calm him, although it didn't affect him at all, face contorting in discomfort.

 The blood had covered the front of the thick linen armour Bertram had worn. With a few more steps, they were free from the narrow path and Maximillian saw a well, surrounded by other buildings. His eyes wandered, each bit of timbre and stone glanced over as he searched.

 Lo and behold, he saw a structure. Its roof, brown and shaped as if it has been draped over, small foundations on the top giving its curve. The walls had small holes themselves, mainly on the portions above. 

 There were many gates, all opened and welcoming. He went inside the holy site, his friend on his back.

 The first thing that greeted him were those of patients, primarily those who looked healthy, talking amongst each other. 

 He saw upon the arcs that of which were monks, wearing black. Naturally, he went to them, asking "Is— where's a physician here?"

 Glancing at the man he was carrying, the monk near him asked "What's his problem?"

 He wanted to be calm. In fact, he needed to be calm. "H—he's dying from blood loss. A spear hit his abdomen." They whispered amongst each other. He heard "...the new one?" Many had nodded. "Please, I beg you," Maximillian said, voice shaking. "He— he's dying, please!"

 "We await for our prior, however" one of the monks told him. 

 Infuriated, he seethed to that monk "He's dying and you're telling me to wait?!"

 "We are the physicians here. If you're too impatient, then let yourself wander in and be lost."

 Rather than answering him, a new one entered and asked "How much blood has he lost?"

 "Too much that his heart isn't even giving a beat." he hissed. 

 "Follow," the monk said, now guiding him. Rather than walking, they jogged to the nearest infirmary. The structure of the hospital was of a cross in the inside, the hallways over there being the outline of the place.

 "Where?" Maximillian said, rushing. "Go to the left wing. You'll find it there, I'll call our priors." He hastened his speed, nearly tripping over the stone floors. He gritted his teeth, moving past many people. There were those who stopped minutely to let him pass through.

 Open door. Maximillian saw it. White sheets covering a bed. The room only had three at most. He put Bertram onto one of them, awaiting for the monks to come here.

 Each second, he roamed around. He tapped his finger with his forearm. He stayed silent from the whole escapade. Maximillian waited for those clergymen, his fingernails increasingly piercing through his skin.

 First came the two priors, one thin, the other fat. Then came their helpers, carrying tools that included a small knife, a fine tube that was a finger wide and its length ranging from the wrist to the shoulder, and there was someone who carried a thread and needle. 

 The last thing they brought was a large bowl made of clay. One, however, brought a book with Latin inscribed, saying "Medic's Guide on Diseases and Near-Death Situations by Chrysostomos".

 The tube was made of leather and metal at both ends, one cylindrical and the other sharp. There was a hole in the middle, but the top part itself was made for piercing. It wasn't large, however. "You may leave for a moment," said the monk.

 "Why?" Maximillian asked, eyeing Bertram, mostly terrified yet curious at what they would do.

 "Unless you have the constitution to see your friend's innards, I advise you to leave." The monk had seen the stubborn boy go to the corner.

 "You know what will happen if he dies," Maximillian threatened, crossing his arms. The monks went to work.

 The gambeson that covered Bertram was torn apart, his shirt raised up to show the wound. It was on the side, the large intestine hit. The flesh was shredded, the wound open to welcome sickness. 

 They opened it more, using the knife to widen the tear so they would see the internal damage better.

 Maximillian had felt the rancid bile that rose from his throat as he saw what was inside his friend, front and centre. 

 A reddish-black liquid had poured out, only caught by the basin below and the bed that Bertram was lying on. He couldn't wish to see any more of it, so Maximillian turned away to the walls to save himself from the pain.

 They stitched the large intestine of Bertram, hands inside the wound, its bleeding momentarily worsening. 

 A howl came to burgrave's mouth, writhing. His limbs were caught, easily so as the loss of blood made him weak. With precision, it was done properly, however it did lose them time.

 Another stitch had come through, attaching the skin to each other to let it heal. Bertram whines incoherent sentences, in pain and being shell shocked as he doesn't know where he is.

 The one with the book flipped the pages, skimming through it until there was "Blood Transfusion". 

 "Come here," the thin prior said to Maximillian. The latter approached carefully, not wishing to see the travesty. He was thankful, a sigh of relief coming out, as he saw that he was fine. Only that he was terribly pale. 

 The prior asked him thus. "Are you willing to give your blood for him?" Maximillian said not one thing, mouth gaping open yet no breath of an answer. He was terrified of it all, however… "There will be a chance that your complexion will be the same as his."

 "So be it," Maximilian agreed, solemn and determined all the same. He watched his friend's haggard breathing. 

 "I'm here, Bertram. I'm here," Maximillian said, not only for his friend, but mostly to calm his mind that yes, indeed, he was still here with him. The thread that came upon Bertram' skin was tightened, knotted and cut. 

 "What does the book say?" one of the monks asked. 

 "Upon the veins on the arm, cut it open so that the blood of the donor would go to the patient." There was an illustration there, showing the veins of the arm. The next pages go along with the process. 

 First was to cut open the vein with what they thought to be a small knife. Next was to put the tube in. Since it was wider than the vein itself, they argued if they should open more or put the tube above the vein outside. 

 With how high-strung he was, Maximillian threatened "If you even try to cut it open and let him bleed once more, I will let you be excommunicated by the highest bishop of Thuringia nearest Bodenstein."

 Although it was an empty threat to them, as they themselves have not committed a blasphemy, they still did what the count wanted. "Do you wish to be the donor, Landgraf?"

 In sheer desperation, he replied "No matter what it takes. Just don't— don't let him die."

 "Do not complain, Landgraf. This is what you wanted," the monk said as the rest dwelled over the book once more, seeing that they had to do the same to him, yet rather than cutting, they pierce the sharp end to his own vein. 

 They continued on, with the monks holding his hand and showing his veins. One of them pushed in the sharp device. 

 Bertram hissed, his blood falling down to the tube by gravity. Some bits of blood were absorbed in the tube, but most of it went to the veins of Bertram. 

 "You must not let the tube down. If you do, then the whole process would be fruitless." one of the monks said, stabilising the contraption so that it wouldn't fall.

 "Do I have to stand for the whole process?" Maximillian asked. They shook their heads and said no, with one of the monks telling him 

 "It just needs to be raised to let the blood fall," they answered, watching the tube get darker.

 With how long it is, he thought 'I don't have a choice, do I?'. The moment he went to sit down, he rearranged the tube to continue it without wasting or hindering anything. He saw the colour of Bertram come back. His breathing, although laboured, was starting to become longer.

 He, however, still was in pain. He curled himself up, trying to at least do something to lessen the pain. On the other hand, he was the one that was becoming pale. 

 Noticing this, one of them ordered the others to grab something. He couldn't understand what they were saying. It was white noise anyways, what does it matter?

 Maximillian was dozing off. He didn't notice it until he forced himself awake. It seemed to be that both of their situations were switched. 

 The monks came back with a thick cloth, pulling the contraption away and swiftly tying the cloth on their arms. It was uncomfortably tight, but he can't complain. He only hissed.

 The next moment however, they heard thunderous steps. The burgrave had entered the room, panting. "And you… Ordered me… To find a physician."

 "You were late, Burgmann," the landgrave uttered, himself tired after losing a lot of blood.

 Leaning on the side of the doorframe, Johannes said "No. You just left too quickly."

 Although the landgrave couldn't move, he barked out "What do you want me to do when my friend was dying?!" 

 Feeling the hostilities, the black robed men left posthaste, going to their other duties. Johannes moved to make way for them, seeing how the pale man still had blood boiling inside of him.

 "That's what I'm suspicious about," Johannes said, pointing at the unconscious man now. "Who is this friend of yours, Landgraf? I haven't seen him at all, even at the feasts that your family holds every year."

 Feeling put off by that, the landgrave said "Oh, please." before continuing with "The burgmann of Magdeburg is familiar in the halls. You just didn't see them, as much as the servants and nobles like you and I."

 "As if."

 As his frustration was rising, the landgrave said "Now, pray tell me, why do you think such a thing, Johannes?"

 "It's bullshit—"

 "NAY!" the younger man rose, getting shocked by his own booming voice. "You yourself do not go meet others, how would you know who was and wasn't there?!"

 "I've seen many familiar faces, and those newer, I have queried about them to your father."

 "It's not—" Maximillian takes a pause. "It is only for a few moments, but that friend of mine has been familiar with my family's abode. One of the servants has met him so, I swear to you that truth.

 Johannes said after "Do your parents know of him then?"

 "Yes," Maximillian answered nonchalantly, lying as if he had done it many times over. "This is getting us nowhere," he huffed.

 "I concur." Johannes said. "Still," he continued on, "you haven't told me who he is, and I suspect that you are simply lying to me."

 Offended at this, the landgrave queried him "Why would I lie? You of all people know that I am not capable of such a thing."

 "If I am not needed, then I may as well go." Before he left however, his arm was yanked to let him stay for a moment. Groaning, he said "What now, Landgraf?"

 "Do you know any messengers, perchance?" Maximillian asked, desperate eyes staring at him. The burgrave gave him a look of disdain so familiar that it didn't even phase him.

 "What are you going to put in there, pray tell?"

 "His father's going to kill someone since his son is gone," the landgrave informed him.

 "I'm not your errand boy, Landgraf Maximillian."

 Exhaling, he said "Fine, I'll do it. Ask for a messenger to send the letter to the House of Lübeck that their son, Bertram Morgenstern von Magdeburg, is at Bodenstein." The other nodded. 

 The fat prior went back inside, a clean, wet cloth with a small basin he held loosely. Whistling, he didn't care much for their debacle, as it wasn't of his concern.

 Maximillian approached him forsooth, although he couldn't do so properly with his condition without looking like a swaying leaf ready to collapse. "Is there… anything else… I could do?" he asked the religious man.

 The prior raised his head, checking up Maximillian who was obviously weakened. "Rest by one of the beds," he replied.

 "No, I mean—" Maximillian took a breath. "I mean, what more can I do to help him?" He asked, mentioning Bertram, still in a pained and pitiful state. "Surely there is something?"

 Patting him on his shoulders, the prior said to him "The moment you're well rested, we can discuss this matter." He went back to his task to clean the dried and drying blood that had stuck upon Bertram's bare stomach.

 "Is there really nothing I could do, even in this state?" the boy asked, desperate.

 "If you wish to be more of a burden, be my guest. Take some herbs from the garden at the northern wing if you want." 

 The prior had squeezed the towel on his hands, putting it at the side of the basin as he was finished. "You may make food as well, or simply get some water. You need not be extravagant about it.

 "If you do not not need my presence, I will write letters for your friend. I am unsure of your capabilities to do it yourself." The landgrave was offended once more. With a blank face, he added "Alongside your parents. They must know that you are still alive."

 Maximillian widened his eyes. His hands gripped tighter on his trousers. His breathing was calm, but the pain on his thighs said otherwise.

 'Fuck,' was the only thought of Maximillian.