Strangely, for all the worry that had accompanied and surrounded Votakara these last weeks, stopping his decline had been remarkably crisis-free, accomplished almost in a matter of hours by a properly trained and experienced Grigori Medicos. Not to be offensive of the Dural's own practitioners, but their experience with poisons had largely been limited to the Archosian spiders of the west, whereas the Cualli assassins of the west used poisons and venoms far closer to the Yokaido venoms. Eerily close, in fact. So much so that Pakun had saved a vial of infected blood that his hosts and patient would never know about, to be examined at the Medicos laboratories in Midgard.
To be fair in his sucess, Pakun had arrived quicker than almost any other Grigori Medicos could have, and he had carried potent reagents. Both were easily decisive in ensuring Votakara's survival in their own right; poisons were more dangerous the longer they were left untreated, and reagents had become a prized commodity in the Grigori lands for their ability to stop the worst damages of poisons. Applied together as they had been, there was now no doubt as to Votakara's eventual recovery.
Technically speaking, there was no need for him to stay here. Nothing that remained to be done could not be done by the orderlies of this hospital, and the compulsive helper inside him yearned to walk into the streets, find the Medicos station, and start taking more patients immediately.
Unfortunately, it was not his call to make. The head of the Ordine Medicos had already informed him that he, to, was a patient in this hospital: though he had certainly survived the magical transfer, there was no way to know what else might have occurred within his body. Were his veins still in the right place? Had he lost or gained anything he shouldn't have? And so he had been instructed to remain in the hospital, take care of Votakara, and wait for the other Medicos to finally arrive in a week's time so that they could give him a clean bill of health.
Cassiel, damn his good intentions, had let the Dural know of the Ordine's concerns. And the Dural, grateful as they were, had proceeded to place him under virtual room arrest so that he would not exert himself in any bad way. They had already had one important guest nearly die on their watch, and had no desire to let another risk himself in anyway.
Hells, they wouldn't even let him help the other patients!
And so he was reduced to tending to Votakara, still sleeping but visibly improving, or resting in his own room. The only benefit was that the Dural were very generous in bringing him books from their libraries, and just as keen to partake of his wisdom and experience. At times Pakun felt he was back at the Ordine Medicos college, only this time he was teaching a room full of elderly professors who scribbled down his every word and treated him as a great teacher.
Which he most certainly wasn't. He could work with his hands in another's body, yes, and could identify five different causes for a malady, but it had become clear early on that they knew and remembered the proper names for all the parts and vessels that he had long ago forgotten. And yet they still paid him such reverent respect for his success where they had almost failed.
For now, though, Pakun was sitting beside Votakara's bedside, reading a book from the Dural's own medical college, even having the audacity to make notes where he saw errors of judgment or description. Even if the Dural could not heal as well as him and the Medicos, their academic knowledge was extremely impressive. Pakun idly wondered if he should broach the idea of setting up a Medicos college here in the Dural capital: the Ordine had been looking for ways to expand their presence and effects in other nations of late, and he was sure both the Dural and the Ordine could benefit from such a center of medical learning.
Pakun's considerations as to how the Balseraphs might factor in was cut off by the shifting and moaning of the patient beside him. Quickly placing the book aside, he turned to examine his patient. Still running a fever, yes, but a stable and recovering one. His blood circulation remained good from regularly being lifted from the bed, and no signs of clotting were apparent yet. The elderly man had been given water to keep him hydrated as well, so it wasn't dehydration delirium...
Nothing... nothing... nothing... apparently a fever-dream. Nothing to much to be concerned with, and nothing worth calling in the orderlies for.
Then Votakara's eyes slid open and his hand grabbed Pakun's closest wrist. Pakun was startled that his patient had awaken so quickly, but then saw how his eyes were glazed over.
'Lucid dreaming,' he thought, recognizing that halfway state between waking and sleeping even as Votakara's mouth began to move.
"-ves," Votakara whispered.
"What was that, Votakara?" Pakun asked, lowering his head to the leader's level.
"The elves," he whispered again. "Tell... tell them to go... the city is burning. They must go as we planned..."
Elves. Of course. The Ljosalfar remnant that had lived in the Austrin capital before it's destruction. During the darker days of the Yokaido war, it had been an open secret that Cassiel had tried to find and convince the Ljosalfar remnant to immigrate to the Grigori lands after their nation's collapse, but by the time they had been located the elves had found refuge with Votakara. Even though his initial plans had been dashed by the great man's charity, Cassiel had maintained a strong interest in the elves even after their second disappearance, and had sent more than a few scouts to try and divine their current hiding location. None had succeded, and currently the only man who might know was halucinating about them right in front of him.
"I will tell them, Lord Votakara," Pakun assured the delirious man, easily falling into other's imagined role for him. "But where are they going? Where should I tell them to go?"
"Arendel knows," Votakara reassured despite his discomfort. "Just tell Arendel to do as we discussed..."
Damn. Not enough. "What if I can't find Ardendel, my Lord?" he asked. "She might be dead from the fires. Where shall I tell them to go?"
Votakara breathed deeply, considering the tragedy if the last of the summer elves did not escape.
"Tell them," he began to his trusted aid at his side, and Pakun already had a pad and pencil to write with, "tell them to go-"
Five minutes later, after Votakara had fallen back asleep with no future memory of this discussion, and after Pakun had torn the pad pages off and stuffed them safely in his pocket, Pakun strode out of the room and down the short hallway of the wing the two had been assigned to. Opening the door with authority, he didn't even give the guards posted there a chance to remind him that he was not yet allowed to leave the hospital without full supervision.
"You," he commanded the first guard with a tone that allowed no refusal, "inform the Head Healer that Votakara regained consciousness briefly, just as he asked to be informed. Tell him that he was delirious and reliving the razing of the capital, but was coherent." He sanitized his own discussion with the man; that could be shared later. Much later, possibly.
"You," he said, turning to the second guard and already forgetting the first, "get me an orderly. I want more dressings for Votakara's fever, as well as a potion for the next time he's awake enough to take some." When neither guard had moved, still stunned with the force with which he arrived, Pakun clapped his hands. "Chop chop! Get moving!"
Both men nearly sprinted down the halls, and Pakun could not help but wince at the sound of protests from doctors and nurses getting out of the way of a armed man.
"And us, your lordship?" asked the remaining three guards asked, and Pakun winced again at the sound of the title that they had given him for the risk he had taken and the success he had delivered. Any other Medicos could have done the same.
"You," he said, pointing at one, "Go make sure that the security detail against spiders and other critters is increased. If anyone is going to try to assassinate Votakara again, it's going to be now that he's recovering."
"Anything else, your lordship" the remaining two asked.
"One of you stay here and guard this door, and the other get me my enchanted Ordine Tags. I need to talk to the Head Medicos about our patient's spell."
The man nodded and ran off to collect the trinket, and Pakun began to consider just how he would deliver his message to the Head of the Ordine.
Cassiel, after all, had remained very, very interested in the last of the Ljosalfar elves.