[For Thanos] A Healing Spell

[casterofcolchis]

The battle had left him badly injured.

Blood was pooling on the floor, soaking through the sheets and down into the bed. The red fluid ran in glittering rivers along the intricate golden ridges of the Infinity Gauntlet. Dark bruises had formed beneath his skin, tinging the natural purple to a deep indigo-green. He lay in the bed, unconscious but groaning softly in pain.

Medea heaved a deep sigh, closing her eyes for a moment. She hated seeing him this way, but she knew better than to get in the way of his goal.

Her cloak was draped over the edge of the bed. It had been some feat of her magic to get Thanos here, and to make the bed bigger so that he could be at least a little bit comfortable. Her lavender hair draped down her back as she sat on the edge of the bed. Medea held her hand over his unconscious form, her fingers splayed to cover as much area as possible. She used her magic to scan his body, assessing his injuries. Just by looking at him she could tell that she couldn't use her magic to heal him - his injuries were so severe that suddenly healing his body would send him into shock. No, this would have to be done the old-fashioned way. So she began by taking inventory of his wounds.

Of course there was the gaping wound in his chest - that was the most obvious but ironically not the most life-threatening. There was a large wound on his left leg that had nicked his femoral artery, and he was bleeding fast. Another long gash ran down from his shoulder to his forearm. The other larger wound was the one at his back, but she couldn't get to that just yet.

The first order of business was to stop the bleeding - or at least slow it down so that she could work.

Medea went to his thigh first. She pulled the sheets back and took a clean cloth to blot away the excess blood and clear away what had been caked along the ridge of the wound. She then took a small fabric pad and pressed it over the wound. The blood eventually made it stick enough that her hands were free to continue their work. Medea reached to the bedside table and retrieved a small mortar and pestle. She took a handful of herbs from another small bowl and set them into the mortar bowl. Medea then took up the pestle and began to grind the herbs into a fine powder. Once they were completely ground down, she set the mortar and pestle on the bedside table and turned to face Thanos again.

A flick of her wrist and a small jar appeared in her hand. Inside was a special healing salve that she had developed. The herbs she had ground up would amplify its healing properties. After opening the jar, Medea reached for the mortar and poured the ground herbs into the salve. She mixed them together with her finger and scooped a generous amount onto two fingers, which she then smoothed over the edges of the wound on his leg. It almost acted as a paste, keeping the fabric pad in place over the hole. Once a nice layer covered the wound, Medea reached for a clean cloth and wiped her fingers off. Then she reached for a roll of bandages and began to wrap a length of it around the wound. Medea then tied it off and used her Rule Breaker knife to cut it from the roll.

Now for the chest wound. That would indeed be quite the project.

Medea blotted the chest wound with a clean rag as she had for his leg wound. Once the blood was cleared away she could see that a section of it was beginning to look red and inflamed. An infection was already beginning to set in. That would complicate matters. Her salve would not be as effective on an infection. Medea snapped her fingers, and a small vial of oil appeared in her hand. She uncapped the dropper and squeezed a few generous drops onto the infected portion of the wound. Carefully she used her fingertips to slowly rub the oil into the wound and let it soak into his skin. She would let the oil do its job and then apply the salve later to that particular section. Again she cleaned off her fingers and took up some of the salve again, applying it to the uninfected sections of his wound. Medea knew that this wound would be particularly sore, so she was careful to move slowly to try and avoid waking him.

"Just had to go, didn't you? You poor fool..." she sighed, though a soft smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

Comments

[casterofcolchis]

Indeed Medea had cautioned him against his plan to charge headlong into battle against the Avengers. Sometimes gently, a soft suggestion from a teasing lover; and sometimes petulantly, with all the royal fury of a princess whose command had gone unheeded. It was a delicate balance they had – Thanos, the galactic conqueror and harbinger of the universe’s salvation, and Medea, the princess of a long-dead kingdom and self-proclaimed queen of all casters and devotees to the mystic arts. She had attested that the Avengers had made their stand and failed, why provoke them further? It made more sense to fortify a base of operations, wherever that may be, and perhaps in time slowly pick them off one by one if their mere existence was that vexing. Their resolve was broken, Thanos had flexed his power and shown them what the Infinity Stones could do – even Medea herself was not certain that he had pushed them to their absolute limits, so surely the Avengers had no clue either as to how far the Stones could truly go.

But conquerors by nature were rarely satisfied. So off he had gone.

Although she had vehemently opposed his charge, Medea nevertheless made the necessary sacrifices and rituals to bless his war games. She had summoned a ram, a revered beast to the royal house of Colchis and to the most honorable Ares himself, anointed him with oil and the necessary garlands before speaking the ancient blessings in her mother tongue. Her Rule Breaker served as the sacrificial dagger, drawing across the beast’s throat and opening it with practiced precision. The ram collapsed and bled out – and as it did so, Medea opened a small cask of wine and poured a goblet’s worth over the carcass. Medea then divided the ram’s body as decreed by the ancient traditions and oracles, and burned the pieces. She had hoped that her sacrifice to Ares would bring Thanos victory against his foes.

She would be disappointed.

So to say that Medea was relieved to see Thanos open his eyes would be a drastic understatement. As he stirred she gave a soft sigh, and breathed easier. Silently she thanked Ares for his mercy and her most beloved Hecate for her power. When Thanos struggled to lift his head up from the pillow, Medea carefully set her hand upon his shoulder to keep him down. Typically, given their size difference and the sheer strength of the Mad Titan, this would have been impossible. But in his wounded state, Medea was able to restrain him with minimal effort and without further aggravating his injuries.

“Ahh, so your paternal instincts are to blame here? My mistake. Here I thought it was your childish restlessness and stubborn pride,” She tilted a brow at him and a knowing, cat-like smile pulled at the corners of her lips. He was recovering and conscious now, she deserved her moment of teasing. “Then you should count yourself most fortunate that motherhood tends to make women wiser, more often than not.”

Medea brought her hand up and gently pressed the back of it to Thanos’ forehead. There was a slight heat there that seemed off to her – but sometimes it was difficult to tell what his natural temperature was in comparison to a fever. At any rate, being too warm wouldn’t do for the infection. Medea reached for a spare, clean cloth and submerged it in the nearby basin of cold water. She wrung the excess water out of the cloth and folded it into a neat rectangle before gently placing it on his forehead. Once it was in place she slowly traced her fingers down his cheek and along the solid line of his jaw. Medea held his gaze and smiled softly.

“You know that’s not true, you know I had to act. I had seen enough of your blood spilled on the ground, I couldn’t bear seeing you injured further. In my defense I did let you have a little fun before I stepped in,” a slow frown tugged her painted lips down again as the thought of acting too late and losing him played out in her mind. Pain squeezed in the dead center of her chest at the prospect, and she tried to push the horrid thought from her mind.

Medea busied herself with some minor scrapes and bruises that decorated his bare arm. Another clean, dampened cloth washed away the dirt and sweat and dried blood so Medea could apply a healing balm. These were mere surface injuries, nothing major, but could nevertheless prove troublesome if left unattended.

The Avengers had indeed done a number on Thanos – and the thought crawled to her mind that perhaps the battle left their foes emboldened. Would they pursue Thanos here? Would they try to launch an assault? Medea wore her worry on her face for a brief moment, then again tried to push it away and block it out. Once his arm had been tended Medea took a brief respite from her work and turned to settle more on the bed beside Thanos. She smiled and pushed a lock of her long hair over her shoulder. Her hand came down to again brush her fingers down his cheek to cup his jaw.

“Stay down, rest for now. How do you feel? Are you in any pain?”

[itssnappening]

Fatigued though he was, the feline smile that touched Medea’s lips set a wry one tugging at his own. Though the power of the Stones when concerted in purpose was so overwhelming as to blind and deafen the wielder to nearly anything else, Medea’s magic was too distinct – in effect and in feeling – for Thanos to forget, even during a fight. He knew every repulsor blast from Stark, every bullet from the Widow and the War Machine, and every incessant bolt of lightning from Thor had been softened by her spells of warding in the name of her war-god. No doubt the battle would have demanded a far graver toll if not for Medea’s presence working to shield his from worlds away. Wounds that should have been disabling had merely slowed him. Beyond that, she’d ensured he was twice as dangerous to the Avengers as he’d ever been on Titan.

Her magic had served him. Thanos had always delegated the task of dispatching his more mystical enemies to the Maw, who was ever eager to prove his own powers superior to such beings. With his death, Thanos might have felt somewhat vulnerable to the more…arcane practices of the universe, something Titans admittedly had little natural talent for. But Medea, who crackled with power in Reality’s perception, more than made up for that. He even felt it when they were joined together, all his bellicose vitality finding in her every breath and gasp and moan some mystical counterpart. And it left Thanos feeling – reinforced. Balanced.

Indeed, he…may very well have owed his life to her. A strange feeling. In haler moments, where his warrior’s pride ruled, it might never have occurred to him. But as Medea’s palm gathered to the hard line of his jaw, and her eyes – the same hue as Power - studied his unblinking, and the pain in his chest eased to a murmur where it should have been a shout, the thought came. A strange feeling indeed…even a new one. He’d never known it. Even on Titan.

Thanos pursed his lips, contemplative. The pillow beneath his head was warm and slightly wet with sweat, and he felt a faint whisper of fever in his blood. did lift himself somewhat, and made no protest and little movement as Medea tended to his wounds. The most he would allow was a slight furrowing of his already imperious brow when Medea took the measure of his heat with the back of her palm. Pain was a fact of life he had long since accepted. Admitting to pain...well. One thing at a time.

“I’m well enough,” he managed to say, “that you don’t have to stop me from sitting up.” He was pleased his voice had gathered some of its familiar iron reverberation – but then, so had his headache. Thanos grunted, though with as raw as his throat was from battle, it sounded more like steam escaping some overheated mechanism. His eyelids rose some, enough for his eyes to meet Medea’s.

“…though I could do with a drink.” The warrior in him wanted a strong one, perhaps an amphora of that strong red liquor Medea boasted of from her homeland, but Thanos knew water would serve him better. If he’d been strong enough to use the Stones, he would have conjured water and a meal...

...and there his own body betrayed him, for his stomach suddenly growled at a decibel range that would have made the Obsidian beast snarl in challenge. Thanos set his jaw, embarrassed. He was ravenously hungry – but for now he supposed he could trust that to Medea, who was more than capable herself. He leaned into his hand of flesh upon the cot, while his face leaned into the small, soft, pale hand that cupped his cheek. "And maybe something to sink my teeth into."

[casterofcolchis]

Medea had little to offer in the realm of brute strength. She had faced her fair share of enemies in each Holy Grail War she had served in - but each time she had relied on her cunning and matchless mastery of magic. That was the same mastery she offered to Thanos - much to the Maw’s dismay when he had served the Mad Titan. It was not her sole talent, but it was the one that best served his purposes. Her crystal ball showed her his surroundings. With her magic she felt each and every strike lain upon him, and with her magic she softened each blow and protected him to the best of her ability. It had been enough this time, but it had still come too close for her comfort.

Of course he would brush off her concern and how she tried to restrain him from sitting up fully. He was indeed the strong, stubborn conqueror, after all. His pride would never allow him to admit that the best thing for him directly contradicted what he wanted to do in that moment. Medea didn’t restrain him further. She kept her one hand at his cheek and let the other on his shoulder relax and slip away. Medea kept her eyes on his and she slowly shook her head, smiling as a mother who looks upon her stubborn child when he petulantly refuses a nap.

The severity of the situation shattered completely at the loud rumble that sounded from his stomach. For a moment, Medea just stared, keeping her eyes on his. Then she pressed her lips together to stifle herself, but the effort was made in vain. It started as a choked chuckle, then she closed her eyes and brought her hand to cover her mouth. Her shoulders shook in silent laughter as she kept her gaze turned away from him. The Mad Titan, the great conqueror of the universe, afflicted with hunger to such an extent that his stomach gave such an imposing indication of its need.

After a moment Medea brought one hand up and gave a cradling motion with her fingers, making a goblet appear out of thin air - far too large for her own lips, but it would easily fit into Thanos’ hand. She offered it to him, still shaking with laughter the sound of which now escaped through her nose and between her clenched teeth. Another wave of her hand and an ornate blue pitcher appeared. Medea took it in both hands and poured the water within it into the goblet she had just manifested. Only then did her trembling stop and she was able to meet his gaze again.

“Water will suit you best for now. Later I will provide something heartier and warmer,” she promised.

Medea waved her hand and a shadow rose off the floor and stood before her. A faint shape from her past, conjured to perform small, simple tasks for the Caster. Medea pointed to the door. “To the kitchen. Bring what has been prepared and be quick about it.” The shade bowed a little and disappeared to do her bidding. Medea then turned to Thanos again.

“Start with something warm and gentle on the stomach for now,” she advised.

While Thanos had been asleep, Medea had left his side only so long as needed to prepare chicken broth and fresh bread. There was also dried meat and sliced fruit, but Medea didn’t want to overwhelm his stomach just yet and risk him wretching it all up again. The fruit would likely be too sweet for now, and the dried meat too salty. So the broth and bread would do for the moment. Medea pulled her legs up onto the bed as they waited and curled in beside Thanos, taking care not to press too much of her body weight against his.

“I’m...happy you’re back,” her voice dropped almost to a whisper. She had been worried and racked with fear at the height of the battle. But it was done now, they would deal with an invasion - if any came - later. For now, the entirety of her focus was on Thanos, and setting him on the path to recovery.

The shade Medea had summoned soon returned, carrying a tray laden with an ornate bowl containing the broth Medea had made, and half a loaf of the warm bread. The tray was left on the bedside table, and the shadow disappeared again, to await its master’s call when something else was needed. Medea didn’t want to be apart from Thanos again, not for a long while. She stayed in the bed with him, keeping close and taking in his warmth, hoping to keep ahead of the impending chill his fever would bring him.

After a brief moment she smiled and glanced up to him, the tip of her nose barely brushing over his jaw. “I believe you promised me a present, did you not? Or were you perhaps too distracted?” She teased, bringing one hand to rest over his own bare hand as it rested against the bed.