Chapter Text
It was a routine check for Robert de Sablé, as he made his way to the Hospital in Acre to meet with one of his associates, Garnier de Naplouse. The elder man had been diligent in his efforts to tend to the many sick and injured that came to his doors from all over the Holy Land. The Hospitaller Knights were dutiful in their oaths as they tended to every walk of life to come their way. It was a comforting sight to see the many knights who called this place home, tending to the ill and infirm.
The cry of gulls from the harbor and the gentle sea breeze were a brief comfort to his thoughts as he walked through those front doors of the fortress. However, as far as routine visits go, this was not one he was expecting when he found the good doctor seemingly at wits end. His men were on edge. His own usually calm demeanor appeared weary and agitated.
“Lord grant me patience and guide me with the knowledge to do what is right for this lost soul.” He caught the frustrated mutterings of the doctor as he clasped the cross firmly between his fingers and pressed his lips to the back of the smooth aged wood.
Raising a curious brow, Robert inquired. “Is something the matter, Garnier?”
The doctor jolted in alarm at the unexpected sound of the Grandmaster's voice. Startled at first, Garnier dropped the cross to rest loosely against his chest as he swiveled to greet the knight. “Oh, it is you Grandmaster. I'm afraid I did not hear your arrival.”
It was no surprise. Everyone seemed to be caught up in some sort of chaos today. Aside from the usual troubles of having more patients than knights to tend to them, something else seemed to be amiss. He had arrived entirely on his own and entered without a moment’s greeting from the usual guards that stood at the entrance of the hospital. Instead they seemed to be rushing about in a flurry of activity.
“Is something the matter? You seem uncharacteristically distraught this morning.” The olive branch was extended. He hoped Garnier would accept it for the offer of help that it was, a chance to share his burdens and express his troubles so that Robert may be able to offer a solution if there was one. Garnier considered it as he smoothed a hand down the front of his dark robes, easing out the bedraggled creases of his dingy stained smock in the process. It, just like the man himself, had clearly seen far better days.
“It's-” Garnier looked as if he were about to dismiss his problem as his aged features creased with deeper shadows. The furrow of his pale brows was steep before the tension released with a defeated sigh filled with begrudging acceptance. “It's a newcomer that's graced my hospital.”
“Oh?” That didn't sound like a normal cause for concern. What exactly did a newcomer do to cause such a strain on the older man? Was he combative? It wasn't unusual for belligerent types to cause distress among the knights and other patients, but that shouldn't necessarily be a new problem for Garnier. He's been at this task for many years with decades of experience under his belt. Surely a patient the likes of that would be child's play to manage. “What is the matter with your new patient?”
Garnier frowned to himself as he sought out the appropriate way to conduct such a perplexing explanation. The mere fact that the elder man seemed to be at a loss for words was concerning on its own. The doctor waved for Robert to follow him as they walked the halls of the fortress towards a quieter corner away from the usual whining, wails and manic chatter of the noisier patients. The room they were headed towards was typically reserved as the recovery ward for those healing from procedures or going through the tail end of extensive treatments that showed noticeable improvements. They received regular medicine and were placed in the quieter section to rest as their conditions mended. Far from any doorway or window in a dark little corner was a single cot surrounded by wooden privacy curtains, just as many of the other patients were. Two knights stood guard at the entrance as if watching over a prisoner, their eyes never straying from the cot as they studied the small, lean young man seated upon it.
He wore only a light pair of trousers provided by the hospital staff for all of their patients. His upper torso was bare, his bronze skin sun kissed with the faint flush of recent extensive exposure. He had fair features that could be considered quite handsome to most, with golden eyes like molten amber and a pale scar running vertically across the right side of his lips. As if a blade had sliced him there. The man was quiet, his golden eyes stared blankly at the wooden frame of the privacy curtain, a feat that seemed to rarely involve blinking. A light sheet was loosely gathered around his hips as another hospitaller spoon fed the man broth. His hands were loosely resting in his lap, his fingers relaxed and partially curled. Robert noted he was missing the ring finger on his left hand, but aside from that and the scar on his lips, -both of which were healed- there was really no other injury that he could tell.
“We’ve taken to calling him Fulan since he has no name.” Garnier began to explain as he gestured at the silent man who barely moved even with the coaxing of another to convince him to drink the broth from the spoon. His mouth barely crooked open wide enough to accept it as the knight gently fed him with care and caution. His eyes never tore away from their spot against the wall. It was a little unnerving to witness. Folding his hands in front of himself, the doctor continued.
“He came to us several days ago. No name. No explanation. One morning my men opened the gates to find his body slumped against the entrance with blood dried on his face.”
That was certainly peculiar. It was hard to say whether Fulan brought himself to the fortress willingly or if he were simply placed there by a good samaritan. Either way, it was clear to Robert that Fulan needed a lot of special care for his unusual case. Garnier explained the situation, growing more detailed as he described the last few days.
Fulan did not speak. He had no name and he had a bad habit about wandering off. He never left the hospital, Garnier corrected that little detail. He simply liked to wander around it at his leisure. They often found him in strange places at first, typically sleeping on, under or behind most things. The knights would gently wake Fulan and guide him back to his bed. Sometimes they would have to resort to carrying him, more so after he disappeared from his bed shortly after receiving his medication for the day. Fulan was prone to severe headaches, so they mixed a pain reliever with his morning and evening tea. They tried everything to stop him. Heavier doses of the drugs to make him too sleepy to leave his bed, even tying his wrists and ankles to the cot using soft fabric restraints, but he would still slip away. Not even 24/7 guard surveillance could change this. The moment the guards took their eyes off of him, he would disappear and then they started to find him in more concerning places. He would hide up high where no one else could reach him or safely get him down. They'd call for him all over the hospital for hours, and sometimes they'd never find him.
“Not unless the bells for mealtime rang.” Garnier gestured at the seemingly polite and obedient man before them as he sighed in frustration. “He’ll make his way back for meals every single time. Today he’s been missing for the past five hours. He only just returned moments before your arrival and we have no idea where he's been all this time.”
That did sound like a troublesome patient to deal with. He wasn't aggressive or loud. He didn't shout, scream or wail. He didn't try to fight the guards or intentionally flee out of trauma or fear from the sounds of it. He just liked to wander. Strict routine seems to soothe that troublesome spirit as the bell tolls something familiar with its call.
The only thought that came to mind was whether this Fulan was once a member of religious clergy or a soldier of some kind. The predictable monotony of routine would fit either of those. If the first part was true, then asking around at all the religious institutions would warrant a good method of finding out his identity. If nothing comes up, then Robert would be inclined to believe the latter was the more likely case. That would at least explain some details of why he's like this, but would be much harder to track down a name or possible next of kin.
“I see.” Robert didn't take his eyes away from Fulan. Not when the knight finished spoon feeding him the broth and exchanged it for tea. He watched with interest as the young man responded autonomously with the gentlest touches that coaxed his chin to raise a fraction higher or for his lips to part. His condition was similar to battle shock from what the Grandmaster could tell. He's only seen these symptoms in men fresh from the battlefields or victims of grizzly trauma such as assaults or severe injuries. There were no battles nearby, and no signs of trouble on the roads when he and his men came to the city. There appeared to be no disturbances in town among the guards either.
‘There was blood dried on his face?’ But he didn't appear to have any wounds around his head. Garnier and his men would have noticed such a detail much sooner. ‘A traumatic event that may have caused this? Or perhaps he was already like this beforehand?’
It wouldn't be too unusual. During times of struggle and hardship, many families didn't have the means or the resources to spare on members of a household that could not contribute daily to the needs of the collective. A man like Fulan could not work or care for himself. It saddened Robert to consider that a possible family member or caregiver could have abandoned him on the hospital's doorstep because they could no longer handle him. Maybe the blood that Garnier and his men found dried on Fulan wasn't even his to begin with, but a clever ruse to convince the hospital to keep the man so he wasn't wandering the streets aimlessly like many vulnerable lonely souls.
It was a sad turn of events, but one that he was used to seeing. Especially if the original caregiver for Fulan may have been removed from their duties for whatever reason be it illness, injury, or an unexpected passing.
‘He is in good hands here.’ Robert reasoned, though a long term solution the hospital was not. They would need to find a better place for him to reside where Fulan could receive the constant care and attention a man of his delicate circumstances needed.
As Fulan finished his tea, the Hospitaller tending to him gently urged the young man to rest back upon the cot. Robert presumed the drink may have been mixed with the medicine that treated his condition. Curious about the man, he opted to linger a while to keep an eye on him, offering to tend to Fulan in the others’ absence. Garnier looked appreciative but shared a look in his eyes that said he didn't expect much to change on the matter. As the hospitaller left to take care of the other patients in recovery, Robert assumed his place upon the stool at Fulan’s bedside. Those amber eyes stared up at the rafters overhead, blinking tiredly against the tender pull of sleep that started to sink over his consciousness. Robert expected he wouldn't be much longer before he gave in.
‘I don't see the problem. Garnier seems to have the situation handled quite well.’ He assumed it was simply a rough start to figure out Fulan's habits and quirks. The young man was struggling to remain awake as his eyelids slowly began to droop, only to spring back open in refusal, then slowly droop once more. This repeated again and again for several minutes as the young man fought the pull of the drugs in his system. Sharing a warm smile with the younger man, Robert gently assured in Arabic.
“It is alright, little one. Rest easy. You are safe here.” Those bleary golden eyes sprung back open as he fixed his attention determinedly upon the wooden beam stretched directly above the cot. It was high above on the wall, well above the Grandmaster’s reach, but a stubborn focus for Fulan’s weary eyes. Eventually he appeared to be giving into the enticing lure of the drugs that cast drowsy nets across his mind.
There was chatter down the hallway. From another room, a woman’s sharp shrill cry was cut off with a coughing fit and moans of pain. A hospitaller knight called insistently to Doctor de Naplouse as they rushed the woman towards the examination rooms. Robert studied the concerned expressions of the knights standing guard at the entrance of the dimly lit little corner. When he turned his attention back towards the cot to check if Fulan’s futile struggles had fallen to the enticing whispers of sleep, he was alarmed to find the bed was empty.
Lunging to his feet, Robert blurted. “Where did he go?” The guards pivoted towards their corner with long suffering sighs of defeat.
“He does that sir.” One of the Hospitallers reassured the Grandmaster as his companion at his side groaned. “It's not your fault. You can't take your eyes off of him for a single second.”
Okay, Robert was beginning to understand why Garnier looked on the verge of pulling what little hair remained atop of his head, out. Fulan was a sneaky little fox. It was hard to tell if those sleepy eyed blinks and drooping eyelids were genuine or simply a ruse put on for the gullible knight resting at his bedside to fall for. Either way, Robert had swiftly joined the other two knights in their search for their missing ward.
Hours went by until the next meal bell rang. To Garnier's immense concern, Fulan did not come back at the sound of the meal bell. Their search had been fruitless with this consistency in the young man's behavior seeming like their last hope. They waited, Robert stood in the hallway leading into the room that Fulan was kept as he surveyed the head rows of patients and knights alike that came and went. Some returned to their cots after treatment, therapies or procedures with the studious aid of the Hospitallers at their sides helping them navigate the complex maze of hallways in the hospital.
Garnier looked to be at a total loss as time stretched on and many of the patients received their regular meals. Still, there was no sign of Fulan.
The biggest concern was that he had fallen asleep somewhere dangerous with the strong medicine in his system. If that were the case, there was a good chance it would be half a day before they find him. That didn't sit right with any of the men, least of all Robert. He assured Garnier that he would continue to look. Surely an outsider would think of different places a man like Fulan could hide that the residents might not think of.
Volunteering his time and energy to Garnier’s endeavors, Robert took another long walk through the hospital. They already checked all the usual places the knights had found him in the past. Under tables, behind narrow corners, and up high in the windowsills and balanced atop the rafter beams. His eyes searched every corner, every cot, every shaded ceiling nook and window. When he ran out of places to look inside, Robert suspected there may be a good chance that Fulan had stretched his legs out into the courtyard without their knowledge. Or perhaps he was perched on an exterior ledge soaking up the afternoon sun. It was a possibility they couldn't ignore.
The heat of the sun on his back was an immediate change from the shaded interior of the hospital. Where a cool breeze and the calming sea air blew through the windows in refreshing spurts to help fend off the stench of sickness and cloying fog of body odor, it was a much greater relief to be outside like this. However, the fresh air came with the price of being exposed to the sweltering heat of the sun beating down upon his back and exposed scalp. His pale grey-blue eyes searched the rooftops and windowsills from below looking for moving shadows or the silhouettes of hunched bodies. As he passed, he greeted the busy knights with respectful nods. In his circling, he managed to make his way back to the front of the building where his stallion, Éloi, was temporarily sheltered by a small stable. A proud and strong draft horse with grey dappling across his pale muscular body, Éloi was a loyal companion and the closest thing to family for the Grandmaster. His beloved horse, devoted and gentle, was a giant that filled out the measly stalls that catered to the local Arabians more than the heavy mounted cart pullers the Poor Fellow Soldiers used. Due to its cramped and crowded nature, Éloi spent most of his time during these visits standing partially outside the shelter, often with his head stuck in only as far as necessary to get a drink from the trough within.
As Éloi’s tender nickering beckoned to Robert, the knight relented to offer his patient companion a treat from his belt pouch, and ample attention for being so good. Typically his visits to the hospital didn't take this long, and Éloi’s tolerance of the ill fitting accommodations for a stallion his size was praiseworthy. Speaking tenderly in their native French, he turned to greet his beloved horse, Robert's hand was already reaching for the pouch on the back of his belt to retrieve one of the pomegranates he picked up earlier that morning in the market. “You've been a good boy for me, Éloi. Just a little longer, I promise-”
His approach halted mid stride when his eyes fell to the small lean figure of a young man standing in Éloi’s shadow. The man’s left hand was splayed across the horse’s neck displaying clearly the missing ring finger as Fulan stroked Éloi’s hair. Some of his mane had already been meticulously braided in a neat tidy pattern to keep it off the stretch of his neck in the face of the unrelenting heat of mid day. Fulan’s golden eyes were fixed on Éloi as the young man spoke softly in Arabic, seemingly unaware of Robert's presence.
The knight fell suddenly to silence as he observed the way the young man praised Éloi, and warmly admired his strong sturdy build with enthusiastic compliments spoken tenderly to the young war horse. Robert was impressed with Éloi’s patience with Fulan. Typically this display of cautious tolerance was reserved for small children, as Éloi was often a focus of the young ones at the churches when he and his men were carrying out their charitable duties in the community, or escorting travelers to safety. It wasn't entirely uncommon for Robert to invite a few of the little ones up onto Éloi’s back as he cautiously walks in slow circles with Robert’s guidance. Anyone else who wasn't a brother in arms wearing their symbols, or the Grandmaster himself would receive an outright refusal or total aggression from the stubborn stallion. Even his own brethren were greeted with a variety of Éloi’s wavering tolerance for their presence from general stubbornness as the draft horse ignored them, to mild annoyance and the barest minimum of obedience accompanied by ample bribery of treats and food.
So to see Éloi treating this young man with a similar level of cautious care as he often would small children was both surprising and warmed his heart. Robert watched for several minutes as Fulan lowered his head until the crown of his brow was resting against the draft horse’s shoulder with a tiredness that seemed to reach into his very bones. Fulan’s hands laid lazily against Éloi as he partially embraced the stallion in a childlike hug. The shadow of a gentle smile graced the younger man's lips.
Slowly, Robert took several mindful steps back until he reached the entrance of the hospital once more. Keeping one careful eye directed at the young man and his horse, he beckoned to a passing hospitaller to approach. Uttering a quiet, yet urgent directive for the knight to inform the doctor to come to the front entrance as soon as he reasonably could, Robert watched the hospitaller rush off into the busy corridor towards the next room with haste. The Grandmaster himself lingered at the entrance while keeping an eye on Fulan and Éloi. His stallion appeared content. His demeanor and body language were relaxed with no outward sign of his patience growing thin with the extensive attention.
Several more minutes passed. Robert stood with his back leaned casually against the pillar at the entrance, his arms loosely folded over his chest as he nestled into the shade of the building. Éloi had moved carefully with slow methodical steps as he shifted his weight to maneuver himself and Fulan back into the slender stretch of shade cast by the stable. It was a tedious fickle thing to maintain with only half of his body hidden under the eaves of the building’s squatty roof without hitting his head on the overhang of the ceiling. Éloi’s ears brushed the wooden framework if he stepped too far into the shelter and raised his head to a comfortable position. The laughable situation only made the stocky draft horse look like a titan from an ancient myth. It was deeply amusing, and a situation Robert understood deeply and personally in his own way. The world was not made easy for people like him.
Fulan’s warm honeyed eyes blinked sluggishly with a sleepy look about them as he gazed longingly up the pale length of Éloi’s neck. A heartbeat later, Fulan was speaking softly to the horse once more but Robert was too far away to hear what was being said. A moment later, the hasty shuffling footsteps of the doctor quickly approached with two of his men trailing dutifully behind him.
“Grandmaster de Sablé, you said there was an urgent matter?” Garnier greeted him somewhat breathlessly, his pale brows creased drawing the wrinkles of his wizened face together. Robert held a finger up to his lips to quiet the man with a cautious hush then gestured with a wave of his hand towards the stable. Garnier stepped out into the courtyard to join the Grandmaster in his tentative observation. At first the older man seemed confused, until his eyes found Fulan’s silhouette pressed against Éloi’s pale figure in the shade. The young man was still speaking with the horse as one hand stroked Éloi’s broad muscular chest in affection.
“By the mercy of the Lord.” Garnier breathed, his eyes widened in surprise as his troublesome patient finally found peace and comfort in something. Even more shocking was the fact the silent man was speaking. Even the hospitallers that had followed the doctor out with looks of concern appeared to be shocked in their own way, jaws gaped in disbelief.
Whether he was once a soldier or a farmhand, Robert suspected that Fulan found companionship, much like the Grandmaster did, with the horses in his life. He made a mental note to discuss the possibility of giving Fulan a job throughout the day of helping tend to the Knight's horses, with the good doctor. Even if it was something as simple as helping draw water or brush them out, it would give Fulan that positive exposure that seemed to draw him out of his proverbial shell. Waving to the knights to keep their distance, Robert retrieved the pomegranate from his belt pouch that he had been reaching for earlier. He held it in hand as he cautiously approached the horse, speaking in Arabic as he closed the distance to try to comfort Fulan a bit in the process.
“Éloi, it looks like you've made a friend.” Fulan didn't react immediately. His hands didn't draw away from the horse but his gaze did shy in the other direction to avoid looking at Robert as if he were a little bit shy or nervous about being caught. Robert chuckled warmly as he called to the younger man. “Fulan, would you like to feed Éloi his treat for me?”
Slowly, those amber eyes turned back in his direction. They remained fixed low to the ground, only glancing long enough at the fruit held in Robert's outstretched palm in offering.
“Go on, you can take it.” The knight reassured. Fulan remained frozen like that for several nervous beats. It was easy to assume at first that he was simply refusing but Robert could tell by the way his eyes continued to move, shifting his focus between the fruit and the horse, then back. He was thinking it over. Despite what the other men thought about Fulan, Robert could see there was still a spark nestled inside there. They just needed to give it a reason to shine a little brighter for the rest of the world to see.
Robert was patient. As was Éloi considering his favorite treat in the entire world was less than an arm's length away. His nostrils flared in recognition of the smell, his ears were alert as he shifted anxiously in place. A small eager shuffle of his hooves as he fought the urge to simply take it from Robert's hand without direction. The knight was impressed as always, with Éloi’s immaculate self restraint.
Eventually, to Robert's carefully concealed excitement and Éloi’s poorly concealed craving, Fulan accepted the fruit into his hand then turned to present it before Éloi’s muzzle. His horse’s lips twitched with the want but his eyes darted over to check with his knight first. Robert stroked the bridge of his nose in reassurance as he urged in French.
“Go on, Éloi. It's yours.”
To say his horse practically inhaled the small fruit was an apt description as the pomegranate went from Fulan’s cautiously open palm to vanishing inside the stallion’s maw with a single curl of his top lip. The noisy crunching was the only consolation to Robert that he hadn't swallowed it whole. Fulan looked deeply satisfied as his palm resumed stroking across Éloi’s chest as Robert withdrew two more pomegranates from the pouch for Fulan to feed.
The younger man uttered quiet praise whispered to the stallion as Robert watched over the pair with a mix of pride and approval.