𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔟𝔬𝔯𝔫𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔢𝔦𝔤𝔫.

[reignfall]

In spite of all her terrible fears, it really does seem as though it was naught but the common fever, which had struck her young son. Joffrey Zarek had never known a day's suffering, however, not a lack of rest nor a hint of true hunger, and though he is but few turns away from his third nameday, encroaching upon them in the second month of the year, the disease passed by him quickly. It is the fourth day now, and his appetite was ferocious when she had broken her fast with him on honeyed bread and fruit, he was eagerly chasing a cat he had spotted right thereafter, and only during their walk in the open air did any sort of fatigue catch him. Awake he remained for the waterfalls and his spotting of a large bird of prey, though he was solidly asleep in her arms soon enough on their way back. Before she set him down in his bed, she felt his forehead for the umpteenth time, but it is as the healer had assured her: he is well once more, even the cough is gone.

Relieved, she leaves the boy to his afternoon nap, and goes again to find her husband. Gone had he been in the earliest hours of morning, as was his usual way, though it is strange that he not even been present to ignore her request to join her and their son for their morning meal, nor has she seen hide nor hair of him since.

She finds him in his study, in the end, and it does not take more than a look for her to know what has befallen him. There is a glaze to his otherwise so sharp eyes, a pallor to his skin, dark rings beneath his eyes. The lips dry and cracked, his breath the lightest rasp. "My emperor." She inclines her head, though she is trying fast to suppress a hint of mirth. "If you would excuse me for another moment?"

Comments

[reignfall]

"I am sure we could each put up a sincere fight." And right now, it might be as close to an equal one as they are ever like to get, and she still would not fancy her chances. Not in a direct confrontation, but she doubts he has ever feared direct confrontation. It is other things that trouble him, hidden things, secrets, whispered treasons. Out of a hundred levelled against him, he must, in the end, only miss one.

But the truth remains that she does not hate him, and that he, in turn, fails to hate her as well. She has half a mind to wish for a dose of this sickness, so she would at least have reason to fall to such an insanity.

"Of course." Fresh hot water is procured from above the fireplace, and she brews him but a single fresh cup this time. It is best served hot, and she sees no need to share in it each and every time he must suffer the earthy taste. This time, she does not ask if he requires honey – a drop of it is simply added. "I can gather more if need be, but for now, there is enough left to last you through the night."

She turns away from him, if only to open the window, to let in some fresh air. "The cloth helps?"

[borntoreign]

The window will not open more than a crack, and the air that comes in is laced with ice. He does not watch her try, focusing instead on holding the tea cup steady, on willing his hands not to shake as he raises the bitter, earthy tea to his lips.

"It helps." He cannot disguise the resentment in his tone, but it does not seem worth lying. The cloth does help, leeching away some of the aching heat of his fever into temporary, but blessed, cool. He wonders, in the back of his mind, whether it is not false help - after all, he has always been taught that the best thing for a fever is to sweat it out, and perhaps this will only slow the process - but it is hard not to be grateful for the soothing cold.

It is hard not to be grateful for several things. He wants to be grateful for none of them. Gratitude is only a form of obligation, and he will suffer obligation to no cause but his own.

And yet, the glimpse of her from the corner of his eye is oddly comforting, and he is oddly grateful.

"A sincere fight would not help you. You are a long way from home, here." Where threats dwell, surely, obligation does not.

[reignfall]

It was a cold morning, but it seems to have turned to an even colder afternoon. For as mesmerised as she had been by the country upon her arrival, she has quickly begun to question how any soul has managed to settle here – though it does explain, she reckons, why Casimir has come to claim warmer shores for himself. It does not much surprise her when the window barely budges: even back home, he has made sure the windows do not make for easy access points. That she used to sleep with her windows wide open as a girl is not something she has ever mentioned to him, knowing well to how much ridicule she would open herself to.

"No, I suppose if you truly turned against me, my chances of survival are low. The goal truly would be not to go alone." And that seems achievable, and she wonders if he takes comfort in this casual exchanging of threats.

"It would be better to cool your calves." This is what was done with Joffrey, when the fever kept him awake and glassy-eyed. A cooling, wet cloth around his lower legs, which gave him the relief he needed to sink back into a healing sleep. The window is pushed shut again – she cannot stand the ice-cold air coming in through the crack, and she turns back to him with a shiver. "How does anyone live here?"

[borntoreign]

He fixes her with an only somewhat glassy stare, and he will not admit to himself how grateful he is that the conversation has shifted back towards more solid ground. Not that anything feels particularly solid just now, with the world blurring and smearing at the edges and the bed seeming to shift queasily beneath him.

"By growing hard." If he has heard the part about cooling his calves, he does not seem about to act upon it. He has fixated on the latter part, instead. That is an answer that has no uncomfortable doubt associated with it. It comes with an answer to his current state, too, which he seizes upon. "That is the trouble with King's Landing. It is too warm and too peaceful, living is too easy, and you all grow complacent in it. See what happens when I spend too long in a soft place like that? Only a few years, and I am already falling prey to a cold on my return."

It is, perhaps, not the best argument he has ever come up with. It also doesn't exactly gel with what he has said up to this point, or with what he would like to express. In the moment, though, it seems very convincing.