[ Will does not regret returning to Grand Trad, but for a few days, secretly and in the privacy of his heart where Akademeia once stood, he does sort of regret the fact that he did not relish his private vacation with Louis for a little while longer. It was so nice while it lasted: only having to think about the sea spray in the air, and the fresh breeze on the deck, and the beasts that they would slay for sport and profit and minor bits of political support. Now that Will is no adventurer but a king again, he feels caught between too many parties: boardrooms, courtrooms, his people, his friends, the nobility, the church. It is clear that the nation is in no condition to hear about the king's betrothal to Louis Guiabern, in no small part because Louis himself has yet to win over the king's own confidants.
(Nearly all of the Partisans see no value in the idea of Will marrying Louis. Gallica only buzzes in confusion until Will finally admits to her that he truly does love the man. Junah, Eupha, and Hulkenberg seem actively decided against it, perhaps in no small part because all three would have better access to the kinds of stories that arise when frail princesses are married to tyrants — though of the three, Eupha somewhat surprisingly seems the most amenable to being persuaded about the idea. Strohl seems to flip-flop in his position, occasionally mentioning that he sees the political merit in it, then casting his golden-brown eyes to the floor as he contemplates the prospect of a country with the man he nearly sees as his father's killer on the throne. Fidelio and Basilio generally treat the idea as more of a joke than anything else, though Will has detected flashes of frustration in Fidelio's yellow eyes, as though what truly frustrates him is the idea that perhaps he never understood Louis at all.
Only Neuras knows the way that Louis and Will had curled up with each other on the runner, each laying on the other's warmth, turning idle pages, fingers carding through silken hair. Only Louis knows the way that his warm hands and low whispers made Will tense up, aching for more than careful touch.)
...Heismay does come to threaten Louis one night.
Or perhaps that's not quite his objective. The eugief comes and goes near-silently; it's an easy thing for him to be found waiting for Louis to emerge from the bath in his quarters, hanging upside-down from the ceiling, arms folded in his usual eugief way.
The man doesn't bother with the usual sort of intimidation before an interrogation — only launches into his remarks. "I know not whether you still have designs upon this nation," Heismay murmurs in a quiet, low voice, "but I have taken the measure of you, Louis. You do not strike me as the sort of man who would claw his way to the throne through seduction and marriage. You strike me as the kind of man who is too prideful to do that."
A pause, and then his gleaming red eyes vanish completely from sight.
"My advice to you — not as your enemy, but as an older man who once lost what he loved — is this: cherish him. Every moment you have with him. You and he deserve better than what men like me were given."
Regardless — Will knows nothing of this. The following morning, he looks pale, a little disoriented. He tries to hide it from his friends, particularly Gallica, who is thinking the same thing he is: He looks the way he did when he was suffering from Rella's curse.
He manages to shake off the blur in his vision, powering his way through breakfast, and then a tedious meeting featuring traders from the merchants' guild, come to protest wages withheld by their employers. During the strategy meeting with his Partisans that comes afterward, when the idea of the engagement with Louis is brought up again, he finally finds it in his body to relax, let his shoulders slump, heave a sigh —
— only to collapse outright from the chair in which he's seated.
Everyone stands up in a panic after that.
Eupha is already channeling an Archetype of the Healer line as Hulkenberg calls for a doctor, but the issue affecting his magla, the mustari reports soon afterward, is not one that an Archetype can solve. The ordinary doctors quibble about what ails him: An illness? An infection? Another curse? (There is some talk of bloodletting; another doctor says the leech enthusiast should be fired.)
Basilio mutters under his breath about how he doesn't like these kinds of doctors; Strohl admits readily that they should have done a better job of cleaning house in the medical department. The royal doctors were the ones who let Hythlodaeus V become bedridden, but no one had thought to remove them until Will came down sick. ]
[ Louis sees no reason to divulge his feelings – how could any of them possibly understand? both Louis and Will have done terrible things to one another, both forgiving of each other's transgressions in favor of their affections. when he watches the Partisans argue over Will's choices, he feels a quiet rage flicker inside of him that never quite reaches the surface. out of all of this, they can only still think of their own pain, and not the complicated net of circumstances that created it: one they were all very much a part of. for the most part, Louis does not accuse them of their own missteps; it is, in most ways, useless. it's not because he sees some moral superiority in it, but simply because he's kept it to himself for so long that it seems like walking into an impasse. he's been blamed for far worse, and it's never hindered his strength.
there are a few glances passed his way, and he knows the question that is now repeating like a mantra in all of their minds: did Louis Guiabern do this? for a moment he hates all of them, viciously, displacing his worry for rage.
"It could be that another curse was ..." the doctor is looking at him, out of the corner of her eye, uttering the thought into being by breathing life into the words.
that's it. Louis is done watching them scramble like rats in their ignorance, flitting around the king how he remembers them flitting around Hythlodeaus in his bedridden grief. from behind the mingle of people that have made their way into Will's private quarters, Louis steps up.
"Leave," he demands, voice sharp. "Now."
"With all due respect, only the –"
"Leave or I will drag you out."
the doctors all look at one another, some of their mouths agape, others trying to find words to argue where Louis left no room for argument. now threatened, they all leave the room, Basilio muttering under how it's easier to breathe now. Hulkenberg looks like she wants to retaliate Louis' demands, but only glares at him for now.
"You, General Strohl. There's an eldan village to the east, take the most trusted of your soldiers and seek Gruidae. She has a text that details magla flow in the body. Travel through the night if you must and do not rest until your return."
"This isn't a curse, is it?" Gallica asks, already knowing the answer. "It's something else."
Louis nods, briefly, and from Will's side, Eupha does too. pulling glove off of his middle finger, he presses a palm to Will's forehead. he's hot, and Louis can only trace the flow of the magla like a dull feeling in his nerves.
"Remove these," he says to Eupha, holding out his wrist, adorn with the bracelets.
"I'm ... sorry?"
"I can't be of use to him if I'm still chained. You can shackle me again after this is over if it comforts you."
"You cannot be serious," Hulkenberg interjects. Eupha's inquiring gaze meets hers. Right now, her anger seems to match Louis', out of both terror of failure and concern for her beloved prince. "Will you still be a threat? It's not far from here that you drove a blade into the king's chest."
"And it's not far from here that you chased a culprit of whom you convinced yourself was me. I'm here because your king wills it – you either trust his judgement or I will find another way to shatter these chains without your aid."
"If you mean treachery, I swear by my blade, Louis Guiabern –"
Eupha's removing the bracelets, taking them gingerly from Louis' wrists and into her hands. her expression is mixed, she certainly doesn't trust this man with much, but the two of them have reached an understanding on Will's condition.
"If you use too much magla, I'll know." that is her only warning.
watching Will for a moment, Louis notes how small he looks cradled under the covers, a wince crossing his expression.
(Basilio and Fidelio glance at one another. "He's still got it, eh? I haven't heard him this mad in a long while. Still a bit rough, though." Fidelio grins.) ]
[ Strohl, ever the general who never quite stopped being a soldier, is always quick to answer an order when he's been given one. "I'll take the runner," he answers quickly, already halfway out the door.
Junah isn't present in the room — she's off at the Mage's Academy again today, and as she doesn't have the runner, she can't herself teleport over — but Heismay watches the group in her stead for a few moments, his bright eugief eyes nearly as glassy as her brilliant nidia irises. After another moment, he disappears. "I'll go with Strohl," are his last remarks before they set off. It's likely a thought with some strategy behind it; Heismay was always their barrelman whenever they were out on the runner together, and while Neuras likely won't need a second set of eyes to watch for enemies in the air, it's better for Strohl to not be the only combatant on the runner, all the same.
...
In his slumber, Will dreams.
It's not a very nice dream, but it's also a very disjointed one. He is human again, impossibly large, with curse-magenta magla surging through his veins. The little teeth monsters want to play hide-and-seek with him, but when he tries to step forward to find them, he accidentally crushes a few under his feet. He's very sad about this. He cries a little.
When he wakes, he's not quite so distressed, but he's vaguely conscious of yelling around him, an argument taking place. His brow furrows; he's still not fully awake. The teeth all seem very upset with him — or are they just upset over him? He can't quite tell...
His lashes flutter open; his eyes scan the room blearily. Did they return him to his own bed, or is this a bed in another room? His eyes scan colors, shapes; there's Eupha over there to his left, the Magnus brothers in the corner, Hulkenberg by the wall. Louis, close by his bedside, his long-lashed eyes positively burning with fury and — what seems like — ]
...Louis...?
[ His lashes flutter closed, then open again. He gropes weakly for Louis's wrist. The man's hand feels so cool on his forehead; can he move it to his cheek and neck too? It would feel so nice, so comforting... ]
Don't look so sad... I just had a bad dream, that's all...
[ Will stirs, and the pure anger that was driving Louis seems to fade to mist, even if the tension in the room does not. standing above him, Louis presses his hand against his temple, cradling his cheek. his touch is gentle, cool, and now that the suppressors are gone, he guides the flow of magla. it does not offer much relief for the king, but it does some, like a trickle of water down a dry throat.
the change in Louis' voice surprises Eupha, who watches the two of them diligently. ]
Do you remember what happened?
[ he asks lowly, allowing Will to guide his hand with the slightest of touch. at the slightest twitch of his fingers, he glides his palm down his neck, offering some relief to the heat.
a little louder, he speaks to those behind him. ]
I need water, and someone get me Fermis Ointment.
[ Eupha takes it upon herself to rush back through the door to get Louis the supplies that he's asking for: she knows he'll ask for more as well, and she should start prepping for when he does. after seeing him touch Will, she has no qualms leaving them alone. it was all that she needed.
"Call for us when you need us," Fidelio says, dismissing himself with Basilio on his heels. Hulkenberg wants to throw another threat, but she doesn't. instead she leaves behind the two brothers to guard the door. it's a sensitive thing when the king is ill – it opens him to many other types of threats, and she needs to fulfill her duty her king (it also allows her to keep an eye on Louis), as well as manage those that would see him. ]
The teeth monsters wanted to play with me, but I hurt them when I tried to touch them...
[ Will mumbles in a quiet, tired voice. His magla is all out of sorts, coiling in frazzled knots, but Louis's guiding hands slowly pull things back into place where they belong. It won't cure the malady that ails him, not by a long shot, but at the very least, it will ease his suffering for a moment. Tension eases out of his body in slow increments, bringing his shoulders down, and his eyes ever closer to closed again. ]
I feel bad. They only wanted to play...
[ Eupha stumbles back into the room, carrying the supplies that Louis requested; she sets them on the bedside table with the brisk, efficient manner of a nurse attending to a doctor's orders. Perhaps she's not so unused to this as Will thinks she is; the people of Eht Ria looked to her as a priestess before this, so perhaps she really has seen her fair share of patients. And yet, this must be such a strange experience for her, some more lucid part of Will realizes dimly. She always looked at her Captain as a source of strength and knowledge about the outside world — now here she stands, seeing a new side of him, and of Louis. Watching her nation's leader in bed with the covers pulled up to his neck, mumbling to his lover in a sweetly boyish voice.
Weakly, Will's fingerpads press into Louis's knuckles, in a manner that would be insistent if it were just not so terribly light. He looks into Louis's eyes, seeking his attention; the look in his blue irises is both glazed-over and impossibly loving. ]
...If you stay here, you'll catch what I've got. And then they'll be alone again...
[ Louis says with a heave of his chest. as each body leaves the room, the air yields, and the magla begins to disperse. Eupha keeps her head tilted, watching, as if she's keeping an eye on the flow of it from where she's standing. ]
It seems the nightmares are an symptom of the condition.
[ most likely from Will's anxieties, but Louis keeps that part to himself.
"Lady Gruidae said you came from a family of medics," Gallica says, as if she's suddenly recalling something that makes all of this click into place. "Charadrius, the name of your skyrunner."
"Yes, I remember now," Eupha replies. "That knowledge ..." ]
I don't have much of it, but I have more than those ignorant pissants that would rather indulge in archaic practices than aid their king.
[ there's a bite to Louis' voice, but it dies down again when he turns to the bedside to tend to Will. much to Will's displeasure, he has to remove his hand to apply the ointment: smudged just below his hairline, behind his ears, and Louis folds down the blanket and unbuttons the king's tunic to smear it over his chest, just above his collar.
"You're going to do what you can to help him, aren't you?" Gallica asks. she is, admittedly, still conflicted. ]
Are you truly asking me that?
[ it is some relief to her, who buzzes next to Will's bedside to put a little fairy hand on his hot cheek.
"He's burning up..." ]
We won't be able to do much until your General returns. [ Louis eyes Gallica, and then Eupha. he offers a slick smile that is more knowing than cheerful. ] As for you, your aid will be needed when they do. If I were you, I'd get a good rest in, and perhaps a bath. We may be in for a long night.
[ Eupha nods, hesitating, and then leaves on his suggestion. there's not much that they can do now, especially since Louis has sent all the doctors away. at least there will be no bloodletting tonight. ]
You too. [ Louis says to Gallica. ] I'll stay here at his side. There are those that would take advantage of this ... opportunity. You did this aboard the Charadrius, did you not? A little reconnaissance could go a long way, even within the walls of the palace. Find those that saw him in such a state, see if there are rumors beginning to circulate.
[ at first Gallica doesn't seem to want to leave, but then she does, with a new sense of duty. she's getting rather good at these little missions.
[ Dimly, Will is aware that Louis ordered Eupha and Gallica out of the room, and that his Partisans are now taking orders from Louis in his stead. He smiles a little vacantly at the thought. Are they already married? That would be nice. It’s such a shame that he doesn't remember the ceremony...
Louis's question reaches his mind after another moment. It's so hard to think, suddenly, and he can't quite seem to understand why — how did his fever get so hot, so fast? Or has it been this bad for the past few hours, in a way where no one else quite noticed, or could only suspect something wrong?
...Now that his friends aren't around, and he doesn't have to be strong for them, Will slumps further in the bed, his head lolling slightly to one side where he rests on the pillow. His sheer exhaustion finally shows on his face. ]
I don't know... everywhere. I... I ache everywhere. Down to my bones.
[ With considerable effort, he takes hold of Louis's hand again, cradling it as if it would be a great comfort to him. Still weakly, he presses it to his sternum, right below where Louis applied a dab of cooling ointment. ]
Here... where the curse hit me. In my chest, through to my back... It hurts.
[ even if Gallica comes up with nothing (though somehow Louis does doubt that there aren't rumors already spreading), then at least she has a duty that feels useful. Fidelio and Basilio had caught on as he barked out orders – it felt a bit like old times, when something would happen and Count Louis would take command, as if he somehow knew exactly what to do.
(he's not quite sure if he stationed himself at Will's side out of concern and affection, or if it seemed the most reasonable conclusion. if there were someone who meant to take advantage of the king's illness, they'd have to get through Hulkenberg, Basilio and Fidelio, and then through him. if they got through Hulkenberg, Louis reasoned, it was because she did not have the propensity for extreme violence that he did. then he would kill them.)
Louis' strength was never control, quite the opposite, instead he seemed to know exactly how to handle the chaos in his favor. ]
Your body still remembers.
[ and most likely always would. Louis' hand wanders up his chest to the point of pain, his face blank in concentration. ah, yes, the magla was a tangle there, as if it were trying to retrace the edges of an old wound, forcing it to reopen. for Louis, it's remembering the opposite of the outcome of his own human experiments, and applying the technique and spells differently.
it's like untangling a ball of yarn tied in knots: easier to create than unmake. ]
[ ...He's gazing at Louis like he wants to eat him.
This is absolutely not the right time for Will's hindbrain to be thinking about the weight of Louis's hand on his lower back!
Though he does at least look sufficiently charming: eyes glossy, cheeks flushed, skin hot. If it weren't for the slightly pale cast to his olive skin, he'd paint a tempting picture of a king in need.
Regardless — he's not in good health right now for the need that he may be craving. He does shiver a little as Louis's hand slides towards his core, where Rella's curse would have ravaged his heart for the last twelve years; his flesh is in good health, but his magla is all a-tangle. Louis pulls it loose, bit by bit. The act of healing him is only slightly less difficult than what Will would have gone through when he spent a full day weaving the incorporeal strings of Louis's flesh together, forming him from the remnants of his shattered magla.
For a sick person, he does at least seem quite happy to have Louis's attention right now... ]
[ well, Louis really has to admire that despite being this ill, that Will still has the wherewithal to let his brain dip between his legs. he supposes that's a good sign, isn't it?
at first his head tilts, and then a sort of amused smile passes his face. if he didn't center himself somewhat, he realizes that Will's expression would have him thoroughly seduced. ]
You hardly have the strength to be bedded right now.
[ sorry, Will's horny thoughts.
Louis does guide his hand across Will's chest, along the soft dips in sensitive skin, taking note of the beat of his heart. he can only slightly shift the magla, as he's not familiar with what it should look like (only how to mess it up). it seems to be soothing him, at least, though Louis can't tell if it's the spell or the touch.
with the Partisans busy, and most likely off to allow them some time before someone reports back (he assumes Gallica will be first, and he doesn't exactly mind being caught by her) or Will's condition changes, he shifts Will just slightly to slip into bed next to him. being taller, his weight creates a dip in the soft mattress, though it's certainly large enough for ten Wills. he does have to rearrange the king slightly, as he's too weak to do it himself, but he rests his hand on his collar, keeping watch of his condition.
[ Their bodies always seem to slot nicely together, and then settle perfectly together. Will normally sleeps perfectly still on his back, as though held in place by some frozen hand of time, but with Louis pillowed against him, Will turns onto his side, holding the man he would have gone to hell and back to claim (and in some ways did).
He hasn't forgotten about what they did to each other, but there's no reason to linger on it, either. Louis is with him, doting on him, hasn't left his side. There's something inherently soothing about Louis's scent, the weight of his body, the feel of his skin.
In vague bursts of color and image, Will dreams of being snuggled up next to a giant Plateau. When he tries to move, Plateau bats at him with one paw and pulls him closer again.
After some few hours, Gallica does come back, with the very faint sound of twinkling that heralds her adjusting her magla to be perceptible to most people again. "Louis? I'm back. How's — oh!"
She cuts herself off. As soon as she flies into the room and sets eyes on the way Louis has curled up over Will's body, protective as a chimera with its pups, Gallica claps a hand over her mouth and immediately makes herself scarce again. Whether or not Louis stirs is irrelevant. Perhaps she's gone to report what she saw to Eupha, who may still be contemplating Louis's gentle touch in her own quarters, and how little she truly understands the man who may soon be marrying her king.
...
At length, Strohl returns. Having shed his general's cape and armor for the slightly dusty traveling coat that carried him through the initial campaign to defeat Louis, the young clemar man doesn't jostle and jingle so much as he strides into the king's bedchamber, Gruidae's book in hand. Heismay and — for whatever reason — the Magnus brothers follow not long after.
"Louis," Strohl says, as if calling out to a friend — unintentionally blustering, voice just slightly too loud. "I've got the book." ]
[ for a few hours, they rest. Will is allowed some peace, and while he slumbers, Louis gently shifts the paths of the magla from the infinite tangle they seem to have gotten themselves into. there's is curiosity in what caused this – if it was something to do with their elda nature, or perhaps the loss of the sceptre and the anxieties of the people put upon will, or something else lost in the pages of another book somewhere.
Louis laughed when Will asked him if he would've been a healer. that knowledge of magla that his family had passed down had only been used for his own destructive means, and never for the use it was intended for. this is the first time he had ever thought to use it that way – or, rather, was forced to use it that way. healing is much harder than destroying, and requires far more of his concentration, but he finds the effort worth it to see Will sleeping soundly for at least a while.
out of the corner of his eye he catches Gallica, but she quickly excuses herself from the room without a word.
eventually, Louis does have to untangle himself from Will, though he knows there will be protest. there's ointment to reapply, as his fever hasn't budged, and thirst to alleviate: both Will's and Louis'. with a firm hand, he guides Will to sit and drink, urging him to take one more sip on the basis of "you'll need to keep up with me later." that's how Strohl finds them, with Louis keeping Will steady with one hand, and holding the goblet with the other so Will can tip it toward his lips. at first he doesn't acknowledge him, but when Will finishes and Louis settles him down again, he gets up from his bedside. ]
Good. She didn't protest, I take it? She does like to sit on useful knowledge.
[ there's a little drawl to his voice that he usually kept under wraps, given the circumstances of his own political campaign, but there's no reason to hold back now. Louis liked the command in his voice, rather than the cattiness, but both were there depending on his mood.
Strohl takes a look between them, then shares a glance with Heismay.
"I told her it was for the king." ]
Wise move.
[ Louis says, and Strohl doesn't seem to know what to do with getting direct praise from Louis Guiabern. it's enough for Louis to pluck the book from his grasp and leaf through it.
then comes the other questions he knew were coming.
"How is he?" ]
Stable, for the most part. His magla is an unintelligible web that is causing him some distress. The nightmares have subsided, as long as the threshold of stress remains at a minimum. You can go see him, if you'd like.
[ Strohl just nods and takes a few long strides toward Will's bedside, still smelling of the night air.
Louis watches Heismay follow Strohl at a more leisurely pace, both of them watching each other out of the corner of their eye, though Heismay seems more calm now. well, he doesn't dwell on it.
instead he turns to speak with Basilio and Fidelio with getting the remainder of the supplies and calling for Eupha and Gallica – Eupha will be needed as an aid, given that she's the most gifted with magla being a mustari. Basilio makes a comment about how he's never "seen this side of Louis" that Louis decides to pointedly ignore in favor of finishing the business needed to heal the king. ]
[ Strohl frowns, still mildly discomfited by Louis's unexpected praise, and his own realization that he's slowly getting used to addressing the man like any other member of their group. In his mind, he fully understands that this isn't necessarily a bad thing — but it would have been unthinkable to him only a few short weeks ago.
There's a real fear, deep in an anxious corner of his heart, that this might be the thing that finally claims Will's life, either because they only ever bought him a little more time from the curse that Rella admitted was killing her too, or because this is all some dastardly machination of Louis's. But it's hard to argue with the tender expression on that man's handsome face when Strohl walked in — and Fidelio and Basilio never described him as a great actor. He was many things before he died, but he was never particularly adept at lying.
...Sometimes Strohl suspects that he of all the Partisans knows best how their group is largely held together by Will. Maybe it's because he's been with Will the longest; maybe it's because he's usually the fastest to admit to his own faults and shortcomings. If the king died, he doesn't think they'd all fall apart — but the rifts between them would rise up again, and secretly, he's not sure that any of them are above infighting and petty squabbles.
When she found out that Will was sick, Junah had said, "If only Rella were still here!"
And then, for some reason, Heismay had drawled, "She never had the best track record of treating him, mind."
Junah had sort of — she hadn't gotten angry. But she'd sort of stuttered, in a strangely flustered and then broken-hearted way that Strohl had never seen from her, and then she turned on her heel and made up an excuse to leave. There's a part of him that sort of thinks that Heismay was being a bit of an ass about it, given the way Rella died in front of her; there's an equal part of him that sort of sees what Heismay was getting at, the way Rella had lied about everything, and wasn't without her faults, though they'd all agreed that Forden was at the heart of them. As for Heismay, Strohl hadn't pressed the old eugief on why he'd been so cruel. It's a small comfort to him that Heismay doesn't complain about the paripus anymore.
Still, he thinks. It wouldn't have happened if Will had been awake. Something about him makes the rest of them better people than they'd be without him, and part of that is scary, too.
Who would I be if I didn't have Will? he thinks.
And then, on a different topic: Louis would probably still hate Rella if she were still alive.
Sighing, he takes the few long strides towards Will's bedside, reaching out to the king with bare hands to check his temperature. "Hey, Will," he says softly, as if speaking to a younger brother. The tone of his voice is warmer and stronger than he feels at the moment. The elda's forehead burns under his palm. "How are you feeling?"
Will smiles, falling back against the pillows. "I'm okay," he murmurs softly. "Louis has been really nice to me."
Strohl lets out another quiet sigh of relief.
In the next few moments, Will is rubbing his face against Strohl's chest, ostensibly because he likes the soft material of Strohl's turtleneck sweater, and as the poor clemar turns redder and redder by the second, babbling awkwardly and glancing at Louis with some strangely guilty expression on his face — it is at least some relief that when Heismay steps in to help, Will also scoops the eugief up in a hug, squeezing and rubbing his face against the man's soft ears.
Gallica, who has by now materialized with Eupha, presses her small fairy palm against her face in exasperation. "What is he, charmed? Does someone have Patra? Can someone try Patra?!" ]
[ Louis wonders, absently, if Strohl thinks that he's jealous. that's quite a funny look he's getting from Will's bedside, and while his eyes wander over, he finally turns his head to look at him and makes it a deliberate point of discomfort.
then, he says, both to the red-faced Strohl and the Heismay whose ears are now framing Will's face: ]
Should you not comfort your king?
[ there is an aloof confidence that he oozes when he says that, as if the words were thick in his mouth. Louis is not certain when he fell into this – this sort of ... joking with them. still, as if unused to it, the whole room goes quiet for a moment, eyes fixed on Louis, the only noise a soft intake of breath from Eupha.
the room remains tense for a moment, and the Basilio cracks. it's hard not to laugh at the Very Serious expressions everyone is making. Fidelio cracks a semi-amused smile.
"The lot of you have got to get used to this."
one of the frustrating aspects of this entire ordeal is not whether or not Louis would harm the king, but rather the way in which he would. curses and poisons, while are in his toolkit of magla arts, are not his preferred method of battle. for Will, especially, who earned his respect enough for Louis Guiabern to become his partner, he would end at the tip of a blade – or, perhaps, Will would end him. they owe that to one another.
so, yes, he would hate Rella if she had lived – he does still hate Rella now. it wasn't her that ruined his life, but she was a stark reminder how the church viewed any combatant. she was someone seen as pure, saintly, and then in contrast, he was the power-hungry aristocrat.
just as Louis has settled in his joke, he notices a flap of wings in front of his face, and a fairy buzzing around his head.
"You can't – you just can't joke like that with a straight face! Not when you're you," Gallica is waving her finger at him.
is he being scolded? is she scolding him? so brashly, too.
Louis stares at her looking bright-eyed and a bit like he's never been told off like this in his life. ]
[ The thing that breaks the tension is the sound of sweetly innocent laughter from the bed.
It is Will, of course, who is laughing in a manner that is far too alert for someone who currently has his head cradled atop Heismay's fuzzy head and between his long, fluffy ears.
"...Hey!!!" Strohl blusters, having finally caught on. "You aren't delirious at all! You, you rascal — !"
It's some moments more before everyone realizes that Will has, at least at this juncture, been faking his illness; certainly he is still feverish, certainly that part can't possibly be faked, but he's not so far gone as to have become a monstrous cuddlebug for anything less than his own amusement. (And what a cuddlebug he is! Strohl is still beet-red as he leaves the room, blushing all the way up to his ears, and half-clutching his chest as though he feels as if he's had some sort of maidenly virtue plucked from him. Heismay flicks his ears, apparently more amused than bashful, though something about the curve of his lips is somewhat more smug than usual.)
Gradually, the Partisans aside from Eupha are convinced to leave (aside from Hulkenberg, who has continued to ferociously guard the door), and Will, who is now sufficiently "comforted," sinks back into his pillow. He is not so prideful that he does not allow Eupha to gently mop at his brow with a cold towel.
She makes as if to wipe down his body as well, but Will furrows his brow a little and bats at her as if his hand is a cat's paw. ]
Don't, Eupha, please... Edeni would kill me.
[ If he found out I was treating his sister like a common nursemaid, he means, but Eupha only shakes her head. "When the villagers on the island were sick, I would do this for them, too," she says solemnly, but she does relent, dropping the towel back into the bowl.
She looks towards Louis, at length. "Well?" she asks. "Has Lady Gruidae's book provided any enlightenment? I stand ready to assist you as needed."
The expression on her face is a little drawn, a little tight. Despite Will's good cheer, Eupha knows full well that his magla is still rather snarled and knotted. ]
[ it's oddly soothing to see Will interact with his friends, perhaps because he's been ill enough to be concerned over his comfort. it's odd for Louis Guiabern, as well, so much that a passing thought flits across his mind about how soft he's allowed himself to become. yet despite that, Will, stronger than him, does not compromise his strength for affection. it may be that fact, the one Louis is slowly allowing himself to realize, that is truly soothing.
the Partisans stay their welcome, then slowly begin to trickle out with the understanding that it's time for treatment. Louis expects some push-back from at least one of them, but it doesn't come. he's not quite sure how he feels about that, but luckily for him he has means of sucking down how he feels tossed into Will's condition.
the book is laid over the table, and Eupha comes to review the magla pathways. it's dissected over several pages, the information having been re-drawn and re-imagined over the centuries. they are intricate, beautiful works of art, showing the way magla moves between the blood vessels and dances around nerve endings. it even shows at which points the magla enters each organ, and the symptoms of what happens when the pathways are diverted. there are several yellow-edged, folded papers within the book, either adding to the list of symptoms or relaying unique patient cases.
"I did not know that such knowledge even existed ..."
Louis sighs, and somewhat blandly replies: "The elda like to keep most of their cherished knowledge to themselves."
Louis goes on, and doesn't linger too long on the thought. the book is in his possession now, and he's most likely going to deliberately (and spitefully) make it part of his own library.
"I believe that the king's former curse is causing restriction in the flow of magla in the physical sense. His body is receiving it as an obstruction, and thus the fever. Possibly due to his own anxiety, and physiology as an elda."
"Then we can clear it," Eupha replies. she gets the gist of it, anyway.
"It's not so different from creating humans," Louis says with clinical distance that makes Eupha shudder. she shakes it off, focusing on how his light fingers glide across the page, tracing the pathway that the magla should be taking. in all honesty, she does not want to think about how she's alone with Louis in this, and just how it will help Will.
Louis presses his palm to Will's forehead, brushing back his bangs and holding the contact. ]
This treatment will not be kind to you.
[ it is a warning. he knows that Will is strong, and his pain tolerance is rather high, but it needs to be said. more so, Louis' concern lays in that it may remind Will of something else: how he was violated on the steps of the Grand Cathedral. ]
[ Will has a way of closing his eyes and leaning into Louis's touch whenever it's offered, as though gentle contact alone will soothe his aches and pains. This case, too, is no exception. he doesn't seem to have any shame about cozying up to Louis in front of Eupha; maybe it's because Louis has already primed him to act without shame in front of his friends. Regardless, he looks relaxed as he states with confidence: ]
I can endure.
[ The memory of the pain that seized him outside of the Grand Cathedral no longer disturbs him as it once did — indeed, it stopped hurting him the day he accepted his true identity as the kingdom's prince. And, of course, he has forgiven Louis. If he can forgive his people for their initial rejection of him, how could he not forgive Louis?
...Though, in a different way — the level of trust needed for this is nearly painful. His friends would surely ask: how could he forgive Louis? How is it that he sits here now, fully willing to give control of his body over to a man who previously used it, twisted it to his own satisfaction?
Will offers no answers. He leans back into his pillow and relaxes his shoulders, looking for all the world the way he did when he was only a vision in the Farsight Mirror, caught in eternal slumber, the invalid who was as good as dead to the masses and could only dream of a better world. Do your worst, he seems to be saying to Louis. ]
[ in a way, it is a subtle ask for trust; it's never been something Louis has been particular good at. trust had failed him over and over again, and then was discarded for his own ambitions against those that trusted him.
finding the meaning of such a concept when he had grappled with it all his life is slow going, but there is progress. ]
Good.
[ Eupha, who wears her heart on her sleeve, finds it difficult not to worry her bottom lip. it is just her and Louis, and if Louis does betray them, she doesn't know if she can take him alone. the rest of the Partisans are outside the door, she knows, but would it be too late? could she counter Louis Guiabern for the fragile moments needed if he wages an attack?
"Come, focus. There is no room for failure" he demands. as if to do so himself, he pulls his hair up into a tall ponytail, keeping the flyaways from his face.
"Oh, yes!"
under Louis' guiding voice, the two begin. the process is quite long, careful, and strenuous. Louis has Eupha brew a diaphoretic tea, one that's made to "move Will's blood closer to the skin," to begin to clear the pathways and make them more malleable. when the tea settles, Louis gets to work, it's not unlike the spell he used to turn Will human, leaving dim lights of glowing magenta in the air, lingering around his body as each river of magla comes to life. there is discomfort, as there are some nerves in the body more prone to the anxiety than others, causing a clench in the belly, nausea, pain – bringing with them exhaustion, trembling and tension. Eupha holds a bowl in case Will loses what little he has in his stomach. the first knots release, and it's like a wash of relief for all of them.
the session goes into the night, lasting almost until dawn.
there's more to be done, but come the early morning hours, Louis considers them finished for the night. it would be cruel to put more strain on Will's body, and he'd like to allow the king some rest. she wanders, exhausted, to tell the Partisans of their progress, alleviating their worries and allowing them to rest as well. Hulkenberg comes in to see Will, noting that Louis, despite holding himself admirably, looks rather drained. (he'd admit later that it was a worse exhaustion than being in battle, and that he'd take the battle over the healing.)
when she leaves, they're left alone again, and everything seems quiet and still. Louis peels back Will's shirt from the perspiration, now damp with fluids, pressing a cool towel to his sticky neck. ]
Rest now.
[ Louis says, his own eyes half lidded with circles that look like fresh bruises beneath them. ]
[ Will's one regret, when all is said and done, is that Eupha had to see him like that.
As Louis promised, it was not a kind process. Will tried to be strong, he really did, but the agonizing feeling of having his magla undone and rerouted got the better of him eventually. He did retch into that bowl Eupha so thoughtfully prepared for him, although he hadn't eaten much in the morning; what came out was largely only clear bile, but even so, it had left an acrid, sour taste at the back of Will's throat until she came back to him with water. He'd gripped his sheets until his knuckles turned white, wrists shaking with each helpless spasm of his body.
The young king is lying in bed now, completely spent, too weak even to protest Louis's ministrations. His body feels too hot, but his hands are too cold. His voice feels a little hoarse, though he'd largely been quiet, and kept his muffled screaming to a minimum; even so, his throat aches when he tries to speak. The weight of his limbs feels like too much, even to himself, though the cooling touch of Louis's towel makes him feel much better, more invigorated.
Weak and drowsy for it, he looks at Louis, swallowing hard on a sudden lump in his throat. ]
...You need to rest, too...
[ Even through his blurry vision, Will can see, clearly, that there's an exhausted pallor to Louis's already-pale skin, and dark circles underneath his eyes. And yet, the elda only thinks to himself: He's truly the most beautiful man in the world. ]
[ Will is right, of course, Louis does need to rest. they will need to follow-up with treatment and do this again as Will regains his strength. one more and the king should be well, Louis figures, knowing that the longer the king is absent, the more rumors will pass between those who wish to harm him. any fracture of strength could be seen as a weakness for anyone with the taste for power and destruction.
it would be a shame for a king who has so much of the world to change. ]
There will be a time for it when you're on your feet. The council will note your absence ...
[ a pause. ]
And how I excused your healers.
[ he'll have to deal with that one later.
discarding the shirt (and the rest of his clothing), Louis presses the cloth against the groves in his chest, and down his stomach. he's careful to use his long fingers to clean at his hairline, his collar, and even under his arms without a flinch. Will is still a little clammy, now cool in some parts and hot in others; Louis takes it as indication his fever may break soon, and that's a welcome thought.
when the king is fresher than he was before, Louis brings a change of clothes. sitting him up, he tugs a soft nightshirt over his head that feels feathery light, and seems more appropriate to sweat in.
when he's done, he sits at the edge of the bed, letting the exhaustion sink in. still, if someone ended up coming through the door with ill intent, he was sure he could gather enough adrenaline to kill them on the spot. ]
[ It's quiet, here in the deepest part of the castle where the king's bedchamber is. This is as it has been since the nation's founding: the king could, if he so chose, ignore the country for which he is responsible, and live a life of luxury within the castle walls. If it were not for the bed of rot that controls the kingdom's politics — if it were not for those conspirators who would swallow the king whole if it meant a tiny bit more power and influence than they already had — they two, Louis and Will, could live a comfortable, quiet life, unbothered by the nation's ills.
But Will would not be such a king. Even now, as he languishes in illness, he is thinking of what Louis is thinking: the snakes in the council who will leap at any perceived weakness. No, he cannot afford to stay sick for long, particularly when they will jump at the opportunity to cast Louis as a kingslayer for a second time. But at the same time —
Nothing can happen if they don't properly rest.
Limp and weak, Will settles into his pillow, nearly dwarfed by his own bed, little more than a round head peeking out of his sheets. But he is not so weak that he cannot state, very clearly: ]
Louis... Sleep beside me.
[ Not without a faint trace of wry humor, he adds: ]
[ moments like these, with thoughts of politics and snakes, make the reasons for Louis' brutality apparent. yes, if some ill were to befall the king, the finger would be pointed squarely at him, no matter what anguish he went through to stop it. sometimes it's so much easier to become the monster that everyone expects him to be.
is he so adamant to stay here with Will because he'll be blamed for what may happen to him? or is it out of true affection, or some mixture of the two? does it matter? his touch is surprisingly gentle, and there is concern in his sharp, teal eyes.
it's weak, but he laughs, a low, dangerous thing in his chest. ]
You put all your energy into that, didn't you? As you wish, your Majesty.
[ Louis is too tired to give a mock bow, but there is amusement in his voice.
it takes him longer than usual to shrug off his jacket and toss it over closest chair, to remove his boots and pull his hair down. each movement threatens an ache, one that doesn't just come from physical exertion, but mental and emotional drain. it's a deep, lingering pain that will only go away with rest.
eventually he slides between the sheets, with admirable elegance even, and joins Will as he sinks into the bedding. it's not the way he thought he would be in this room, laying there after an exhausting medical procedure, allowing the small king to find new ways to tuck his limbs around him.
there is not many times where Louis Guiabern feels peace, but Will's company is soothing, and he's far too tired to feel anything else. ]
[ They stay like that well into the morning, each tangled in the other, pressed so close that an onlooker would be hard-pressed to tell where one ended and the other began. Will's soft in the best of times, softer still in his nightshirt; he finds comfort in his plush pillow and the curve of Louis's chest, one arm wrapped around his waist, another leg fully thrown over his thigh. He clings sweetly. What they both have in common is this: once they are asleep, neither is prone to fitful turning, and both sleep calmly, utterly exhausted, through the night.
(Hulkenberg checks on them in the middle of the night, accompanied by Heismay, who has come to relieve her of her shift on account of the fact that his eugief body needs less sleep than the average person of another tribe. When they see the king and his past nemesis — future consort — entwined with one another, they say nothing, but share a mutual glance. Hulkenberg closes her eyes and seems to find something like acceptance in her heart of hearts.)
...
Will wakes up with the smell of Louis's skin on his own.
Louis himself is already awake by then, less prone to full nights of sleep than Will is, perhaps; his hand is still cradling the back of Will's head, as if to marvel, really, at just how small he is, how seemingly fragile, when in reality his body holds the power to defeat Louis's own convictions. The young king presses a gentle kiss to his jaw before suggesting that they take a morning bath.
Since the royal retainers are not allowed in Will's quarters at present, they have to draw the bath themselves, but that's little work, and not nearly as difficult as it would be on the runner, besides. Will seems to have a good time choosing bath salts; eventually, he settles on something soothing and woodsy and floral, in part because he figures Louis prefers that sort of thing to anything more artificial or aggressive.
Once the bath is drawn and Will has settled into its depths — once again, he's small enough in the kingly tub that he nearly seems to be buoyed by his own bathwater — Will sighs contentedly and leans against Louis, relishing the way the hot water seems to seep into his aching muscles. Though he feels much better than he did the previous night, he's still not fully recovered in the least; exhaustion still digs at his limbs, and he feels vaguely nauseous, perhaps in part because he hasn't had breakfast yet. It's been hard for him to want to part from Louis's body. ]
I suspect... the council will have heard of my illness by now...
[ He says this in a soft voice, so like a loving murmur; unfortunately, it's just that he's feeling weak, though it's true that he does feel a great deal of love for Louis in the moment. ]
[ during Will's extended nap period, Louis reads. there's other parts of the book that he stole from Gruidae that's enlightening. it proves to keep his attention under the slow, steady breath of the king curled up beside him. somewhere in there Louis idly plays with his hair, perhaps unknowingly, as he flips the pages with his thumb.
Louis falls easily into taking control and giving orders when needed: he's instructed Heismay and Hulkenberg to keep an eye out for those straying in the hallway, Strohl and Eupha to the council and the courts, and Gallica as a spy. he figures they will figure out how to delegate specific tasks among themselves. the prince's meals he gives to Hulkenberg specifically, ensuring that they are brought without suspicion. it's porridge and tea, mostly, some broth when it seems appropriate, for now he's giving Will's stomach some time to settle before lunch.
there is still treatment to be had, but Louis finds it difficult to argue with Will who wants a bath – he still must be sore and sticky from the prior night. as much as Louis wiped him down, some sweat still manages to stick around in small patches. so he draws the water, checks the temperature, and gives Will room to pick the salt that he wants. for a little bit he listens to him chatter about what they are and where they came from, small remnants of prior adventures. some were made specifically for him, as some sneaky merchant or politician had learned of the king's interest in them.
Louis ties up his hair to keep it out of the water, folding his ponytail over to keep it manageable before he follows after Will makes himself comfortable. in the center of his chest is that black heart that he keeps wrapped up in his uniform, beneath his tunic. it remains halfway submerged in the bath, its reflection marring the mirror surface. the bath is nice, and he sinks a with a quiet sigh, drifting among the steam. he doesn't open his eyes when he speaks: ]
Most likely, but we've been scarce enough that they will not yet know the details of it. Between the two of us not making any appearances, I'd imagine we have them all simply bursting at the seams with curiosity, though I'm rather surprised that such recklessness has not caused a slip yet.
[ as a hated enemy, Louis cannot imagine they'd not be doing something in retaliation. ]
You will be well soon, have you thought about how you'll return?
[ his voice is lazy, less careful in execution, with a slight, heady drawl. the water is nice. ]
[ Will leans his head back against Louis's chest. He has to suppress a slightly ridiculous urge to lower himself until he's nose height in the water and burble bubbles out onto the water's surface; doing so, he reminds himself, will not reassure Louis of his control over the situation, or his readiness as king. (As much as he thinks he knows the man quite well, it must be said that they are only engaged and not yet married. He still very desperately wants them to be married, and will be on his best behavior until then.)
He gives Louis's question some thought for a brief period of time — it takes some doing, he is still queasy of stomach and cloudy in mind — but, after a moment, he answers: ]
Do I have to return in any particular way? I don't think I owe them an explanation even if they request one.
[ Will flips in the water. His stomach doesn't particularly agree with it, and he still feels weary down to his limbs, but the heat from the bath is beginning to make his joints feel loose and limber again, and he is rewarded for his efforts by the angelic sight of Louis with his hair tied up. Vaguely, Will recalls thinking even through his haze of sickness that Louis looked beautiful with his hair up. He's glad to see that it still holds true, and doesn't bother to hide how he gazes at his betrothed dreamily for a few moments, taking in the vision of his good looks. ]
It's only been two days or so... We'll just resume business as usual. Maybe I just wanted to laze in bed for a while.
[ Impetuous as always. Despite his travels and the fact that he once had nothing, he truly has the temperament of a king.
Slowly, Will's hand glides down the column of Louis's neck towards his sternum and the center of his chest where his black heart is. Curiously, Will pokes at its gilded frame and is surprised to find that it is both warm and hard. Emboldened, he presses his palm against it. ]
...
[ He lowers his voice to a more gentle, curious pitch. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
(Nearly all of the Partisans see no value in the idea of Will marrying Louis. Gallica only buzzes in confusion until Will finally admits to her that he truly does love the man. Junah, Eupha, and Hulkenberg seem actively decided against it, perhaps in no small part because all three would have better access to the kinds of stories that arise when frail princesses are married to tyrants — though of the three, Eupha somewhat surprisingly seems the most amenable to being persuaded about the idea. Strohl seems to flip-flop in his position, occasionally mentioning that he sees the political merit in it, then casting his golden-brown eyes to the floor as he contemplates the prospect of a country with the man he nearly sees as his father's killer on the throne. Fidelio and Basilio generally treat the idea as more of a joke than anything else, though Will has detected flashes of frustration in Fidelio's yellow eyes, as though what truly frustrates him is the idea that perhaps he never understood Louis at all.
Only Neuras knows the way that Louis and Will had curled up with each other on the runner, each laying on the other's warmth, turning idle pages, fingers carding through silken hair. Only Louis knows the way that his warm hands and low whispers made Will tense up, aching for more than careful touch.)
...Heismay does come to threaten Louis one night.
Or perhaps that's not quite his objective. The eugief comes and goes near-silently; it's an easy thing for him to be found waiting for Louis to emerge from the bath in his quarters, hanging upside-down from the ceiling, arms folded in his usual eugief way.
The man doesn't bother with the usual sort of intimidation before an interrogation — only launches into his remarks. "I know not whether you still have designs upon this nation," Heismay murmurs in a quiet, low voice, "but I have taken the measure of you, Louis. You do not strike me as the sort of man who would claw his way to the throne through seduction and marriage. You strike me as the kind of man who is too prideful to do that."
A pause, and then his gleaming red eyes vanish completely from sight.
"My advice to you — not as your enemy, but as an older man who once lost what he loved — is this: cherish him. Every moment you have with him. You and he deserve better than what men like me were given."
Regardless — Will knows nothing of this. The following morning, he looks pale, a little disoriented. He tries to hide it from his friends, particularly Gallica, who is thinking the same thing he is: He looks the way he did when he was suffering from Rella's curse.
He manages to shake off the blur in his vision, powering his way through breakfast, and then a tedious meeting featuring traders from the merchants' guild, come to protest wages withheld by their employers. During the strategy meeting with his Partisans that comes afterward, when the idea of the engagement with Louis is brought up again, he finally finds it in his body to relax, let his shoulders slump, heave a sigh —
— only to collapse outright from the chair in which he's seated.
Everyone stands up in a panic after that.
Eupha is already channeling an Archetype of the Healer line as Hulkenberg calls for a doctor, but the issue affecting his magla, the mustari reports soon afterward, is not one that an Archetype can solve. The ordinary doctors quibble about what ails him: An illness? An infection? Another curse? (There is some talk of bloodletting; another doctor says the leech enthusiast should be fired.)
Basilio mutters under his breath about how he doesn't like these kinds of doctors; Strohl admits readily that they should have done a better job of cleaning house in the medical department. The royal doctors were the ones who let Hythlodaeus V become bedridden, but no one had thought to remove them until Will came down sick. ]
no subject
there are a few glances passed his way, and he knows the question that is now repeating like a mantra in all of their minds: did Louis Guiabern do this? for a moment he hates all of them, viciously, displacing his worry for rage.
"It could be that another curse was ..." the doctor is looking at him, out of the corner of her eye, uttering the thought into being by breathing life into the words.
that's it. Louis is done watching them scramble like rats in their ignorance, flitting around the king how he remembers them flitting around Hythlodeaus in his bedridden grief. from behind the mingle of people that have made their way into Will's private quarters, Louis steps up.
"Leave," he demands, voice sharp. "Now."
"With all due respect, only the –"
"Leave or I will drag you out."
the doctors all look at one another, some of their mouths agape, others trying to find words to argue where Louis left no room for argument. now threatened, they all leave the room, Basilio muttering under how it's easier to breathe now. Hulkenberg looks like she wants to retaliate Louis' demands, but only glares at him for now.
"You, General Strohl. There's an eldan village to the east, take the most trusted of your soldiers and seek Gruidae. She has a text that details magla flow in the body. Travel through the night if you must and do not rest until your return."
"This isn't a curse, is it?" Gallica asks, already knowing the answer. "It's something else."
Louis nods, briefly, and from Will's side, Eupha does too. pulling glove off of his middle finger, he presses a palm to Will's forehead. he's hot, and Louis can only trace the flow of the magla like a dull feeling in his nerves.
"Remove these," he says to Eupha, holding out his wrist, adorn with the bracelets.
"I'm ... sorry?"
"I can't be of use to him if I'm still chained. You can shackle me again after this is over if it comforts you."
"You cannot be serious," Hulkenberg interjects. Eupha's inquiring gaze meets hers. Right now, her anger seems to match Louis', out of both terror of failure and concern for her beloved prince. "Will you still be a threat? It's not far from here that you drove a blade into the king's chest."
"And it's not far from here that you chased a culprit of whom you convinced yourself was me. I'm here because your king wills it – you either trust his judgement or I will find another way to shatter these chains without your aid."
"If you mean treachery, I swear by my blade, Louis Guiabern –"
Eupha's removing the bracelets, taking them gingerly from Louis' wrists and into her hands. her expression is mixed, she certainly doesn't trust this man with much, but the two of them have reached an understanding on Will's condition.
"If you use too much magla, I'll know." that is her only warning.
watching Will for a moment, Louis notes how small he looks cradled under the covers, a wince crossing his expression.
(Basilio and Fidelio glance at one another. "He's still got it, eh? I haven't heard him this mad in a long while. Still a bit rough, though." Fidelio grins.) ]
no subject
Junah isn't present in the room — she's off at the Mage's Academy again today, and as she doesn't have the runner, she can't herself teleport over — but Heismay watches the group in her stead for a few moments, his bright eugief eyes nearly as glassy as her brilliant nidia irises. After another moment, he disappears. "I'll go with Strohl," are his last remarks before they set off. It's likely a thought with some strategy behind it; Heismay was always their barrelman whenever they were out on the runner together, and while Neuras likely won't need a second set of eyes to watch for enemies in the air, it's better for Strohl to not be the only combatant on the runner, all the same.
...
In his slumber, Will dreams.
It's not a very nice dream, but it's also a very disjointed one. He is human again, impossibly large, with curse-magenta magla surging through his veins. The little teeth monsters want to play hide-and-seek with him, but when he tries to step forward to find them, he accidentally crushes a few under his feet. He's very sad about this. He cries a little.
When he wakes, he's not quite so distressed, but he's vaguely conscious of yelling around him, an argument taking place. His brow furrows; he's still not fully awake. The teeth all seem very upset with him — or are they just upset over him? He can't quite tell...
His lashes flutter open; his eyes scan the room blearily. Did they return him to his own bed, or is this a bed in another room? His eyes scan colors, shapes; there's Eupha over there to his left, the Magnus brothers in the corner, Hulkenberg by the wall. Louis, close by his bedside, his long-lashed eyes positively burning with fury and — what seems like — ]
...Louis...?
[ His lashes flutter closed, then open again. He gropes weakly for Louis's wrist. The man's hand feels so cool on his forehead; can he move it to his cheek and neck too? It would feel so nice, so comforting... ]
Don't look so sad... I just had a bad dream, that's all...
no subject
the change in Louis' voice surprises Eupha, who watches the two of them diligently. ]
Do you remember what happened?
[ he asks lowly, allowing Will to guide his hand with the slightest of touch. at the slightest twitch of his fingers, he glides his palm down his neck, offering some relief to the heat.
a little louder, he speaks to those behind him. ]
I need water, and someone get me Fermis Ointment.
[ Eupha takes it upon herself to rush back through the door to get Louis the supplies that he's asking for: she knows he'll ask for more as well, and she should start prepping for when he does. after seeing him touch Will, she has no qualms leaving them alone. it was all that she needed.
"Call for us when you need us," Fidelio says, dismissing himself with Basilio on his heels. Hulkenberg wants to throw another threat, but she doesn't. instead she leaves behind the two brothers to guard the door. it's a sensitive thing when the king is ill – it opens him to many other types of threats, and she needs to fulfill her duty her king (it also allows her to keep an eye on Louis), as well as manage those that would see him. ]
no subject
[ Will mumbles in a quiet, tired voice. His magla is all out of sorts, coiling in frazzled knots, but Louis's guiding hands slowly pull things back into place where they belong. It won't cure the malady that ails him, not by a long shot, but at the very least, it will ease his suffering for a moment. Tension eases out of his body in slow increments, bringing his shoulders down, and his eyes ever closer to closed again. ]
I feel bad. They only wanted to play...
[ Eupha stumbles back into the room, carrying the supplies that Louis requested; she sets them on the bedside table with the brisk, efficient manner of a nurse attending to a doctor's orders. Perhaps she's not so unused to this as Will thinks she is; the people of Eht Ria looked to her as a priestess before this, so perhaps she really has seen her fair share of patients. And yet, this must be such a strange experience for her, some more lucid part of Will realizes dimly. She always looked at her Captain as a source of strength and knowledge about the outside world — now here she stands, seeing a new side of him, and of Louis. Watching her nation's leader in bed with the covers pulled up to his neck, mumbling to his lover in a sweetly boyish voice.
Weakly, Will's fingerpads press into Louis's knuckles, in a manner that would be insistent if it were just not so terribly light. He looks into Louis's eyes, seeking his attention; the look in his blue irises is both glazed-over and impossibly loving. ]
...If you stay here, you'll catch what I've got. And then they'll be alone again...
no subject
[ Louis says with a heave of his chest. as each body leaves the room, the air yields, and the magla begins to disperse. Eupha keeps her head tilted, watching, as if she's keeping an eye on the flow of it from where she's standing. ]
It seems the nightmares are an symptom of the condition.
[ most likely from Will's anxieties, but Louis keeps that part to himself.
"Lady Gruidae said you came from a family of medics," Gallica says, as if she's suddenly recalling something that makes all of this click into place. "Charadrius, the name of your skyrunner."
"Yes, I remember now," Eupha replies. "That knowledge ..." ]
I don't have much of it, but I have more than those ignorant pissants that would rather indulge in archaic practices than aid their king.
[ there's a bite to Louis' voice, but it dies down again when he turns to the bedside to tend to Will. much to Will's displeasure, he has to remove his hand to apply the ointment: smudged just below his hairline, behind his ears, and Louis folds down the blanket and unbuttons the king's tunic to smear it over his chest, just above his collar.
"You're going to do what you can to help him, aren't you?" Gallica asks. she is, admittedly, still conflicted. ]
Are you truly asking me that?
[ it is some relief to her, who buzzes next to Will's bedside to put a little fairy hand on his hot cheek.
"He's burning up..." ]
We won't be able to do much until your General returns. [ Louis eyes Gallica, and then Eupha. he offers a slick smile that is more knowing than cheerful. ] As for you, your aid will be needed when they do. If I were you, I'd get a good rest in, and perhaps a bath. We may be in for a long night.
[ Eupha nods, hesitating, and then leaves on his suggestion. there's not much that they can do now, especially since Louis has sent all the doctors away. at least there will be no bloodletting tonight. ]
You too. [ Louis says to Gallica. ] I'll stay here at his side. There are those that would take advantage of this ... opportunity. You did this aboard the Charadrius, did you not? A little reconnaissance could go a long way, even within the walls of the palace. Find those that saw him in such a state, see if there are rumors beginning to circulate.
[ at first Gallica doesn't seem to want to leave, but then she does, with a new sense of duty. she's getting rather good at these little missions.
Louis turns back to Will. finally, alone. ]
Tell me where the pain lies.
no subject
Louis's question reaches his mind after another moment. It's so hard to think, suddenly, and he can't quite seem to understand why — how did his fever get so hot, so fast? Or has it been this bad for the past few hours, in a way where no one else quite noticed, or could only suspect something wrong?
...Now that his friends aren't around, and he doesn't have to be strong for them, Will slumps further in the bed, his head lolling slightly to one side where he rests on the pillow. His sheer exhaustion finally shows on his face. ]
I don't know... everywhere. I... I ache everywhere. Down to my bones.
[ With considerable effort, he takes hold of Louis's hand again, cradling it as if it would be a great comfort to him. Still weakly, he presses it to his sternum, right below where Louis applied a dab of cooling ointment. ]
Here... where the curse hit me. In my chest, through to my back... It hurts.
no subject
(he's not quite sure if he stationed himself at Will's side out of concern and affection, or if it seemed the most reasonable conclusion. if there were someone who meant to take advantage of the king's illness, they'd have to get through Hulkenberg, Basilio and Fidelio, and then through him. if they got through Hulkenberg, Louis reasoned, it was because she did not have the propensity for extreme violence that he did. then he would kill them.)
Louis' strength was never control, quite the opposite, instead he seemed to know exactly how to handle the chaos in his favor. ]
Your body still remembers.
[ and most likely always would. Louis' hand wanders up his chest to the point of pain, his face blank in concentration. ah, yes, the magla was a tangle there, as if it were trying to retrace the edges of an old wound, forcing it to reopen. for Louis, it's remembering the opposite of the outcome of his own human experiments, and applying the technique and spells differently.
it's like untangling a ball of yarn tied in knots: easier to create than unmake. ]
no subject
[ ...He's gazing at Louis like he wants to eat him.
This is absolutely not the right time for Will's hindbrain to be thinking about the weight of Louis's hand on his lower back!
Though he does at least look sufficiently charming: eyes glossy, cheeks flushed, skin hot. If it weren't for the slightly pale cast to his olive skin, he'd paint a tempting picture of a king in need.
Regardless — he's not in good health right now for the need that he may be craving. He does shiver a little as Louis's hand slides towards his core, where Rella's curse would have ravaged his heart for the last twelve years; his flesh is in good health, but his magla is all a-tangle. Louis pulls it loose, bit by bit. The act of healing him is only slightly less difficult than what Will would have gone through when he spent a full day weaving the incorporeal strings of Louis's flesh together, forming him from the remnants of his shattered magla.
For a sick person, he does at least seem quite happy to have Louis's attention right now... ]
I like you so much...
no subject
at first his head tilts, and then a sort of amused smile passes his face. if he didn't center himself somewhat, he realizes that Will's expression would have him thoroughly seduced. ]
You hardly have the strength to be bedded right now.
[ sorry, Will's horny thoughts.
Louis does guide his hand across Will's chest, along the soft dips in sensitive skin, taking note of the beat of his heart. he can only slightly shift the magla, as he's not familiar with what it should look like (only how to mess it up). it seems to be soothing him, at least, though Louis can't tell if it's the spell or the touch.
with the Partisans busy, and most likely off to allow them some time before someone reports back (he assumes Gallica will be first, and he doesn't exactly mind being caught by her) or Will's condition changes, he shifts Will just slightly to slip into bed next to him. being taller, his weight creates a dip in the soft mattress, though it's certainly large enough for ten Wills. he does have to rearrange the king slightly, as he's too weak to do it himself, but he rests his hand on his collar, keeping watch of his condition.
then, like an overly large cat, he settles. ]
no subject
He hasn't forgotten about what they did to each other, but there's no reason to linger on it, either. Louis is with him, doting on him, hasn't left his side. There's something inherently soothing about Louis's scent, the weight of his body, the feel of his skin.
In vague bursts of color and image, Will dreams of being snuggled up next to a giant Plateau. When he tries to move, Plateau bats at him with one paw and pulls him closer again.
After some few hours, Gallica does come back, with the very faint sound of twinkling that heralds her adjusting her magla to be perceptible to most people again. "Louis? I'm back. How's — oh!"
She cuts herself off. As soon as she flies into the room and sets eyes on the way Louis has curled up over Will's body, protective as a chimera with its pups, Gallica claps a hand over her mouth and immediately makes herself scarce again. Whether or not Louis stirs is irrelevant. Perhaps she's gone to report what she saw to Eupha, who may still be contemplating Louis's gentle touch in her own quarters, and how little she truly understands the man who may soon be marrying her king.
...
At length, Strohl returns. Having shed his general's cape and armor for the slightly dusty traveling coat that carried him through the initial campaign to defeat Louis, the young clemar man doesn't jostle and jingle so much as he strides into the king's bedchamber, Gruidae's book in hand. Heismay and — for whatever reason — the Magnus brothers follow not long after.
"Louis," Strohl says, as if calling out to a friend — unintentionally blustering, voice just slightly too loud. "I've got the book." ]
no subject
Louis laughed when Will asked him if he would've been a healer. that knowledge of magla that his family had passed down had only been used for his own destructive means, and never for the use it was intended for. this is the first time he had ever thought to use it that way – or, rather, was forced to use it that way. healing is much harder than destroying, and requires far more of his concentration, but he finds the effort worth it to see Will sleeping soundly for at least a while.
out of the corner of his eye he catches Gallica, but she quickly excuses herself from the room without a word.
eventually, Louis does have to untangle himself from Will, though he knows there will be protest. there's ointment to reapply, as his fever hasn't budged, and thirst to alleviate: both Will's and Louis'. with a firm hand, he guides Will to sit and drink, urging him to take one more sip on the basis of "you'll need to keep up with me later." that's how Strohl finds them, with Louis keeping Will steady with one hand, and holding the goblet with the other so Will can tip it toward his lips. at first he doesn't acknowledge him, but when Will finishes and Louis settles him down again, he gets up from his bedside. ]
Good. She didn't protest, I take it? She does like to sit on useful knowledge.
[ there's a little drawl to his voice that he usually kept under wraps, given the circumstances of his own political campaign, but there's no reason to hold back now. Louis liked the command in his voice, rather than the cattiness, but both were there depending on his mood.
Strohl takes a look between them, then shares a glance with Heismay.
"I told her it was for the king." ]
Wise move.
[ Louis says, and Strohl doesn't seem to know what to do with getting direct praise from Louis Guiabern. it's enough for Louis to pluck the book from his grasp and leaf through it.
then comes the other questions he knew were coming.
"How is he?" ]
Stable, for the most part. His magla is an unintelligible web that is causing him some distress. The nightmares have subsided, as long as the threshold of stress remains at a minimum. You can go see him, if you'd like.
[ Strohl just nods and takes a few long strides toward Will's bedside, still smelling of the night air.
Louis watches Heismay follow Strohl at a more leisurely pace, both of them watching each other out of the corner of their eye, though Heismay seems more calm now. well, he doesn't dwell on it.
instead he turns to speak with Basilio and Fidelio with getting the remainder of the supplies and calling for Eupha and Gallica – Eupha will be needed as an aid, given that she's the most gifted with magla being a mustari. Basilio makes a comment about how he's never "seen this side of Louis" that Louis decides to pointedly ignore in favor of finishing the business needed to heal the king. ]
no subject
There's a real fear, deep in an anxious corner of his heart, that this might be the thing that finally claims Will's life, either because they only ever bought him a little more time from the curse that Rella admitted was killing her too, or because this is all some dastardly machination of Louis's. But it's hard to argue with the tender expression on that man's handsome face when Strohl walked in — and Fidelio and Basilio never described him as a great actor. He was many things before he died, but he was never particularly adept at lying.
...Sometimes Strohl suspects that he of all the Partisans knows best how their group is largely held together by Will. Maybe it's because he's been with Will the longest; maybe it's because he's usually the fastest to admit to his own faults and shortcomings. If the king died, he doesn't think they'd all fall apart — but the rifts between them would rise up again, and secretly, he's not sure that any of them are above infighting and petty squabbles.
When she found out that Will was sick, Junah had said, "If only Rella were still here!"
And then, for some reason, Heismay had drawled, "She never had the best track record of treating him, mind."
Junah had sort of — she hadn't gotten angry. But she'd sort of stuttered, in a strangely flustered and then broken-hearted way that Strohl had never seen from her, and then she turned on her heel and made up an excuse to leave. There's a part of him that sort of thinks that Heismay was being a bit of an ass about it, given the way Rella died in front of her; there's an equal part of him that sort of sees what Heismay was getting at, the way Rella had lied about everything, and wasn't without her faults, though they'd all agreed that Forden was at the heart of them. As for Heismay, Strohl hadn't pressed the old eugief on why he'd been so cruel. It's a small comfort to him that Heismay doesn't complain about the paripus anymore.
Still, he thinks. It wouldn't have happened if Will had been awake. Something about him makes the rest of them better people than they'd be without him, and part of that is scary, too.
Who would I be if I didn't have Will? he thinks.
And then, on a different topic: Louis would probably still hate Rella if she were still alive.
Sighing, he takes the few long strides towards Will's bedside, reaching out to the king with bare hands to check his temperature. "Hey, Will," he says softly, as if speaking to a younger brother. The tone of his voice is warmer and stronger than he feels at the moment. The elda's forehead burns under his palm. "How are you feeling?"
Will smiles, falling back against the pillows. "I'm okay," he murmurs softly. "Louis has been really nice to me."
Strohl lets out another quiet sigh of relief.
In the next few moments, Will is rubbing his face against Strohl's chest, ostensibly because he likes the soft material of Strohl's turtleneck sweater, and as the poor clemar turns redder and redder by the second, babbling awkwardly and glancing at Louis with some strangely guilty expression on his face — it is at least some relief that when Heismay steps in to help, Will also scoops the eugief up in a hug, squeezing and rubbing his face against the man's soft ears.
Gallica, who has by now materialized with Eupha, presses her small fairy palm against her face in exasperation. "What is he, charmed? Does someone have Patra? Can someone try Patra?!" ]
no subject
then, he says, both to the red-faced Strohl and the Heismay whose ears are now framing Will's face: ]
Should you not comfort your king?
[ there is an aloof confidence that he oozes when he says that, as if the words were thick in his mouth. Louis is not certain when he fell into this – this sort of ... joking with them. still, as if unused to it, the whole room goes quiet for a moment, eyes fixed on Louis, the only noise a soft intake of breath from Eupha.
the room remains tense for a moment, and the Basilio cracks. it's hard not to laugh at the Very Serious expressions everyone is making. Fidelio cracks a semi-amused smile.
"The lot of you have got to get used to this."
one of the frustrating aspects of this entire ordeal is not whether or not Louis would harm the king, but rather the way in which he would. curses and poisons, while are in his toolkit of magla arts, are not his preferred method of battle. for Will, especially, who earned his respect enough for Louis Guiabern to become his partner, he would end at the tip of a blade – or, perhaps, Will would end him. they owe that to one another.
so, yes, he would hate Rella if she had lived – he does still hate Rella now. it wasn't her that ruined his life, but she was a stark reminder how the church viewed any combatant. she was someone seen as pure, saintly, and then in contrast, he was the power-hungry aristocrat.
just as Louis has settled in his joke, he notices a flap of wings in front of his face, and a fairy buzzing around his head.
"You can't – you just can't joke like that with a straight face! Not when you're you," Gallica is waving her finger at him.
is he being scolded? is she scolding him? so brashly, too.
Louis stares at her looking bright-eyed and a bit like he's never been told off like this in his life. ]
no subject
It is Will, of course, who is laughing in a manner that is far too alert for someone who currently has his head cradled atop Heismay's fuzzy head and between his long, fluffy ears.
"...Hey!!!" Strohl blusters, having finally caught on. "You aren't delirious at all! You, you rascal — !"
It's some moments more before everyone realizes that Will has, at least at this juncture, been faking his illness; certainly he is still feverish, certainly that part can't possibly be faked, but he's not so far gone as to have become a monstrous cuddlebug for anything less than his own amusement. (And what a cuddlebug he is! Strohl is still beet-red as he leaves the room, blushing all the way up to his ears, and half-clutching his chest as though he feels as if he's had some sort of maidenly virtue plucked from him. Heismay flicks his ears, apparently more amused than bashful, though something about the curve of his lips is somewhat more smug than usual.)
Gradually, the Partisans aside from Eupha are convinced to leave (aside from Hulkenberg, who has continued to ferociously guard the door), and Will, who is now sufficiently "comforted," sinks back into his pillow. He is not so prideful that he does not allow Eupha to gently mop at his brow with a cold towel.
She makes as if to wipe down his body as well, but Will furrows his brow a little and bats at her as if his hand is a cat's paw. ]
Don't, Eupha, please... Edeni would kill me.
[ If he found out I was treating his sister like a common nursemaid, he means, but Eupha only shakes her head. "When the villagers on the island were sick, I would do this for them, too," she says solemnly, but she does relent, dropping the towel back into the bowl.
She looks towards Louis, at length. "Well?" she asks. "Has Lady Gruidae's book provided any enlightenment? I stand ready to assist you as needed."
The expression on her face is a little drawn, a little tight. Despite Will's good cheer, Eupha knows full well that his magla is still rather snarled and knotted. ]
no subject
the Partisans stay their welcome, then slowly begin to trickle out with the understanding that it's time for treatment. Louis expects some push-back from at least one of them, but it doesn't come. he's not quite sure how he feels about that, but luckily for him he has means of sucking down how he feels tossed into Will's condition.
the book is laid over the table, and Eupha comes to review the magla pathways. it's dissected over several pages, the information having been re-drawn and re-imagined over the centuries. they are intricate, beautiful works of art, showing the way magla moves between the blood vessels and dances around nerve endings. it even shows at which points the magla enters each organ, and the symptoms of what happens when the pathways are diverted. there are several yellow-edged, folded papers within the book, either adding to the list of symptoms or relaying unique patient cases.
"I did not know that such knowledge even existed ..."
Louis sighs, and somewhat blandly replies: "The elda like to keep most of their cherished knowledge to themselves."
Louis goes on, and doesn't linger too long on the thought. the book is in his possession now, and he's most likely going to deliberately (and spitefully) make it part of his own library.
"I believe that the king's former curse is causing restriction in the flow of magla in the physical sense. His body is receiving it as an obstruction, and thus the fever. Possibly due to his own anxiety, and physiology as an elda."
"Then we can clear it," Eupha replies. she gets the gist of it, anyway.
"It's not so different from creating humans," Louis says with clinical distance that makes Eupha shudder. she shakes it off, focusing on how his light fingers glide across the page, tracing the pathway that the magla should be taking. in all honesty, she does not want to think about how she's alone with Louis in this, and just how it will help Will.
Louis presses his palm to Will's forehead, brushing back his bangs and holding the contact. ]
This treatment will not be kind to you.
[ it is a warning. he knows that Will is strong, and his pain tolerance is rather high, but it needs to be said. more so, Louis' concern lays in that it may remind Will of something else: how he was violated on the steps of the Grand Cathedral. ]
no subject
I can endure.
[ The memory of the pain that seized him outside of the Grand Cathedral no longer disturbs him as it once did — indeed, it stopped hurting him the day he accepted his true identity as the kingdom's prince. And, of course, he has forgiven Louis. If he can forgive his people for their initial rejection of him, how could he not forgive Louis?
...Though, in a different way — the level of trust needed for this is nearly painful. His friends would surely ask: how could he forgive Louis? How is it that he sits here now, fully willing to give control of his body over to a man who previously used it, twisted it to his own satisfaction?
Will offers no answers. He leans back into his pillow and relaxes his shoulders, looking for all the world the way he did when he was only a vision in the Farsight Mirror, caught in eternal slumber, the invalid who was as good as dead to the masses and could only dream of a better world. Do your worst, he seems to be saying to Louis. ]
no subject
finding the meaning of such a concept when he had grappled with it all his life is slow going, but there is progress. ]
Good.
[ Eupha, who wears her heart on her sleeve, finds it difficult not to worry her bottom lip. it is just her and Louis, and if Louis does betray them, she doesn't know if she can take him alone. the rest of the Partisans are outside the door, she knows, but would it be too late? could she counter Louis Guiabern for the fragile moments needed if he wages an attack?
"Come, focus. There is no room for failure" he demands. as if to do so himself, he pulls his hair up into a tall ponytail, keeping the flyaways from his face.
"Oh, yes!"
under Louis' guiding voice, the two begin. the process is quite long, careful, and strenuous. Louis has Eupha brew a diaphoretic tea, one that's made to "move Will's blood closer to the skin," to begin to clear the pathways and make them more malleable. when the tea settles, Louis gets to work, it's not unlike the spell he used to turn Will human, leaving dim lights of glowing magenta in the air, lingering around his body as each river of magla comes to life. there is discomfort, as there are some nerves in the body more prone to the anxiety than others, causing a clench in the belly, nausea, pain – bringing with them exhaustion, trembling and tension. Eupha holds a bowl in case Will loses what little he has in his stomach. the first knots release, and it's like a wash of relief for all of them.
the session goes into the night, lasting almost until dawn.
there's more to be done, but come the early morning hours, Louis considers them finished for the night. it would be cruel to put more strain on Will's body, and he'd like to allow the king some rest. she wanders, exhausted, to tell the Partisans of their progress, alleviating their worries and allowing them to rest as well. Hulkenberg comes in to see Will, noting that Louis, despite holding himself admirably, looks rather drained. (he'd admit later that it was a worse exhaustion than being in battle, and that he'd take the battle over the healing.)
when she leaves, they're left alone again, and everything seems quiet and still. Louis peels back Will's shirt from the perspiration, now damp with fluids, pressing a cool towel to his sticky neck. ]
Rest now.
[ Louis says, his own eyes half lidded with circles that look like fresh bruises beneath them. ]
no subject
As Louis promised, it was not a kind process. Will tried to be strong, he really did, but the agonizing feeling of having his magla undone and rerouted got the better of him eventually. He did retch into that bowl Eupha so thoughtfully prepared for him, although he hadn't eaten much in the morning; what came out was largely only clear bile, but even so, it had left an acrid, sour taste at the back of Will's throat until she came back to him with water. He'd gripped his sheets until his knuckles turned white, wrists shaking with each helpless spasm of his body.
The young king is lying in bed now, completely spent, too weak even to protest Louis's ministrations. His body feels too hot, but his hands are too cold. His voice feels a little hoarse, though he'd largely been quiet, and kept his muffled screaming to a minimum; even so, his throat aches when he tries to speak. The weight of his limbs feels like too much, even to himself, though the cooling touch of Louis's towel makes him feel much better, more invigorated.
Weak and drowsy for it, he looks at Louis, swallowing hard on a sudden lump in his throat. ]
...You need to rest, too...
[ Even through his blurry vision, Will can see, clearly, that there's an exhausted pallor to Louis's already-pale skin, and dark circles underneath his eyes. And yet, the elda only thinks to himself: He's truly the most beautiful man in the world. ]
no subject
it would be a shame for a king who has so much of the world to change. ]
There will be a time for it when you're on your feet. The council will note your absence ...
[ a pause. ]
And how I excused your healers.
[ he'll have to deal with that one later.
discarding the shirt (and the rest of his clothing), Louis presses the cloth against the groves in his chest, and down his stomach. he's careful to use his long fingers to clean at his hairline, his collar, and even under his arms without a flinch. Will is still a little clammy, now cool in some parts and hot in others; Louis takes it as indication his fever may break soon, and that's a welcome thought.
when the king is fresher than he was before, Louis brings a change of clothes. sitting him up, he tugs a soft nightshirt over his head that feels feathery light, and seems more appropriate to sweat in.
when he's done, he sits at the edge of the bed, letting the exhaustion sink in. still, if someone ended up coming through the door with ill intent, he was sure he could gather enough adrenaline to kill them on the spot. ]
no subject
But Will would not be such a king. Even now, as he languishes in illness, he is thinking of what Louis is thinking: the snakes in the council who will leap at any perceived weakness. No, he cannot afford to stay sick for long, particularly when they will jump at the opportunity to cast Louis as a kingslayer for a second time. But at the same time —
Nothing can happen if they don't properly rest.
Limp and weak, Will settles into his pillow, nearly dwarfed by his own bed, little more than a round head peeking out of his sheets. But he is not so weak that he cannot state, very clearly: ]
Louis... Sleep beside me.
[ Not without a faint trace of wry humor, he adds: ]
That's a royal decree.
no subject
is he so adamant to stay here with Will because he'll be blamed for what may happen to him? or is it out of true affection, or some mixture of the two? does it matter? his touch is surprisingly gentle, and there is concern in his sharp, teal eyes.
it's weak, but he laughs, a low, dangerous thing in his chest. ]
You put all your energy into that, didn't you? As you wish, your Majesty.
[ Louis is too tired to give a mock bow, but there is amusement in his voice.
it takes him longer than usual to shrug off his jacket and toss it over closest chair, to remove his boots and pull his hair down. each movement threatens an ache, one that doesn't just come from physical exertion, but mental and emotional drain. it's a deep, lingering pain that will only go away with rest.
eventually he slides between the sheets, with admirable elegance even, and joins Will as he sinks into the bedding. it's not the way he thought he would be in this room, laying there after an exhausting medical procedure, allowing the small king to find new ways to tuck his limbs around him.
there is not many times where Louis Guiabern feels peace, but Will's company is soothing, and he's far too tired to feel anything else. ]
no subject
(Hulkenberg checks on them in the middle of the night, accompanied by Heismay, who has come to relieve her of her shift on account of the fact that his eugief body needs less sleep than the average person of another tribe. When they see the king and his past nemesis — future consort — entwined with one another, they say nothing, but share a mutual glance. Hulkenberg closes her eyes and seems to find something like acceptance in her heart of hearts.)
...
Will wakes up with the smell of Louis's skin on his own.
Louis himself is already awake by then, less prone to full nights of sleep than Will is, perhaps; his hand is still cradling the back of Will's head, as if to marvel, really, at just how small he is, how seemingly fragile, when in reality his body holds the power to defeat Louis's own convictions. The young king presses a gentle kiss to his jaw before suggesting that they take a morning bath.
Since the royal retainers are not allowed in Will's quarters at present, they have to draw the bath themselves, but that's little work, and not nearly as difficult as it would be on the runner, besides. Will seems to have a good time choosing bath salts; eventually, he settles on something soothing and woodsy and floral, in part because he figures Louis prefers that sort of thing to anything more artificial or aggressive.
Once the bath is drawn and Will has settled into its depths — once again, he's small enough in the kingly tub that he nearly seems to be buoyed by his own bathwater — Will sighs contentedly and leans against Louis, relishing the way the hot water seems to seep into his aching muscles. Though he feels much better than he did the previous night, he's still not fully recovered in the least; exhaustion still digs at his limbs, and he feels vaguely nauseous, perhaps in part because he hasn't had breakfast yet. It's been hard for him to want to part from Louis's body. ]
I suspect... the council will have heard of my illness by now...
[ He says this in a soft voice, so like a loving murmur; unfortunately, it's just that he's feeling weak, though it's true that he does feel a great deal of love for Louis in the moment. ]
no subject
Louis falls easily into taking control and giving orders when needed: he's instructed Heismay and Hulkenberg to keep an eye out for those straying in the hallway, Strohl and Eupha to the council and the courts, and Gallica as a spy. he figures they will figure out how to delegate specific tasks among themselves. the prince's meals he gives to Hulkenberg specifically, ensuring that they are brought without suspicion. it's porridge and tea, mostly, some broth when it seems appropriate, for now he's giving Will's stomach some time to settle before lunch.
there is still treatment to be had, but Louis finds it difficult to argue with Will who wants a bath – he still must be sore and sticky from the prior night. as much as Louis wiped him down, some sweat still manages to stick around in small patches. so he draws the water, checks the temperature, and gives Will room to pick the salt that he wants. for a little bit he listens to him chatter about what they are and where they came from, small remnants of prior adventures. some were made specifically for him, as some sneaky merchant or politician had learned of the king's interest in them.
Louis ties up his hair to keep it out of the water, folding his ponytail over to keep it manageable before he follows after Will makes himself comfortable. in the center of his chest is that black heart that he keeps wrapped up in his uniform, beneath his tunic. it remains halfway submerged in the bath, its reflection marring the mirror surface. the bath is nice, and he sinks a with a quiet sigh, drifting among the steam. he doesn't open his eyes when he speaks: ]
Most likely, but we've been scarce enough that they will not yet know the details of it. Between the two of us not making any appearances, I'd imagine we have them all simply bursting at the seams with curiosity, though I'm rather surprised that such recklessness has not caused a slip yet.
[ as a hated enemy, Louis cannot imagine they'd not be doing something in retaliation. ]
You will be well soon, have you thought about how you'll return?
[ his voice is lazy, less careful in execution, with a slight, heady drawl. the water is nice. ]
no subject
He gives Louis's question some thought for a brief period of time — it takes some doing, he is still queasy of stomach and cloudy in mind — but, after a moment, he answers: ]
Do I have to return in any particular way? I don't think I owe them an explanation even if they request one.
[ Will flips in the water. His stomach doesn't particularly agree with it, and he still feels weary down to his limbs, but the heat from the bath is beginning to make his joints feel loose and limber again, and he is rewarded for his efforts by the angelic sight of Louis with his hair tied up. Vaguely, Will recalls thinking even through his haze of sickness that Louis looked beautiful with his hair up. He's glad to see that it still holds true, and doesn't bother to hide how he gazes at his betrothed dreamily for a few moments, taking in the vision of his good looks. ]
It's only been two days or so... We'll just resume business as usual. Maybe I just wanted to laze in bed for a while.
[ Impetuous as always. Despite his travels and the fact that he once had nothing, he truly has the temperament of a king.
Slowly, Will's hand glides down the column of Louis's neck towards his sternum and the center of his chest where his black heart is. Curiously, Will pokes at its gilded frame and is surprised to find that it is both warm and hard. Emboldened, he presses his palm against it. ]
...
[ He lowers his voice to a more gentle, curious pitch. ]
...Does this hurt?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)