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Mueller hissed, as the attack hit; then he heard Olivert's voice calling his name, and black took over.
He came to... later. He wasn't sure how much later, but it was dark now, and there was a fire burning, and he was lying down with his head safely cushioned, the soft familiar music of Olivert when he wasn't trying to show he was something that he wasn't wafting around him. He closed his eyes again, the alarm at having passed out in the first place drowned out by exhaustion teamed up with comfort.
When he opened his eyes next, the fire had nearly died out and the day was nearly upon them once again. He was... less drained now, and better able to take stock of his situation.
The two of them were still out in the open, the warmth of early summer negating the need for too much insulation. Olivert had found them a reasonably good place, considering he probably had had to carry - or drag - Mueller the entire distance. It wasn't fully secure, but it was sheltered enough. The Prince himself was curled up around Mueller's back and his breathing suggested that he was sleeping, though Mueller was sure that he would wake up on the first motion.
Olivert had been a light sleeper for a while, now.
The Prince's arm was gently wrapped around his stomach, carefully away from the still-throbbing chest, and he was pressed very close.
Mueller let his breathing match Olivert's in rhythm. Only then did he move his hand so it would cover his friend's, and he let sleep claim him for however long there was until the dawn.
When he woke up in broad daylight, the comforting warmth against his back was gone. The pain in his chest, not so much, but after however many curatives Olivert had applied, it felt more like extensive and spectacular bruising, rather than anything worse. He had dealt with bruising before.
He sat up, as quietly as he could, though it still warranted a hiss.
"Stay put."
"I'm fine, Olivert."
Silence. Gingerly, Mueller started looking around to spot the blond head of hair, face turned mostly away. The absence of a response stretched further, and Mueller shook his head.
"I gave you a fright. I'm sorry."
"It's nothing." Too fast. Mueller gave it the quiet snort it deserved, then started disentangling himself from the bedding that Olivert had provided for his comfort, then standing up. Well. He might be less steady on his feet than he would like, but he could manage.
It did get Olivert to look properly at him. Glare, really. "Sit back down, what are you doing?" The Prince scrambled up to his own feet, his usual casual grace forgotten-- ah. He'd gotten a little bit of sleep, but not much.
"Do we have any curatives left?" Mueller hadn't checked, before that fight. Olivert looked away rather than answer immediately.
"I didn't think what we had would be enough." Eventually.
Mueller reached up and tipped Olivert's chin with a finger so he would look at him.
"I'm fine."
"Barely."
"I'm fine, Olivert." Softer, lower. Then, on an impulse, he leaned carefully and pressed his lips to the blond's pout.
Olivert stiffered, startled, then he raised his hands to put them on Mueller's shoulders. Almost trying to push him away, yet there was no real force behind it - and his lips parted so their could kiss properly, they way they sometimes did. Another few heartbeats, and Olivert stepped closer, wrapping his arms around Mueller's neck, one hand sliding deep into his hair, pulling him for a more serious kiss.
(Mueller ran short of breath, but he wouldn't dream of interrupting this. Olivert was too precious, too eager for love and understanding among people and too easily hurt when he found an absence of it, so this was precious. It didn't have a proper name, nor would it ever - but it was theirs.)
In the end, Olivert broke it off, burying his face in the curve of Mueller's back with a sob.
"You almost died. I don't - I don't know what I'd have done if you had. I don't... I don't want anyone to die. I don't want you to die."
The tears burned where they moistened his collar, but Mueller simply raised his arms and held his Prince. His precious charge. His friend. Until they started tapering off, and sobs calmed down.
"Now do you think you can get some proper sleep? I'm all right."
"Mmph."
Mueller waited a moment, sure that Olivert's breathing had eased up properly from even the last of the hiccups.
"... see what it's like whenever you give me a fright?"
There was a pause, then incredulous, beautiful eyes, framed by tear-darkened eyelashes, peered up at him before they changed to outrage. "You...!"
And he punched him in the side of the ribs. Which got Mueller to actually double up in pain because, ah, bruises, and Olivert gasped, and leaned down to help ease him down to sit once more. But Mueller reached to keep him from moving away, dragging him down with him with an arm around his shoulders... and he even managed, out of long practice, to pull Olivert down into his lap.
His legs were fine, anyway.
It took the blond a full moment to realize what had happened. And then he stared at Mueller.
Then they were both laughing. It hurt, sure. But Mueller had absolutely no regrets. Feeling the tension melt from his Prince's shoulders was more than worth it. (It always was. He knew he hid that behind words and threats and glares. But it was always the truth, and Olivert knew it so well. Too well.
And that was also all right.)
Eventually, Mueller drew Olivert's head down to kiss into his hairline.
"Get some sleep, Olivert. I'll keep watch and keep getting better. I might even cook."
"No!"
"Shh. You need the rest, so you don't mess up those elaborate plans of yours. I'll be fine."
"No running away to get on recovering the stock of curatives, either."
"Would I leave you alone?"
"Promise me."
"... all right, I'll wait for you to wake up. I promise."
His Prince, his charge, his friend. The man who knew him even better than his own brother did. The focus of his life, and the bane of his existence.
They would be all right.