Chapter Text
“Oh, My First…”
Pierro was convinced he was hallucinating, the towering figure of Her Majesty lurking in his doorway so casually. The wicked points of her crown glimmered under the faint light, winking and dancing in his swimming vision, stars plucked out of the false sky, her dress shimmering with the sheer drapery of ice as its train dragged across the ground. A veil- so painfully similar to one of a bride about to be wed- framed the deep lines of her smile, beautiful and ever present as she entered the room, head held high. She always carried herself with pride, looking down upon him with the fondness that only devotion could inspire. Despite her icy demeanor, flames danced in those crystalline eyes, passion that could not be erased even in the fiercest wind or deepest chasms of the world.
“What happened to you, my dearest?” Her voice was nothing short of sweet, mixed with the slightest inkling of sympathy. “I was told you were ill, but I did not expect you to be bed-ridden.”
Well, he hadn’t been bed ridden the previous night. He’d been just fine, powering through what should’ve been an ordinary cold. That was, until he started getting feverish, to the point that he passed out at his desk, found by the Captain a few hours later. Such a dangerously high fever had (unfortunately) called for Dottore’s urgent assistance, the Harbingers gathered to ensure that their leader was alive and kicking- even if most of them were aching to watch him die slowly.
It had been some time since then, and Pierro had been physically unable to rouse himself. Every time he woke, his body felt too heavy to move, even forcing his hand to rub at his face or his leg to shift to a more comfortable position was agonizing. It didn’t help that he’d been abandoned, confined to the bed with a roaring fire, the blankets doing nothing to help the tremors that wracked his body in a state of feverish delirium.
But she had come to him. The Tsaritsa, in all her glory, had come to ensure his safety. His shock was palpable, but also hazy through the fog that surrounded his mind, especially as the bed dipped under her weight, a cold hand on his forehead following soon after.
“Oh, you poor thing. You’re burning up.” The Tsaritsa murmured, her voice sweet as she gently brushed his hair back, sticky from sweat. “Has no one tended to you?”
Pierro coughed weakly, his throat aching to the point that he could barely clear it, let alone speak. “No-” Was all he managed to get out before descending into another coughing fit. His shoulders shook violently, eyes watering to the point that he could no longer see the Tsaritsa before him, her iridescent form hidden by the darkness behind his eyes. By the time he managed to recover, her brow was furrowed with concern, her smile gone from her face as she stroked his back, leaning over to see him better.
“Disappointing. I’ll have someone beheaded for this… neglect. Likely that wretched Doctor. Would that please you, My First?”
Would it please him? Pierro wasn’t sure. While yes, it would save him the time and reduce the amount of headaches he had… he was too tired to think about it right now. He didn’t answer, instead leaning further into the Tsaritsa’s touch, his skin burning against her cold hands.
“Ah, that was a foolish question. I am sorry, dearest. I shouldn’t expect an answer from you, especially not when you’ve caught your death.” The Tsaritsa was silent for a moment, watching the fire almost mournfully. “What can I do for you, My First? I wish only to ease your pain… And provide you comfort. Whatever you desire, you may have it.”
He didn’t particularly want anything. Only for her to keep her hands on him, the cold of her skin relieving the heat and pain from his fever. He still couldn’t think through the cotton that felt like it was stuffing his head, but the cool and rough sensation of her fingertips against his skin was divine.
He needed her.
“...Stay.” His chapped lips made it difficult to speak, his voice hoarse from the coughing and his terribly runny nose. But the relief from the oppressive burning was palpable, to the point that his body ached for more. “Please-”
Another fit of coughing. It really was a pathetic display, the leader of the Harbingers withering and curling in on himself as he hacked up a lung. She must think him weak.
“Breathe, my dearest.” Silken and smooth, her soothing murmur washed over him, the frigid air that surrounded her washing over him. “Deep breaths, Pierrot. I cannot have you dying on me just yet.” The last remark sounded strangely teasing, but Pierro was too busy choking and struggling against his own lungs to notice.
The bed creaked as the Tsaritsa leaned closer, the curtain of her veil obscuring the doorway. Her hand trailed down his cheek, the column of his throat, tracing to his collarbone and across his chest. He was painfully aware of the way her hand dug into his side, rubbing tender circles as she whispered to him, reminding him to take breaths (albeit wasted ones). His next emergence was half in her arms, her calloused thumb swiping away the tears that glistened on his cheeks from the strain.
“There you are. Welcome back, dear.” Oh, her smile was so soft that he wished he could see it in its full glory.
“Mhm…” Clearing his throat roughly, Pierro struggled to shift himself onto his side, the beginnings of sheer desperation clawing at the back of his throat. He needed her, the codependency that he’d forged was like a drug. Hours of solitude had been weathered by indifference, but he couldn’t bear to be so cold in her presence. His struggle was only amplified by what little room he had to move- he’d sequestered himself in a tiny quadrant of the bed, it was more comfortable than being stuck in the middle.
The Tsaritsa’s brow furrowed once more watching him, hovering as she watched him shift and shake. She didn’t speak for a long moment, before finally saying:
“Where would you like me, My First? I shall honor your request by staying, but I believe some… Skin to skin contact will do you some good.”
Pierro nodded feebly, though his body ached far too much to move. The Tsaritsa graced him only with a smile as she walked around the side of the bed, sitting down and kicking off heels that clinked against floors made of the same material, the ice glimmering in the faint light. Next came her crown, carelessly cast aside, her furs discarded and laid to rest in a pile on the other side of the massive space. With her furs gone, her scantily clothed body was revealed, though Pierro was in too much pain to fully admire it. She always did love teasing him for whatever reason…
“Oh, you poor thing. So tired you can’t even keep your eyes open…” The Tsaritsa hummed in amusement as she clambered across the bed on her hands and knees, settling beside her first and oldest Harbinger with ease. “It’s alright darling, you deserve your rest.”
Pierro nodded once more, painfully aware of Her Majesty settling beside him, pulling up a few pillows and stacking them to prop herself up. She was much larger than usual, dominating the small space the Jester had burrowed into in search of comfort, but it was… nice. Pierro wouldn’t swallow his pride and say he enjoyed being protected… but there was something so comforting that being so close to Her Majesty brought, a trust that had endured the sands of time.
“May I hold you, Jester?” As if she even needed to ask.
Gentle hands lifted him, his head aching at the sudden movement, before gently bringing him back down, his cheek pressing against cold and smooth skin. The bed felt peculiar under him, what-
Oh. He was laid… on top of her?
In any ordinary situation, he would’ve slapped himself for the disrespect and blasphemy, but he could barely move his body beyond a pathetic shift to try and make himself more comfortable. He didn’t know what surface his head was cradled against- didn’t particularly care, the comfort of being coddled had seemingly gotten to his head. It was achingly familiar, being so intimately intertwined with his goddess. As if their bodies were meant to fit together this way, the primal and ancient feeling in his bones stoked and rendered him useless.
“That’s better, isn’t it?” The Tsaritsa murmured, gentle hands resting on the back of his head and neck, pulling him closer. “Relax, dearest. I will take care of you well, you have my word.”
Pierro could barely muster a nod, melting into her comforting touch. Long, delicate fingers carded through his hair, with the same care she dedicated to her weaving, precise and fluid. Her fingertips traced over weathered temples, drew circles in consecrated skin, the beauty of it all smothered in the muddled heat that surrounded him.
He hated that he couldn’t reach out and hold the hand that had so tenderly brushed his hair aside, her palm resting against his forehead to ward off the burning sensation that prickled behind his eyes.
“You really are burning up badly… poor boy. I cannot believe that they left you here all alone, with no one to tend to you. A true pity it’ll be when they all hang from the gates for this crime. Especially against something that’s mine .”
Her grip on his body tightened ever so slightly as she growled the last word, chest rumbling with primal energy rarely unveiled. Her jotun nature rarely emerged, but when it did, it came with a wash of barely restrained power, so potent that an ordinary human would faint from just a touch. Pierro would never say so out loud, but it was incredibly beautiful, the otherworldly nature that her giantess form offered, blanketed in snow and ice, the coils of her hair braided with crystals that rivaled the sky nails in size. Just the thought of being cradled in her hands, being watched from so far away… it eased him into sleep much more than he anticipated.
“-sleep. I will have you back at full strength soon, dearest.”
The next time he woke, he was burning alive.
That, and he was being shoved underwater.
Gasping and clawing at the hand that held him under, his fingernails scratched at ivory skin, catching in the cracks and divots of his queen’s history. Blindly flailing, he tried to draw in a breath, something, anything- but it was only water , rushing into his lungs with a small stream of bubbles. His throat spasmed around the intrusion, aching for air, trying to expel this foreign substance-
Then he was drawn out, coughing and choking as large hands gripped his shoulders.
“Breathe, Pierrot!” The exclamation was familiar, muffled by the water in his ears. “Breathe, My First, breathe…”
Not that Pierro could, coughing and sobbing around the water in his lungs and throat, hot tears of pain dotting his cheeks as freely as the droplets from his sudden removal. His head hurt so much, and now he had an aching chest to match. The pain and frustration of being woken up weighed heavily on him, especially after being unable to for so long. He just… wanted to rest, for once, without being terrorized or woken by another urgent report about Dottore burning down his lab or Capitano breaking some poor recruit’s spine.
Was it wrong to want rest, after so many years of serving?
“Dearest, are you alright? I’m so sorry… Your fever was dangerously high, I had to remedy it before it became your death.”
The Tsaritsa's words were gentle, apologetic. No, she had nothing to apologize for. It was his own fault, for panicking. He needed to have more faith in her.
“Please talk to me, Pierrot. Your silence scares me.”
“‘m fine…” Pierro muttered in return, coughing a few more times to clear his throat. “It is cold…”
“I know, darling. Let me fetch you a towel.”
Pierro nodded feebly, the cold beginning to set in as he violently shivered, curling in on himself and holding his hands close to his chest. The feeling of being burned alive had started to fade, in its wake leaving sore muscles and burning eyes, his body feeling as if it were being weighed down by thousand pound weights. Falling back against the lip of the tub, his eyes drooped closed against the pain, his mind attempting to block out the agony that had yet to descend upon him.
He was woken again by a warm towel being wrapped around his shoulders, the Tsaritsa’s arms winding around him as she pulled him from the bath. He was briefly aware of being carried, placed upon a soft surface as a towel was run over his freezing limbs. The fire crackled as the figure in the corner of his vision placed more wood atop it, returning and lifting his head to dry his hair. The massage of fingertips against his skull eased the ache behind his eyes, slowed his heart in ways that not even rest could. His mind had yet to recognize this physical reaction, to make the association between the calmness that washed over him and the hands that dressed him like he was made of glass, hovering so hesitantly over his skin.
“Go back to sleep, dearest. I will have something for you when you wake.”
Pierro woke once more, this time to his queen laying nearby.
She wasn’t asleep, no, what archon needed sleep? But heavens, just seeing her laid out beside him…
“Ah, Pierrot. It’s good to see your eyes again, dearest.” The Tsaritsa chuckled, cracking open an eye and peering at him playfully. “How do you feel?”
“Better.” Pierro rasped, though his throat begged to differ. Clearing his throat, he ignored the faint rumble of his stomach, hoping she hadn’t heard it. “How long has it been…?”
“Not long. A night, perhaps. I was going to let you rest a little longer, but it seems your stomach has other plans…” Her knowing smile brought a flood of embarrassment with it, his cheeks warming at just the mortifying ordeal of disturbing her.
“I… suppose it does.” Was all he could mutter, coughing once more in an attempt to scratch the itch in the back of his throat. Of all ailments to be struck with, he’d fallen to the most pathetic and disgusting of them all…
“Good to know you agree, darling. I will go fetch some food for you then, hm? I cannot have my advisor going hungry, now can I?” Pushing herself up into a sitting position, his goddess beamed down upon him, still clearly trying to get a rise out of him. “No, that simply won’t do.”
“It certainly won’t.” Pierro wasn’t precisely sure on how to respond, the Tsaritsa was cryptic and inexplicable at even the best of times. “Thank you for caring for me, Your Majesty.”
“Oh, don’t apologize.” The bed creaked as the Tsaritsa rose to her feet, picking up her fur cloak from where she’d discarded it previously. “It’s my duty as your queen to ensure that you are well.”
“...You do not provide the same care for the other Harbingers.”
The Tsaritsa froze for a moment, caught off guard. Who knew a sick man could hold his own in a battle of wits, especially one so dangerously intertwined with falling?
“Perhaps I do not. Perhaps it is that you’re… special, to me. Have you considered your worth as my oldest and most loyal friend? Those foolish maggots will never compare, I’m afraid.” Fixing her crown upon her head, she turned to look at him, her victory smile thinly veiled. “You are far too precious to me to be abandoned, especially when you are vulnerable. Consider this care a… token of my affections.”
Pierro was speechless for a moment, watching the Tsaritsa with an unreadable expression. A token of her affections… it was all too bold. He couldn’t possibly accept that, he was nothing more than a slave to her whims, a servant to carry out her will and execute those who refused it.
He was not worthy of her affections. Never, even after an eternity of kneeling before her throne.
“I cannot accept such token.” He rasped, fists grasping at the blanket spread over his lap. “It is better spent elsewhere.”
The Tsaritsa’s lips pursed at the statement. No, she didn’t appear angry, but something had shifted behind those granite eyes, primal and raw as she looked down upon him.
“You will learn to accept it.” Her tone was gentle, like the promise of summer upon the lips of a rose. “Now, I will go fetch something for you to eat.”
Leaving no room for argument, his queen left, the doors of Pierro’s chambers booming as ice collided with itself.
You will learn to accept it.
Easing back on the pillows heaped by the headboard, he watched the linen thrown over the frame of his bed, tied back to curtain the large space. His mind ran too fast and rampant for him to understand his thoughts, his clarity lost in the patterns of the woven fabric. It reminded him of Her Majesty every moment she was away, the cold blues and reds softly overlapping in a stream that ran into eternity. He’d seen her weave before, deft hands ghosting over the strings, seated before a massive loom in the center of her quarters. It was fluid, much like the water that rushed before his eyes, the tightly knit fibers painting an image so close to the sky of his homeland.
He wasn’t sure how long he laid there for, pulling the blanket over his bare chest, sweat beading his brow once more. He felt warm again, his stomach aching from hunger and body crying for rest.
The doors opened once more, the click of Her Majesty’s shoes echoing through the room. Pierro didn’t rise to look, the comforting hum of her gnosis was far too familiar to warrant his attention.
“Pierrot, darling, would you sit up for me?” The chair beside the bed creaked, presumably dragged over while he rested last. “It was quite fortunate that the stew was finished when I arrived. I assumed that liquid would soothe that poor throat of yours, dear, it must hurt terribly.”
Pierro couldn’t exactly argue, he sounded as if he had Pantalone’s smoking habits.
Struggling to push himself upright, his head ached and arms shook with the force required to keep himself upright. He didn’t dare ask for her assistance, the humiliation of such a request would surely ruin him.
However, the Tsaritsa had no such restraints. Frozen hands rested upon his shoulders, supporting him as he wavered, the pressure behind his eyes increasing painfully.
“Breathe, My First. Deep breaths, do not push yourself.”
Pierro nodded, drawing in a shaky breath. Raised scars pressed against the Tsaritsa’s palms as he swallowed another weary breath, eyes watering violently with tears beginning to drip down flushed and warm cheeks. It almost seemed as if he were crying, his chest certainly felt tight enough to suggest it.
“Oh, my dearest… It’s alright. If it hurts too much, you can lay back down again.” The Tsaritsa murmured, cold fingers pressing into his shoulders gently. “Do not hurt yourself, please.”
Please.
Pierro nodded, but did not surrender. Instead, he leaned closer, raising shaky hands to take the warm bowl in his lap.
“I can…” He trailed off, interrupted by the Tsaritsa’s fond chuckle.
“I know you can hold it, Jester. But you’re ill at the moment, let me take care of you. I wouldn’t want you to spill this all over yourself…” A poor excuse, but Pierro didn’t have the ability to contest it.
Taking the bowl in hand, the Tsaritsa dipped the spoon within it, offering it for Pierro to sip from.
Oh.
Oh.
She intended to
feed
him.
Pierro stared at the spoon for a moment, his cheeks flushing an even deeper red. Even in his days married, he’d never been fed in such a way.
“Go on, Pierrot. Unless you believe it to be poisoned?” Her tone was teasing, the spoon edging closer. “Perhaps I should taste it myself first, if you worry…”
“No, that will not be necessary-” Pierro muttered, leaning forward and taking the spoon in his mouth. The Tsaritsa watched him with thinly veiled amusement, drawing the spoon back with a satisfied smile.
“Good boy.”
… What.
“Open wide, you have a whole bowl to drain.”
Pierro flushed red, ignoring the part of him that screamed for more.
Opening his mouth, he caved to her request, refusing to meet her eyes.
Falling ill was beginning to pay off…
“My First, are you asleep?”
Pierro grunted, laid on his side and buried in blankets galore. He’d hesitantly caved after being fed, too full of warm soup to protest being bundled up and laid to rest. The Tsaritsa had reclaimed her place by his side, a smile hidden by the darkness of his quarters.
“Alright then. Goodnight, my dearest. I will remain when you wake.”
Pierro nodded faintly, not noticing the creak of the bed under him.
Star shaped irises fell under the cover of night.
Beside them, the gentle touch of his queen, falling over his side and pulling him close against the dangers of the world and its cruelty.
Together they fell, the storm outside settling for the first time in centuries.