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When Basch woke up, the first thing he recognized was that he was freezing.
No, not freezing. Sweating, head to toe. The air was sweltering and he was too hot, but his skin was damp and cold and clammy, and that was what had sent the shiver down his back. His heart was hammering inside of his chest, beating with a rhythmic boom against his heavy Archadian chest plate, so forcefully that he was sure it would be visible. To compensate, he panted in his breaths, but couldn't seem to process the air. It hissed against the helmet over his face and sent his own warm, recycled air back into his lungs.
His vision was white. He couldn't see anything around him, and could only half-hear what was going on around him. His ears were ringing, loud and discordant. Everything else sounded far away and muffled, like he was hearing it from underwater.
". . . ranth . . . you alright?"
"Someone . . . his helmet . . . "
" . . . loosen that cape from around his neck . . . "
" . . . call a White Mage for him."
He couldn't decipher what they were talking about. There were too many voices, and they were all saying too many things at once. But at least they were becoming clearer, second by second.
"Make way, please!" That was a voice he recognized. The ground shook as running footsteps pounding towards him. He felt the vibrations against his back and the back of his head, buzzing in his brain. A headache flared in its wake, and he groaned softly before he could help it. "Let me through!"
"Emperor Larsa-"
The smooth slap of leather boot-clad knees hitting the ground right next to his ear startled Basch. It was too loud. Everything was too loud, the harshest sounds piercing into his head, and he was quickly getting overwhelmed. Irritation bloomed in his mind. Hands touched the sides of his helmet, slightly lifting his head, and the sudden change in elevation set his equilibrium spinning. His head swam as the hands tugged the helmet from his head, then lowered him gently back down.
The clean, crisp air was an immediate relief. And without the distortion of the helmet, shapes were beginning to fade into his vision in different shades of grey. The first thing his eyes spotted was a blurry silhouette. The feeling of a soft, supple leather glove touched his face, then wiped the sweat-slicked hair away. The silhouette shifted, and the hands moved from his face to his neck, worrying at something around his throat. The high-collared undershirt was folded away from his neck, and his cape was undone.
"Are you alright?" the voice asked, light, articulate, laced with urgency and worry. "Gabranth!"
Basch blinked. As color began to return to him, he saw brown shoulder-length hair. He saw a gold circlet of thin, intertwining piping that wrapped around the boy's forehead, cresting at the center with the dragons of House Solidor. He saw the fins that framed his face, and he saw young, wide, compassionate blue eyes beneath furrowed eyebrows.
Behind him, the palace ballroom ceiling.
"There you are," Larsa said. "Back with us."
There were other people around as well. Party-goers, all staring down at him in a circle and clutching their wine goblets. Basch realized that he was on the floor. He lifted his head on his own, wincing from the headache. His arms were sprawled out to his side, legs curled from where he had crumpled. Self-consciousness made a different kind of heat rise in his cheeks, and he quickly tried to set himself to rights.
"Emp-Emperor Larsa-" he said, tongue thick and slow in his mouth. Basch placed his palms flat on the ground and pushed himself upright, but as before ,his head immediately went fuzzy again. The white that had been exiled to the outer edges of his vision surged, tunneling his sight. His elbows trembled too much to be useful, and he was forced to flop back to the ground with a loud crash of his armor.
Larsa leaned over him, placing his hand flat on his chest despite Basch's body not needing the help. "Basch- Judge Magister Gabranth," he corrected quickly. "Please don't get up yet. You overheated in your armor. You just passed out." Larsa looked up and scanned the many faces that were around them. He pointed to someone. "You. We need some water. Find a servant and have them bring some cold water." He pointed to another, stepping easily into an authoritative tone. "And I need a cloth. And you, call a Mage."
A second passed. Basch blinked again, and then everything Larsa asked for was in his hands. Larsa poured him some water into a goblet. Basch took it in his trembling hands to lightly sip at it, and Larsa placed a gentle hand on the back of his head to help him stay upright for long enough to do so. After that, he took the pitcher of water and the towel that someone had materialized for him. He dipped the towel in and wrung it out, not bothering to care that he was getting his own robes wet. He leaned over Basch and lifted his head again, placing it on the back of his neck. The relief was immediate, and Basch let out a sigh.
"The Mage is here, Your Majesty."
"Good. Let's get you up," Larsa said. He clamored to his feet and moved behind Basch, digging his hands under his shoulders. He lifted slowly, inch by inch, stopping periodically to let Basch lean back against him when he began to sway. "I've got you."
"M-My apologies, Your Majesty," Basch said. He still felt weak, shaky, a little nauseous, and the staring crowd wasn't helping. Mortification for his brother's strong legacy and having to force Larsa to care for him surged in his heart. He braced his fingers against his forehead, partially to steady himself and partially to avoid meeting the gazes around the room. "This, this is most improper, and I . . . "
Larsa offered him a stern glance, leaning into his periphery to ensure that he saw it. Basch abruptly ended his apologies. The snapping of his jaw shut must have amused Larsa, because his lips twitched in a smile that he was trying to contain, and his eyes softened. He gaze grew distant, only for a moment, some memory playing out there. "Your resemblance to him is sometimes striking," he said.
Basch was too stunned by his sudden sincerity to come up with a reply, and his sluggish mind was too fatigued. The Mage helped tug Basch to his feet, and his apprentices each grabbed an arm to let him lean heavily on them since his trembling knees weren't operating at peak performance. Larsa scurried behind him, taking the time to meticulously fold his cape into a perfect square. Then he grabbed his helmet, tucking it under his arm.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I trust you won't mind if I see Judge Magister Gabranth to his quarters." He didn't wait for their bows or their groveling. He walked behind Basch and didn't leave his side until the Mages released him from their care.