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Growing up, as he scoured for the optimal books to read from the vast collection of Krakenburg’s great libraries, the second prince of Nohr had learned from a few dusty tomes of the various notions passed from scholar to scholar concerning the sickness periodically experienced by those of the kingdom who had been exposed to too much sun. At the time, such speculations sounded preposterous to the keen mage, given how their theories lacked the support of any profound evidence.
Now, as Leo laid beneath the downy warmth of a futon and burning to the touch from sun poisoning, he had to wonder if he should not have taken such out-dated texts for granted during his travels through Hoshido.
“Take this,” Takumi advises, encouraging the second prince of Nohr to accept the stoneware cup he offers. A pale green syrup fills the cup halfway, the liquid’s cold temperature making the surface cool to the touch as Leo takes it in his grasp.
“Forewarning you: the taste is quite foul. But the herbalists always say the medicine that tastes the worst works the best.”
“Ha! Is that not just a white lie parents tell their children to get them to take their medicine?” Leo asserts, bringing the cup to his lips to take a sip. The recoil he does his best to suppress in the presence of the Hoshidan prince does not go unnoticed, laughing at Leo’s reaction.
“It works on stubborn princes too, or so I’ve heard.”
“Hmph. It’s not so bad,” Leo mumbles, bravely taking another sip. “Where did you learn such a remedy anyways? Seeing as Hoshidans are so frequently exposed to the sun at regular intervals, a tonic for sun poisoning hardly seems like something a prince of all people would know how to make.”
“Sakura once fell ill to it, when she was quite young. After she got better, I begged the herbalists to show me how to make it, just in case she ever came down with it again. I never got the chance to put that knowledge to use, until now at least.”
“Ah, so that’s why it tastes a bit off.”
He earns a light smack to the shoulder for the comment.
“It does not! Now finish it before it becomes room temperature and even more unbearable to drink.”
And so Leo does, shuddering on the last mouthful as he hands the cup back to his gracious caregiver. “Please don’t tell me there’s more of this dreadful concoction in my future.”
“You best rest up and hope your fever breaks by dusk then,” Takumi smiles, taking Leo’s hand in his own as the cup passes between them and intertwining their fingers. “And I’ll stay with you until it does—until you’re hale and healthy once more.”