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A strange tinge in the air made Canach hesitate, his foot hovering briefly over his doorstep. A tension, uncomfortable with how it caused his bark to prickle and twitch, compounding the unease that had been eating away at him long before he had approached the house, and he found himself straining to listen for anything that seemed out of place.
Silence, and that just made the agitation worse.
Just when he thought he was losing his mind, he felt it: a whimper. Impossible for him to have heard, even with how quiet the entire place was, yet slicing through his very soul.
"Akoni?! "
The dark green Sylvari barged through the house, the pull of their bond leading him through the living room; the hallway, only to have him burst into the bathroom to find a small heap of blue huddled next to the latrine.
He paused, the thorns on his features flexing as confusion battled panic, before worry won out. Kneeling down beside her, he placed a concerned hand on her back. "Love?"
No answer, save for a low, pained whine.
Gentle strokes now, and his mouth thinned when he noticed how her glow sputtered in short, weak bursts. "Akoni," he coaxed as he attempted to prop her up. "Come now. What's wrong?"
Dark eyes stared at him, glassy and unseeing, her bark paler than he had ever seen, with a damp sheen that coated even her leaves. The freckles that he so loved, usually twinkling with merriment and mischief, were practically nonexistent, leaving behind specks of dark blue instead.
That worry engulfed him as he reached up to cup a cheek.
There was only a split second of warning– the small jerk of her torso; a weak twist as she pulled herself out of his arms, but he instinctively let her go to watch, baffled, as she proceeded to heave into the toilet.
He slowly exhaled as he willed away the adrenaline. He had rushed in expecting a fight, with every fibre of his being amped up to charge and protect, more than ready to kill if need be.
He never expected to find his entwined sick.
As the bathroom was filled with the sound of miserable retching, he murmured comfort, gathering up Akoni's long vines in one hand to hold them out of the way.
This time, his frown deepened. They, too, were damp, as soaked in sweat as the rest of her.
After what seemed to be an eternity, wet sounds easing into dry heaving, it seemed she was done as she slumped across the porcelain. Her breathing shallow and exhausted, she still seemed to have not registered his presence.
He stroked her forehead, brushing away a few wayward tendrils, and the worry only deepened as he realized she was shivering.
Exactly how long had she been like this?
This time, though, she finally seemed to realize he was there, and her eyes slowly focused onto his face.
"Petal?" he asked softly, but was startled when he was answered with a weak hiss.
Seeing, but not.
Her lips lifted slightly to bare tiny fangs, letting out soft little growls as her fingers curled into his arms– shaking, despite the pinpricks of her nails-turned-claws attempting to pry his grip from her.
He sighed as he considered the strange situation.
Answers later, he decided. Right now, he had a half-delirious, sick entwined to tend to.
A basin, half-filled with hot water. A small hand towel that he left to soak as he moved about their bedroom, placing a second blanket down on the bed and a bucket by the bedside, before hunting through the dresser drawers. He frowned as he pawed aside various pieces of clothing. When had Akoni taken over so much space? He could've sworn he had given her just the one–
Ah. But that was before she had moved in, wasn't it? He shook his head to himself.
He really did need to start looking into those renovations Akoni kept talking about. As cozy as their home was, some extra room would definitely be nice.
There it is. He pulled out a thick, woolen robe– she had been bouncing around in it one day, happy to have found something warmer than the ones she usually wore, and he mainly remembered it because he had teased that she really was such a strange Sylvari for being so sensitive to the cold.
She'd only replied by petulantly sticking her tongue out at him before waltzing off to make herself a mug of mocha, a horrific bastardisation where she sullied their wonderful coffee blend with chocolate.
He glanced towards the bathroom, lips tightening slightly when a brush of his Self against hers elicited no response– none of the happy pulses he was used to; not even a little nip of acknowledgement– though he could practically feel the way her mind was tipping every which way and then some.
Light burn him, but his poor Petal felt miserable.
A quick push to close the dresser before he hurried back.
"Akoni?"
The frost blue Sylvari hadn't moved an inch since he left, though the sound of his voice did make her stir. Bleary eyes peered at him, though once again she attempted a weak snarl.
"It's just me, love." He ignored the continued warnings for him to stay away, taking a careful seat next to her instead. Rough fingers trailed over her damp bark and vines, and he felt her shiver under his touch as he finally found the thorns on her nape.
It seemed that she'd withdrawn inside of herself– instinctive, most likely– with those mental shields of hers keeping everything out like a vault. An attempt to make herself as unobtrusive as possible until whatever this was passed.
A small injection of comfort– shielded or not, he could still take advantage of their bond– and he could sense the dizziness sloshing about in her mind, demanding all her concentration as it tugged on strings to try coax her stomach to heave, though there was nothing left but bile and weariness and exhaustion. He rubbed at the thorns and her bark as he continued to call to her. Anything to try to convince her to let him in.
All the while, he continued to assess her.
It didn't seem like she would need a healer, the logical part of his mind noted. As bad as she looked at first, it didn't seem to be that serious. More like a bad hangover, if anything: she was conscious, was able to move about, and could still, at least, think, judging from how she'd managed to plonk herself in the bathroom.
And, as hissy as she was, there was little bite to her warnings as, even now, her growls were more whiny complaints than anything.
The emotional part of him, which he usually refused to acknowledge, ignored all that as worry continued to worm its way deeper into his guts– did someone convince her to drink? Had she been drugged? Poisoned? – as he attempted to untangle the mess of self-pity she had retreated into.
Eventually, the little sounds coming out of her petered off as recognition began to slowly dawn on her.
"Cnch?" she mumbled.
A moment of relief that he hid behind a kiss on her forehead. "Do you think you can sit up?"
Credit to her, she gave it a valiant attempt, though with the way she started swaying, he scooted closer to let her lean on him.
The worry ebbed, if only just a bit: she was coherent, the disorientation seemingly more from exhaustion and nausea than anything. He shoved all other thoughts to the back of his mind to focus on exuding as much reassurance as he could across their bond.
She needed his full attention right now.
Her normally light, musical voice was but a thick slur as her head drooped onto his shoulder. "'M… 'm siiiiiiick."
"I know, Petal." There was a soft pop as he uncorked a bottle– one of his elixirs. Though it wasn't much of a cure considering he didn't know what caused her to be in such a state in the first place, he could, at the very least, help ease away the nausea. "Can you drink this for me, love?"
"Can't… don– don wanna," was the moan, punctured by a short hurk as she fought another bout of heaving, and he rubbed her back as he patiently waited for her to be done.
"I know, but this will help you feel better," he soothed, pulsing cajoling waves at her as he held the bottle up to her lips.
"Nuuh–"
You trust your thorn, don't you?
Despite the groan, she reluctantly parted her lips, taking small sips of the amber liquid with his murmured encouragement. He paused every time she pulled away, rubbing at her back, watching her petal-like features scrunch up as she fought the urge to hurl it all up again.
He set it aside when it was half finished, figuring she could use a break, and eyed her once again.
She was still in her normal, everyday outfit: that open top that draped over her breasts, with simple leather pants. He gave small thanks that it wasn't her armour instead: the mix of the hidden buckles of her ley chest plate coupled with the bodice underneath were much more tedious to pry off.
"Lets get you into something more comfortable." He brushed her vines back away from her eyes, unable to help the downward turn of his mouth when Akoni squinted up at him before burying her face against him with a quiet mewl.
Her misery was palpable, and he tried to rumble comfort.
Poor thing.
It was easy enough for him to help her out of the sweat-soaked clothes– he couldn't help but dryly thank all their previous trysts for that– and pulled the basin of gently steaming water closer.
He didn't miss her shivers when he carefully wiped her bark clean; held her steady as she rinsed out her mouth. The chill of her body was blatant against the warmth of the towel and he did his best to hurry, especially when she tried to press closer to him when her shivering worsened.
"I know, love," he murmured as he slipped the robe on her, giving her a small squeeze before scooping her up, carefully making his way out of the bathroom. "Let's get you warmed up and in bed."
"But. Whaddif… if I get… Get. Sick," was her feeble protest. "Don't… gonna makea… make… messss." She looked almost comically small even compared to her usual petite self, weariness having transformed her into pure wilted dead weight in his arms.
"It's fine," he assured her. "I'm here. You just rest." Settling her onto the bed, he made sure she finished the remainder of the elixir before tucking her in, though not before showing her the bucket he had placed on standby earlier.
A shaky hand reached out: brushed against his cheek; his needles as gratitude sprinkled into his thoughts, and he pressed a soft kiss on the fingertips.
"Rest," he repeated gently.
A tiny bit of amusement sparked in him when she pulled the blanket over her head, burying herself underneath it all to transform into an unmoving lump.
Must be feeling slightly better, then.
The draw of the curtains was followed by the small hiss of a match as he lit a lamp by the bedside, turning it down to keep the room dim. He wasn't sure if Akoni's misery extended to bright light as most hangovers were– if this was one, considering her aversion to alcohol– but he preferred to play it safe. Besides, she was sensitive to it anyway, and if it made her more comfortable, then that was a good enough reason for him.
A quick check to make sure there was still water in the jug on the nightstand, before pouring a cup and placing it closer to the bed. Satisfied she was as comfortable as could be, he turned his attention to the rest of the house and frowned when he saw mud tracked all over the floor.
He looked down.
Ah. Right. He'd been so worried earlier that he didn't even think about kicking off his boots, much less his armour and gear.
A small sigh escaped him. Well, at least he had some leeway in sending in his reports: he assumed having to tend to a sick Commander was a more than acceptable excuse for the guild quaestors.
"I wonder if I'll be able to claim extra hours for looking after you," he said softly, and though the addressed lump remained motionless, the sulk that oozed into his mind did make him smile.
She was definitely feeling much better.
A mop and a broom made quick work of the mess Canach had trekked in, though it was made just a tiny bit slower when he tried to keep the noise down in the bedroom, even if Akoni didn't seem to register it. He couldn't help but be grateful that Fluffkie was with Aislin: the norm when no one was home to look after her. The rambunctious pup would no doubt have thought the whole thing was a game, or even worse, would have been all over Akoni preventing her from resting.
His own gear was next, and that was easy enough– at least all he needed to do was drop his armour by the home entrance to send it off for cleaning the next day before stashing the rest of his gear into his workshop. Force of habit almost had him going through his checklist then, but he caught himself and decided against it– there were more important matters to tend to first.
The worry that had made a nest for itself deep in his chest had him drop by for a quick check-in with Akoni, and he was relieved to find she was resting fitfully. Presumably, anyway, since as far as he could tell she was still somewhere underneath the heap of blankets. It was only when he caught a small gleam of cyan from the very corner that he was able to confirm it, and he smothered a chuckle.
Half of a dainty foot, sticking out near the bottom of the bed.
Awake, love?
It twitched, but just barely, as her answer was but a tired grumble that was almost inaudible to his ear.
Not asleep, but resting, at least.
He pondered his next steps: there were plenty of things to do– better things to do– than humour the annoyingly incessant voice to better be safe than sorry and drag a mender over for a house visit, or to helplessly sit by the dozing woman like some lovesick sapling, and he continued to turn a deaf ear as the voice wheedled to him to just make sure she's fine.
No, she was ok, and she was going to be fine, so the best thing he could do right now was to be useful.
The house was clean– relatively, since the bathroom still needed sorting out. But, taking another glance at Akoni and remembering just how weak she had been propelled him to the kitchen.
Might as well get started on dinner.
Unfortunately, going through the ice box revealed no leftovers, just a handful of ingredients, and he sighed.
While the mercenary was no chef– his entwined was much more skilled in that regard, plus she actually enjoyed it– he was no stranger to cooking. After all, he had spent a good portion of his life having to fend for himself, and it was a handy skill to have in his back pocket, especially out in the field.
Though his repertoire was limited, it was still perfectly serviceable and he was adept at improvising, anyway. He found some frozen chicken stock– dumped that into a pot, then placed it on the stove– and some leftover shredded chicken Akoni had probably been saving for a salad. Found some vegetables, too, in the form of carrots and mushrooms, and he set them aside after peeling and dicing. A brief afterthought added some crushed garlic cloves as well, since everything seemed to benefit from additional garlic.
Yet… that wasn't enough. He was hungry as well, after all, and what was currently little more than broth was far from filling, so he continued rummaging. He perked up a little when he spotted some rice, grabbing a scoop and giving it a quick rinse before adding it to the pot along with the carrots and some salt. In the meantime, he popped the chicken and mushrooms back into the ice box to add them in later.
A soupy congee, he decided. Delicate enough for Akoni's undoubtedly sensitive stomach, but still filling enough for him.
After double checking that the flame was on medium– he'd learnt his lesson a long while back on what happened to boiling rice– it was finally time to tackle the bathroom.
This wasn't too bad, to be honest. The mud tracks had been the worst of it: seeing dirt squelched all over his previously tidy floors had caused a thorny brow to twitch terribly and was the first thing he had to address. Now, it was mostly just clean-up: putting away the basin of now-cool water and the towel. Gathering Akoni's discarded clothing– no rips or signs of sap– for the laundry basket. Her own gear as well: her sword and dagger. The leather pouches she wore on her belt and strapped around her thigh. Boots. Just her normal, everyday things, and after a quick check revealed nothing particularly sensitive, he surmised she had likely rushed straight home in the middle of her usual work.
The fact that she didn't think it was serious enough to go to the infirmary instead made him feel marginally better about his decision to let her recover at home.
With all that out of the way, he headed back to the kitchen for a quick check on the pot. Happily boiling now, he gave it a few stirs and a taste. More salt; a touch of pepper. Yet, something else was missing that he couldn't quite place, compared to the last time Akoni had made it. Another rummage through the ice box and he pulled out some scallions and a small knob of ginger.
Perhaps these would help? He wasn't so sure about the scallions, but they were green, and he rather liked how they went with congee anyway. Slicing them finely, he threw in the ginger and scallion whites, setting aside the greens for garnishing, and only just remembered to dump in the previously prepared mushrooms and chicken.
Another couple stirs; another taste. He sighed– still not quite there, but, at least it was much better than what he had previously.
Covering it with a lid and leaving it at a low simmer, he headed back to check in on Akoni.
"Petal?"
No answer. The lump was slightly less misshapen now, and Canach guessed the frost blue Sylvari was curling in on herself. The cup by the bedside was also a measure less than he had left it, and he found himself exhaling relief.
There was a drowsiness that hadn't been there when he carefully peeked into her Self. Alertness, too, though it was sluggish when it tried to rouse at his presence.
Shh, love, he soothed, his mind stroking comfort throughout hers. It's just me.
Canach?
Go back to sleep. The rest is doing you good.
There was some rustling as he could feel the protest start to bubble up, only to deflate almost instantly, and he could practically feel her Self figuratively flopping back into the mattress. Too exhausted to argue.
He sent her a small wave of approval– relieved she wasn't going to fight him on it– before turning his attention to himself.
Food was being sorted out and the house was back in order. Now he could go clean himself up, since he'd belatedly remembered that he had just come back from a mission.
A hot shower, he decided. A long, hot shower.
He had more than earned it at this point.
Akoni didn't feel like death anymore.
Well, to be more specific, her body didn't feel like death itself warmed over. What she did feel, though, was a troubling heaviness sloshing inside her head, as though it was filled with some sort of dense fluid determined to hammer away at her skull. She groaned.
A nudge then, from inside her mind yet not, and despite herself she shrank back with a pained hiss as she clutched at her temples.
A sound from above, and she blinked at the sudden appearance of violet eyes.
"Blugh? "
"Sit up, love." Canach, coaxing as he slipped an arm around her to help steady her.
Another whine crept out of her throat as she slumped against him, squinting as she tried to make sense of her surroundings.
The room was dark with the only light being a bedside lamp that was thankfully turned down to the barest minimum. With how heavy the curtains were, she wasn't entirely sure how much time had passed since she'd rushed home, and to be honest, most of it was a blur anyway.
"How are you feeling?"
"Head," was about the only thing she managed to croak out.
A prickly sensation brushed against her forehead, as his voice– low, quiet– murmured, "I'll be right back, then."
She propped herself up against the headboard as he disappeared out of the room, still blinking and trying to fight through the heavy fog suffocating her thoughts.
True to his word, he was gone only for a minute or so. "Here."
She eyed the vial in his hand suspiciously. A pale, glimmering green that seemed reminiscent of Naefai's concoctions, and he confirmed it with a nod.
"With my own twist. It should be a bit more effective for us."
"'M tesss subject?"
A weight seemed to have dropped off his shoulders, his eyes brightening with the edges crinkling slightly, though he simply gave her a tired smile. The mattress dipped under his weight as he took a seat next to her to hold the vial to her lips.
"Drink." Quiet, light, yet brokered no argument.
Despite her pout, she obediently took a sip– pleasantly sweet, to her surprise, tasting faintly of mint and lemongrass– and a coolness began to spread throughout her body, numbing the dizzying heaviness that had been pounding away in her skull, and she sank gratefully against Canach.
Warm, she thought sleepily, snuggling closer when he wrapped a muscular arm around her waist, shifting her slightly to tuck her head into his shoulder.
Though she was feeling better– the headache had ebbed, as did the nausea and chills that had practically consumed her– her entire body felt like lead, coaxing her to simply be still and let her mind drift.
The calm strokes on her side only served to lull her further into a trance: rough fingers gripping her waist slightly as a thumb ran lazy circles on her bark. Practically hypnotizing in its soothing repetition.
What happened, Petal?
She whined her protest, thoughts turning sulky at the gentle insistent curiosity of his. She was weak, tired, and all she wanted to do now that the pain was gone was to rest.
That prickling sensation again, but on her temple this time as Canach pressed a soft kiss against her bark. "Dinner's almost ready," he said. "Do you feel like eating?"
Despite her grimace– the past several hours had seared an automatic response in her– her stomach rumbled, making her suddenly aware of how painfully empty and sore it felt.
"Hurts," was her complaint, and his hand slipped under the fold of her robe, rubbing away at the flat bark of her belly as though that alone could ease it away.
"You'll feel better once you get something warm inside you," he murmured into her vines. "My elixirs can only do so much."
"Don't wanna," she grumped, already dreading his reaction. "'s started this."
A snort escaped him, right on cue as she sulked. "Did you eat something you weren't supposed to?"
"Seimur," she mumbled as she burrowed closer into his chest. "Pastry. Wanted feedback."
The caresses paused for a moment as he turned the name over in his head. "Seimur… Seimur Oxbone? That chef in the Priory?" Another pause, before his fingers tightened; his voice now turning incredulous. "The one obsessed with bloodstone? "
"Din know," was her petulant huff.
"Petal, forgive me for saying this," he started as he turned to face her, his free hand already coming up to rub at his thorny brows. "But even I kno–"
"Ssss. 'is. New recipe," she slurred indignantly. "Just. He just. Needed. Needed help."
She had been at the Priory earlier that day, trying to follow up some leads about the branded, when the giant norn had stuck his head into the room in cheerful greeting.
While Akoni wasn't too close to the man, she recognized him as a particularly skilled chef, having heard his name mentioned here and there, often travelling around Tyria in search of the finest ingredients to innovate recipes with. So when he had offered her a pastry– laminated, shaped like a curry bun with fluted edges on the curved side– she had instantly pounced.
Evidently, Canach had been poking about her thoughts when he picked that up, and he let out a groan. "Akoni, I swear–"
She hissed, the edges of her lips lifting to display tiny fangs as she pulled away from him. She was in no mood to be lectured– in her mind, she'd more than paid for her mistake, especially since she wasn't feeling that much better, and she had half the urge to bite the man, his own exasperation be damned.
However, she paused at his next few words, his voice unexpectedly heavy.
"You had me worried." The arm around her waist tightened; pulled her closer. Pulled her onto his lap, where he buried his face into her vines, taking a deep breath before relaxing into her.
Akoni blinked dumbly, completely disarmed as all her annoyance melted away into confusion. "Uhm. You don't–" she started awkwardly. "You don't… Canach, 'mm. 'm ok."
Another heavy sigh, but he didn't move.
Her hand crept up, feeling for his jaw, before carefully running her fingers over his cheek; the needles that lined his cheekbones, stroking them carefully; feeling them flex backwards under her touch.
"I'm ok." She tried to chance a peek up at him, but his grip was much too firm. "Iss just. St'mach upset. Is all. 's nothing."
"Bloodstone poisoning isn't nothing , love," he scoffed, even as he took her hand in one of his, lacing their fingers together. "And if you haven't noticed, you can barely speak."
"'m jus tired–!"
A growl rumbled through his chest then, low and deep, reverberating through even her through their closeness. "Could you just shut up, you stubborn woman?"
Her stupefaction outweighed the indignance. The resulting silence was punctured by a single, heavy exhale as Canach curled over her to completely wrap her in his embrace.
Her petal-like features crinkled. As annoyed as the Secondborn was, there had been an odd tension in his words when he had snapped at her. That and the fact that she really was too tired to argue had her sighing as well, and she ended up nestling further into his arms.
Still, she couldn't help but prod at her entwined's thoughts. There was an instant hesitation there; an instinctive push back on his part which stopped almost instantly when he realized it was her, though not without reluctance.
He was a private Sylvari, through and through.
She slowly seeped into his Being, not for the first time marveling at how perfectly composed he was. At how calm he felt. How his mind was so coldly methodical , along with the razor sharp brightness that was his trademark.
And yet… there was something… off.
You had me worried.
Not as deft as the Secondborn, and made even more ungainly in her exhaustion, she tried to pulse her apologies as she trundled her way around.
She felt his resignation after one particularly cumbersome nudge, followed by a small tug on her Self. A gentle guide to sink in further. Deeper, underneath the veneer of calm. And that was when it hit: both relief and worry, swirling and crashing about in equal parts. The sudden change caught her off guard and might have swept her away were it not for Canach holding onto her tight.
… Oh.
She only realized then how it must have looked to him to find her the way he did. The state she had been in. And then, her mention of bloodstone. He had, after all, seen its effects firsthand: the madness it inflicted on both the Pact and the White Mantle, not to mention what the latter had inflicted on his own team.
Sorry. Sorry. I didn't know.
Awkward; clumsy, she tried to soothe him. Trying to mimic the way he turned warm and heavy to smother whatever ailed her, hoping it would do the same for him.
Soft chuckling drew her out, though, as did the press of rough lips on her temple.
"I appreciate the attempt, pet," he murmured. "But, this is enough. I just need… this."
I just want to hold you; let it sink in that you are ok.
Not out loud– never said out loud, though perhaps one day, he'd get there.
Delicate lips thinned, then pursed slightly, before she wriggled around until he loosened his grip enough for her to reach up and press them against the corner of his.
Am sorry. Thank you. Love you.
A slight squeeze acknowledged the apology.
I, you, as well, Petal.