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The office room is silent as he strolls in. Humming to himself as he does not spot who he is looking for immediately, he continues on. Nonchalant as always, his afternoon wandering takes him through the sets of doors and neighboring hallways; it is nearly time for afternoon tea, something he had, of late, been sharing with a particular colleague more often than not. Looking for them on his own was not yielding usual results, and so he headed towards the nearest melusine worker, her hands full of papers.
"May I lend a hand?"
She startles a bit at his voice, clearly lost in thought, before answering an affirmative with abundant gratitude seeping through her sparkling eyes (mischief too, he notes, mentally reminding himself to check his coat for stickers when he leaves). The stack of papers is split in two and he lifts his half high onto the shelf she had been attempting to file them in; he reaches for the next half, still in her small hands, but stops when he notices the worker-profile sitting on top. He holds it up.
"Have you seen them yet today? They're not in their office."
"Oh! Sorry, your Grace, they requested time off. I think they caught one of the illnesses running around the Fortress again, but don't worry! Their tasks have already been delegated to the other aids."
Letting out a sound that lets her know that he has heard her, he thanks her and together they finish their brief task. Its completion allows him to continue on with his day; except, he cannot help but feel thrown off-kilter without his (favorite, it is no secret) colleague to share his good tea with. He is still grumbling to himself about it when Sigewinne finds him in his office.
"There you are, your Grace! Do you have a moment?"
He gestures grandly for her to come in, offering her a cup of tea that she politely drinks as they talk. She tells him about his sick colleague, who, as it sounds, was having an all-around bad day.
"And I'd like to bring them a few things: this medication, to start, and these snacks that should help them feel better. Ideally they'd have someone with them in case the medicine causes a reaction, it is a little strong, but I just don't have enough hands to do all of it. Is there-"
"I can handle it." He waves a hand good-naturedly. For a brief moment, the twinkle in her eyes makes him wonder exactly what he had signed up for, but she seemed earnest enough and really, if she was asking for help with someone in the Fortress, who better to ask then the Duke himself? He kept himself carefully in check, taking a mental step back, reminding himself that he was only agreeing to this errand out of a sense of duty and friendly concern, nothing more. Shaking his head, he tried to shake off the lingering "yeah, right" that his mind supplied. In truth, his favorite colleague, a partner of sorts already and maybe more, was sick. In his Fortress. And now he could help.
"Just leave it to me."
°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𓂅 ⋆❅‧₊˚ °❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𓂅 ⋆❅‧₊˚ °❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𓂅 ⋆❅‧₊˚
Their body ached worse today; that was clue number one. The second, third, fourth and so-on clues only confirmed their rising suspicion: they were going to miss a day of work. The mental battle, to stay home as was instructed or to go in and power through, exhausted them more and more until they gave in and sent a note of sickness to the employee health department. When confirmation that the note had reached its destination rang out, they promptly headed back to bed; thick blanket dragging behind them across the floor.
A restless slumber followed, and they gained only a fever and a nasty bed-head from the endeavor. Their little apartment-like alcove tucked away in the Fortress, much like the other employee housing units, was usually delightfully chilled, perfect for a typical migraine; today the cold felt freezing, and their bones would not let them forget it.
Stumbling through to their kitchen after giving up on sleep, they shuffled about trying to make something warm and edible; something comforting, something easy, something that was not going to have too many dishes for them to do once they recovered. Their limbs refused to cooperate, or maybe their vision, or maybe-
After dropping yet another utensil, and feeling absolutely drained at the thought of bending down to pick it up off the floor, they find themselves also on the floor. Wrapped in their blanket, thick and warm (not warm enough, they are still shivering), they twist and turn and make themselves comfortable right there in the kitchen. A little floor time will help, they decide, and begin to drift off, attempts at food long forgotten.
°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𓂅 ⋆❅‧₊˚ °❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𓂅 ⋆❅‧₊˚ °❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𓂅 ⋆❅‧₊˚
Wriothesley knocks once, twice, and hesitates to do a third after he gets no response. Furrowed brows face the closed door in front of him. Technically, as the Warden, he does have a key and the authority to enter if suspicion merits. He is suspicious that someone has fallen asleep, he is suspicious (concerned) that someone is in worse condition than they had let on. Medicine and other gifts tucked to his side, he enters the abode.
It does not take him long to find them; he almost steps on them in the darkness of their kitchen. The speed at which he drops to his knees, the gentleness with which he takes two cryo-cold fingers and checks their pulse, give away his heart's intent.
"Hey, wake up. Wake up a minute for me."
Their pulse is fairly normal, actually, the same as any other unwell patient, and they groan as they shakily turn their head, eyes closed, to get away from the noise.
"None of that now, I thought you liked hearing me talk. C'mon, open your eyes, just a bit."
The room is so dark but they blink anyway, fuzzy vision meeting fuzzy dark hair. They lift one hand in an attempt to pet at it, mumbling. The figure holding them, not that they really notice that he has moved their head onto his lap and off of the cold floor, is so warm. Brief fingertips of coldness barely phase them from the warmth that the figure exudes. That is all that they can think about, that warmth, and it feels safe (he feels safe) in their sick stupor so they shift as best they can to be as close as possible.
"Hey, easy there. Well, alright I guess. I'll carry you this once."
They drift off again as their head is tucked into a warm shoulder, his arms cradling them gently up off of the ground and then up again and then the world spins a little as rooms pass them by when he heads for their bedroom. Depositing them as gently as he can, he pulls their covers up over them and pokes around their place in search of as many blankets as possible. They have quite a few, but he places his coat on top of the pile anyway (they bury their face in it and he preens, smug smile with sharp teeth).
He leaves them to their nap, much more peaceful in their room than on the kitchen floor, and putzes about their kitchen by clearing the remnants of what looks to be a cooking attempt and making way for a ready-made meal that Sigewinne had sent with.
°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𓂅 ⋆❅‧₊˚ °❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𓂅 ⋆❅‧₊˚ °❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𓂅 ⋆❅‧₊˚
Something stinks. The first thing that they notice, other than that their head has stopped throbbing quite as bad- a cool pack slipping from their forehead as they rouse, is that something smells like the deepest, most rancid parts of the Fortress. Blearily patting around themselves to find the source, they toss the thick fur blanket draped over them (and under their head, tucked neatly, nearly giving them whiplash when they pull) off to the side to be washed. When it clatters to the ground, bits of metal ringing out, they startle into some semblance of clarity.
Peering over the edge of their bed, they gape at the coat on their floor. The boots thumping towards their room should startle them, but they only have the capacity to handle one thought at a time at the moment.
The door opens silently, cautious. Two sets of eyes blink at each other when they make eye contact.
"You alright in here?"
"I- I-, yes?"
Wriothesley, the Duke, breathes a sigh of relief, tells them it sounded painful, whatever it was that fell. He disappears into the shadows of their hallway from whence he came, and reappears only slightly later with warm food curling steam into the air as he walks.
"Sigewinne sent food, and medicine to take afterward. Try and eat something."
The pleasant aroma of the food does little to cover the lingering stench of the Fortress' depths, and they are more confused by the minute.
Narrowing their eyes, they stare at the food in front of them; Wriothesley waits patiently, tapping one foot against the cold floor, beside their bed.
They look up.
"Are you real?"
The laugh he barks out is their answer, and they blush a shade of red as deep as that of his tie while sputtering.
"The Duke shows up at my bedside like something off of a novel cover and brings me food when I'm out-of-my-mind ill, what was I supposed to think?"
Grinning, all sharp teeth and feral humor, the Duke's smug face only eggs them on.
"And also, who let you in? You're stinking up my apartment."
A mouthful of food cuts off anything else that they might have said beyond that, clearly teasing him now that they are more aware and awake (they know, they know about his crush because it goes both ways; they both enjoy the banter). It riles him anyway.
"Me? You're awfully bold insulting someone that brought you food, you don't even know what's in it."
They roll their eyes; he continues.
"But if it's your delicate-"
Pillow soaring through the air, poor coordination and leftover weariness makes it miss its target terribly. He does not even give them the dignity of pretending to dodge, letting it miss by a wide mile, entirely nonplussed.
"-if it's your delicate sense of smell that's at risk, I'll gladly go pour you a cup of tea. Something pleasantly fragrant."
He leaves them again, after bickering playfully some more, dodging another pillow lobbed his way, and they can hear the whistle of a tea kettle signalling that he had already planned on tea in advance. True to his word, it is pleasantly fragrant and opens their sinuses enough for them to breathe easier.
"Well?"
"Thank you for the tea."
He hums.
"But I am still going to perfume your coat."
°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𓂅 ⋆❅‧₊˚ °❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𓂅 ⋆❅‧₊˚ °❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𓂅 ⋆❅‧₊˚
They bicker about it, never quite saying the things they mean.
"It's signature to the Fortress; it's effective" is, in truth, "You love me anyway."
"Not in my house, it's not" becomes, from the heart, "You know you're safe to be something other than a title here, with me."
He leaves to pile the dishes in the kitchen sink, insisting they stay in bed (wrapped again in his coat, they are both pleased, if not silently stinking of Fortress musk). They oblige only because it means that he will return to them, in their room, in their bed, and they haggle him into sitting at the edge of it when he returns. Goading him into taking a break (he lets them convince him, it takes no convincing at all), he kicks back and drags them down with him.
He is warm and safe and they snuggle closer (closer than friends but they both know that they crossed that line when he left work to bring them tea in the first place). He cradles their forehead in one hand to check their temperature again and leaves it still when they all but purr into the icy cryo-touch.
Sleep comes easily to them both, the earlier tea's aroma still lingering in the air.
°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𓂅 ⋆❅‧₊˚ °❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𓂅 ⋆❅‧₊˚ °❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𓂅 ⋆❅‧₊˚
Sigewinne and the melusines giggle and gossip when the Duke does not return to his duties right away, knowing that they were right.
"Putting that file on top was a good call!"
"I'm just glad he remembered to take the medicine with him, I hope he got them to take it."