Work Text:
Sitting at his desk, Louis thumbed through the reports he had received - it was going to take a while to get through them all. As usual, Basilio and Fidelio stood on either side of him, dutifully keeping guard. They were only ever elsewhere when he ordered them to be, which tended not to be often - Louis found they were more useful close at hand.
As he read through his reports, a faint sense of nausea began to build. A slight sense of light-headedness. The first whispers from the herald of illness. Yet he ignored them, pushing onwards, pretending as though he did not see the omen right in front of him. It was probably nothing - perhaps he was just a little hungry, or hadn't drank enough. Dinnertime was closing in, after all. Yet fifteen minutes went by and the feeling did not abate - if anything, it was stronger than before.
"Basilio? Fidelio?" Louis said, not looking up from his papers, "Fetch me a jug of water, would you?"
"Of course, milord," Fidelio said, and the two left at once. Even in the few minutes they were gone, Louis' condition worsened. Focus was nothing more than a fleeting memory, the only thing he could concentrate on was the spinning of his head.
"Here you are," Basilio said, placing a jug and a glass on the desk. Louis feared looking up, lest it make the dizziness worse.
"Are you alright, Lord Louis?" Basilio said as he poured Louis' water, "Pardon me for sayin', but you look a bit green around the gills."
"I'm... fine," Louis managed, just barely tilting his head upwards. His now trembling fingers certainly weren't helping his case.
"Bas, careful!" Fidelio said suddenly, and Basilio looked down to realise he had not stopped pouring the water, and it was on the verge of overflowing. "Nearly ruined those documents."
"Right. Sorry, Milord."
"It's quite alright... No harm done." In truth, Louis welcomed having the focus shift away. Fidelio's piercing gaze landed on him, but he said nothing, though Louis could tell he could see just how ill he was becoming. He didn't need a mirror to know his face was pallid, that his skin had a slight sheen from the cold sweat he'd broken out into. An attempt was made to drink some water, but with how full the glass was, combined with the tremor he'd developed, he only managed a few sips before deciding that spilling it everywhere was too much of a risk.
Straightening up, Louis slowly stood from his chair.
"I'm going to take a walk," he said, "Clear my head. You are welcome to join me, if you wish."
"Are you s-" Basilio started, but Fidelio interrupted him.
"Of course. We'll come with you."
But as Louis stepped forwards, black spots began to cloud his vision, and his knees gave out from under him. Basilio rushed to catch him as he fell, and he landed with a grunt in the paripus' arms. Though he tried to stand properly, the moment he tried to put any weight on his legs, they buckled beneath him.
"Hey, easy," Basilio said, then looked to Fidelio with an expression that asked 'What do we do with him?'
"I think we'd best get you back to your chambers, milord," Fidelio said, keeping his voice neutral, but the concern was apparent on his face, "We'll get someone to look you over once you're somewhere more comfortable."
As much as Louis wanted to protest, he knew they were right. Still, it didn't make it any less mortifying. To appear weak in front of those who served him was a nightmarish scenario, and yet it was the one that he found himself in. There were few things he could imagine which were worse than two of the people he was closest to trusting seeing him in this state. His body was supposed to be the one thing he could truly control, that would do as he commanded no matter what else happened, yet that that control had been wrested from him by this treachery. Even his own biology would betray him, it seemed.
"Fine," Louis said, wincing at how feeble his voice sounded. He adjusted himself so that Basilio could assist him with walking, but even a few steps of that proved too much for his legs to handle.
"Maybe it would be easier for me to carry you?" Basilio asked, looking at Louis with those big eyes of his, worry etched across his face. It sickened him. That expression only served as a reminder to Louis of how pathetic he must look. The last thing he wanted was to have to be carried through the Charadrius, especially not looking like this. And yet... did he have a choice?
"...I don't suppose there are any alternatives, are there?" he asked.
"It doesn't look like it," Fidelio replied.
"Alright then. If you must."
Without another word, Basilio hooked an arm under Louis' knees and picked him up, holding him to his chest. Shock ripped through Louis, tearing through him like an icy blade.
"Comfortable?" Basilio asked without a smile.
"I... didn't expect you to carry me like this." Louis said, shifting uncomfortably. His epaulettes were the only reason his head wasn't on Basilio's chest, resting by his heart. This was far too intimate.
"Oh, well... with your armour and everythin' I can't really pick you up any other way. Unless you want to take it off?" Basilio looked Louis up and down with his brows knotted together in a way which suggested he had absolutely no clue how his armour was meant to be removed, and did not want to try.
"No, this is quite alright." The sooner he could get out of this situation, the better. Best not to drag it out by faffing around with his armour. "Fidelio? Go ahead of us and clear out anyone in areas we'll pass through on the way to my chambers. I'd like to minimise the number of people that see me like this."
"On it," Fidelio said, then walked out the door.
Basilio waited for a few minutes then said, "Alright, Del probably would've finished clearing the area right outside by now. Best go through before it fills up again."
Holding Louis tightly, but not uncomfortably so, Basilio briskly began walking through the bowels of the Charadrius to Louis' quarters, though he was careful not to jostle Louis too much - he didn't want to risk making his illness worse.
Much to Louis' relief, the corridors were all empty - Fidelio had done an excellent job of emptying them out - and though he was tense at first, he settled into Basilio's arms as he became more confident that no more people than necessary would see his weakness. Basilio and Fidelio were one thing, but the lower ranking soldiers? The grunts? The rumours would spread like wildfire, and there would be no recovery. Even if he could get people to stop talking about it there would be scars. He wasn't quite comfortable in Basilio's arms, with being touched, especially not like this, but he was at least slightly more relaxed.
Fidelio stood by the door to Louis' chambers, holding it open for Basilio and Louis to come in, then closed it behind them the moment they were over the threshold.
Basilio approached the bed, ignoring the slight ache that had built in his arms and planting his feet with care as to avoid dropping Louis at the final hurdle. With a gentleness Louis hadn't known he was capable of, Basilio put him down, careful to ensure that his head was properly supported by his silken pillows. The epaulettes Louis wore were not designed with lying down in mind, pressing uncomfortably against his shoulder blades. They needed to come off, before discomfort became pain, but as he tried to sit up, his head spun, like a snow globe shaken vigorously by a small child that had yet to learn how to be careful with delicate things.
"One of us ought to grab a healer to look Lord Louis over, the other should help him with the armour. Which would you rather?" Fidelio asked his brother, then turned his gaze to Louis, "Unless you'd rather we get your valet, milord?"
"No need. I should be able to do it myself, and you two are here to assist if necessary. It'll be quicker this way." Already, the epaulettes were digging into Louis' flesh, a row of teeth clamping onto his skin, another affliction added to the list which only grew longer with each passing moment. They needed to come off, now.
Eyeing the belts and straps, Basilio scratched the back of his head, before volunteering to go to the medical wing, leaving Fidelio to help to remove the armour. Slowly, Louis eased himself into a sitting position, with Fidelio's hands hovering around his waist and shoulder to catch him if he couldn't manage it, but without actually touching him. It took a few moments for the world to stop spinning, but once his head settled, Louis reached for the chain that was fastened across his chest. Yet the trembling had superseded his control over his own movements, and it was a struggle - they just wouldn't quite come unhooked, he kept missing, and when he did get it undone it felt more like it was by accident.
"I'm happy to help if you need, Milord," Fidelio said as he watched Louis fumble. But it was no longer just about getting the armour off - it was a point of pride. He had to prove he was still capable of this simple a task. But when it came to unbuckling his chestplate he just couldn't get enough of a grip on the straps, couldn't pull them free.
Louis cleared his throat. "Fidelio? If you would?"
"Of course," Fidelio said, removing the chestplate in just a few deft movements, far quicker than Louis would have managed on his own, and the cape came off with it. He couldn't bring himself to look at Fidelio as he worked, discomfort wrapping its gangly arms around him in a constrictive embrace. While his valet had this sort of proximity to him every day, this was different. To undress in front of another would typically require a degree of vulnerability, but not with a valet - it is the one who undresses that holds all the power, for the valet's livelihood relies on them. Even when Louis presented in a state of supposed weakness, their hands were tied, unable to lift a finger against him with the invisible blade called 'money' at their throats. He'd always found it interesting that a weapon with no real form controlled the populace better than any other. While Fidelio was still in his employ as his valet was, this was far out of his job description - he was never supposed to see him like this. How could he expect his subordinates to respect him as a military leader when he looked so pathetic? Yet Fidelio simply assisted Louis without judgement. If there was ever an opportune moment to stab him in the back, this was it. But the knife never came.
Gingerly, Fidelio helped Louis stand for a moment so he could remove the cape from beneath him, then helped him lie back on the bed, and he sank comfortably into the sheets.
Just as Fidelio finished putting the armour away, Basilio arrived with a healer. Though he tried to relax, Louis had never particularly enjoyed doctors' visits - there were few things he hated more than having to put his life in the hands of another. Needing his body put back together after a particularly gruelling fight was one thing, but in a scenario like this, where a contagion had wracked his body, fried his senses… It was quite different indeed. Surviving a battle, even if it was by the skin of his teeth, was proof of triumph, a testament to his greatness. But all an illness proved was that his body had failed him. An inadequate vessel for his lofty ideals, deteriorating without an enemy even having to lift a finger.
Despite his apprehension, Louis did exactly as the healer instructed, following their finger with his eyes, allowing them to examine the inside of his mouth, then keeping a thermometer under his tongue while it took his temperature. After a few minutes of these simple tests, they concluded that a magical cure would not be possible, but it was nothing more than a minor malady which should pass in a few days - Louis would just have to wait it out. That was not the news he wished to receive, but there was nothing he could do - there was no arguing with nature.
In his current condition, even standing was infeasible - the rest of the day was going to have to be spent in bed.
"Basilo, Fidelio," Louis said, though his voice lacked its usual intensity, barely a whisper as the words left his lips, "You may take your leave. If there is anything which would require my attention, I trust you will handle it."
He had been staring at the ceiling as he spoke, unwilling to look the brothers in the eyes, but his gaze drifted over to them as he waited for their response. They looked to one another, communicating without words in that way in which only those that had grown together could, their pasts so deeply entwined that it was difficult to tell where one started and the other began. Hushed whispers reached Louis' ears, but he could not decipher the words, hearing only fragments of syllables.
"What is it?" Louis asked. He desperately needed to be alone, to decompress, to let the day's stresses drain out of him. Just being looked at made Louis feel as though the last shreds of his dignity, his strength were withering away. He needed an escape from this embarrassment.
"We were thinkin'..." Basilio started, eyes flicking to Fidelio nervously, and his brother gave him a slight nod, "With you being so unwell and all, it might be an idea for us to keep an eye on you? It just don't feel safe to leave you on your own - if you take a turn for the worse, well..."
"We don't know what this illness could do," Fildelio said, "Someone should be around to notify a healer, in case you can't."
Louis suppressed a groan. How long would he have to endure this humiliation ritual? Was he to be watched at all times, day and night?
"If death takes me then so be it. If I truly possess the strength I preach then I will pull through."
The brothers looked at each other.
"Bit melodramatic, don't you think?" Basilio whispered, leaning towards Fidelio's ear.
"Can't say it's particularly out of character though. At least he can still think straight." Fidelio replied.
"I'm afraid we can't do that, milord," Fidelio said, directed at Louis this time, "Forgive us for disobeying orders, but we need to make sure you'll be alright."
Bringing a hand to his face, Louis rubbed his temples. They were right, of course. Yet accepting their help felt like an admission of his powerlessness. Assistance to his room was one thing, but needing to be constantly monitored? Protected, like some fragile thing that could fall apart at any moment? As though a mere sneeze could scatter him like dust in the wind? Louis could think of nothing worse.
"...If you insist." He said, defeated, sinking deeper into the bed. Fine. They could have it their way. It wasn't as though he could do anything to stop them.
"You never did manage to have anything to drink, did you?" Fidelio said, "Why don't we get you some water?"
Louis had been so distracted with the nausea that permeated every fibre of his being that he had forgotten just how parched he was - his throat felt like sandpaper.
"Water would certainly be appreciated," He replied.
With a nod, Fidelio left the room, while Basilio helped Louis to sit up in bed. The assistance wasn't really required - at least Louis told himself it wasn't - but he let him do it. Any hope of resisting had washed away. When Fidelio returned, he carefully poured Louis a glass of water from the jug he'd brought, then handed it to Louis. He hadn't filled it all the way, and yet the moment it was in Louis' hand, his shaking nearly made it spill. Though he tried to bring it to his lips as slowly and gently as he could, the movement combined with his trembling caused it to slosh out into his lap, and he couldn't aim for his mouth at all.
"Hey, careful!" Basilio said, putting his hand around Louis' before he could pour what remained in his glass down himself. Mortified, Louis' face burned. In mere hours, he'd been reduced from a man with the strength to command thousands to being completely bedridden and unable to even drink unassisted - without Basilio to keep his hands steady, he would have been lucky to get a single drop in his mouth. Much to his relief, neither of the brothers drew any attention to just how pathetic he had become.
The day continued in much the same fashion, with Basilio and Fidelio having to help him with every little thing, and though Louis tried to hide his embarrassment, he could tell that they saw right through him, even if they didn't remark on it. The looks of pity on their faces made Louis want to claw his eyes out.
Eventually, he managed to get them to agree to leave him alone to sleep, on the condition that there would be guards outside his room that would check on him every hour. They weren't entirely happy with this arrangement - if his condition suddenly deteriorated, there was a chance no-one would know until too late - but they relented, and gave Louis the solitude he had been so desperately craving. But rest persistently evaded him. He tossed and turned, unable to quite get comfortable, his sheets twisting into knots and clinging to him as they got drenched in his cold sweat. Every time he moved, a wave of dizziness crashed over him, and snatched the dregs of sleep he had managed to get away from him. What rest he did manage was interrupted by strange images, blurs of movement, nonsensical scenes distorted by his unconscious mind. Flashes of fire, the metallic smell of blood, monsters that were all hair, eyes, and teeth.
The entire night, Louis' mind ebbed in and out of consciousness - when he awoke fully at last, he didn't feel rested in the slightest, and his condition didn't seem to have improved at all. At least he had some time alone. Basilio and Fidelio would likely show up soon enough, so Louis had to make the most of the privacy while it lasted.
Gingerly, Louis got himself up into a sitting position. Already it made him lightheaded, dizzy. But still, surely it was manageable? Getting changed before anyone came to check on him seemed a simple enough task. Taking a deep breath, he pushed off the bed and stood, and though his legs trembled with the exertion, he remained on his feet. Once he was confident he could hold his own weight, he slowly made his way to the wardrobe, only to collapse halfway there, his knees slamming into the ground with a nasty thud. Wincing from the pain, Louis tried to get back up, only to find that he was too weak - agony shot up his arms as he tried to pull himself to his feet, like thorny vines had wrapped around his them, keeping him pinned to the floor, leaving him marooned in the middle of his room. He just about managed to stumble to his feet, only to come crashing back down to the floor.
This was ridiculous. Why couldn't he just pull himself together? Objectively he knew it was because the illness that ravaged his body was leeching his strength from him, but that didn't make it feel any less mortifying. Only a day ago he'd been able to walk around as he pleased with no issues whatsoever - he knew he was capable of it - and so the speed of his decline left him frustrated.
Sighing with resignation, Louis dragged himself across the floor and back to his bed, only to find he didn't even have the energy to pull himself up. A flash of anger ran through him, but it was quickly extinguished. Fighting his body was useless. He'd been so determined to have at least some independence, yet that resolve had so quickly dissipated. Already exhausted, Louis surrendered to his fate on the floor. Presumably the Magnus brothers would be here soon. He'd just have to pretend he fell out of bed or something.
It wasn't long until he heard the click of the door opening. Lifting his head slightly, Louis saw Basilio and Fidelio in the doorway, the former holding a tray which presumably had some sort of breakfast on it.
"Lord Louis!" Basilio exclaimed, finding somewhere to put his tray down while Fidelio rushed over, and the two wasted no time hoisting him back onto his bed.
"Everything alright, Milord?" Fidelio asked, "What happened?"
"I must have been rather... restless during the night. I fell out of bed a few minutes ago and wasn't able to get back up. My muscles are still too weak." Bitterness tinged his voice as he uttered that last sentence.
"Well in any case, we brought you breakfast," Baslio said, retrieving the tray and placing it on Louis' lap. On it was a plate with a few slices of marmalade toast, and a glass of water.
"We didn't want to go too overboard in case eating makes you feel any worse, but we're happy to fetch more if you like," Fidelio added.
"I'm sure this will be perfectly adequate. Thank you both for your effort." Louis said.
"Just so you know, we won't be able to stick around for too long today," Fidelio said as Louis started eating, "We've got to fill in for you, so we'll be busy, but there will be people posted outside if you need anything."
"Of course. I'm sure I can trust the Charadrius not to fall into chaos in my absence with the two of you acting in my stead."
That news was a weight off of Louis' shoulders - it would be easier knowing that he wasn't going to have to deal with his every move being analysed, examined as if the slightest twitch of a muscle could be an indication that he was about to keel over and die. Not to mention the stares, the piercing gazes of pity that Louis loathed, yet they were all he saw when he looked at the brothers' faces. He could rest undisturbed.
Basilio and Fidelio stayed for a few minutes longer, but then had to excuse themselves, and Louis was left by himself once more. Louis lay back down - his head had been spinning the entire time he'd been sat up to eat, and he needed it to subside.
Though he had fully intended to relax, Louis' thoughts began to race. He really couldn't afford to be wasting time, not now. There was too much to do, preparations to be made, and yet time was being siphoned from him. Eventually, the hourglass would run out. The more he thought about it, the more agitated he got, the more he tossed and turned in his bed, yet his mind would not stop. Having a sound mind in a sick body was a recipe for insanity.
There were people that lived like this. Day in, and day out. Utterly helpless, with no hope of getting better. Louis could not fathom the idea of existing in such a state. He would rather die. Sooner or later, he would get his hands on the royal sceptre, and when he did... he would do them all a favour.
Louis was not alone for long. Once more, the door clicked open, accompanied by a voice.
"Lord Louis?"
Not the brothers this time.
Rubbing his eyes, Louis sat up, his vision turning black as he did so, concealing the person that entered from his field of view.
"Oh dear... they really weren't exaggerating."
When he could see clearly once more, he saw Junah stood by the edge of his bed.
"Ah, Junah. I hadn't been expecting you to visit." Louis said, frowning. Enough people knew he was unwell - he had not wanted more to be informed. Junah's arrival was not a particularly pleasant surprise.
"Well, Basilio and Fidelio mentioned you were feeling poorly, so I thought I'd come and check up on you. They didn't tell anyone else though - just me. Nobody else will be finding out, I promise."
"Glad to hear it," Louis said, still a little annoyed. He should have expected them to tell Junah, really, especially since he didn't instruct them not to.
"Can I take a seat?" Junah asked.
"Of course," Louis said, and she sat on the edge of the bed. It tended to be best to just let her do as she pleased - when it came to benign things, she often did them even if she was told not to. If it were anyone else, Louis probably would have removed them long ago, but he was rather fond of her audacity, and she was ultimately harmless.
"Now, I can't stay long, but I did bring you this," Junah said, handing Louis a glass bottle with a pale, slightly pink liquid inside. "I always drink this after a particularly demanding performance, it never fails to perk me right up. I don't normally share, but I thought I'd make an exception just this once."
Louis thanked her, then opened the bottle to take a sip. It smelled vaguely floral, and when he tried it, the concoction was rather sweet, though not overpoweringly so. Junah began to chat about her day, and what she'd been up to over the last week - it was a welcome distraction. With the attention drawn away from him, it was far easier to relax. For a while, Louis was able to focus on something other than just how awful he felt, but then Junah had to leave, and it all came crashing back into him at once. Sighing, he laid back down to see if he could get some sleep.
Eyes tightly shut, Louis willed his brain to switch off, but did it ever? As he lay there, curled up in his bed, he began to notice an odd feeling in his stomach. It was mild at first, nearly imperceptible, but it grew and grew, snowballing into a swirling sensation that could not be ignored.
Louis only realised at the last moment what was about to happen.
He sprang from his bed, the adrenaline giving him enough strength to run - or rather, quickly stagger - to the bathroom. But he didn't quite make it. The contents of his stomach spilled down his clothes onto the floor, but he could not stop to think about cleaning up - he could tell it was going to happen again. Stumbling the rest of the way, he threw the bathroom door open and fell to his knees by the toilet just before he threw up again, his clammy hands clutching at the edges of the seat.
Goddamn it. Why did it have to get worse?
The vomiting wasn't constant, but it didn't stop, either, Louis found himself glued to the bathroom floor. He had no real concept of how long he was there for, but eventually he began to hear voices in his room. Though they were muffled and he couldn't quite hear what they were saying, he'd recognise those cadences anywhere - Basilio and Fidelio had returned.
"Lord Louis?" Basilio said, appearing in the doorway, "Oh hell..."
"It's fine," Louis muttered. It was not fine. Though he'd thought it to be utterly impossible, somehow, the humiliation from the previous day had been topped.
"Del, you clean up in there. I'll help in here."
"I assure you, assistance is not required," Louis said, but Basilio came and knelt behind him anyway. A finger gently grazed the side of Louis’ neck and he flinched violently away, momentarily convinced that Basilio was about to use this moment of weakness as an opportunity to strangle him
"Sorry Milord," Basilio said, pulling back. "Just wanted to get your hair out of the way, is all."
"Oh," Louis said. Basilio would never dare harm him, he knew that. This illness was scrambling his head.
"Alright then, let me just..." Basilio reached forward again, and though Louis' shoulders tensed, he did not move away. With a very light touch, Basilio slowly pulled Louis' hair away from the front of his face and behind his shoulders, fingers brushing his scalp in a way that made his skin tingle, but not in an unpleasant way.
"That better?"
"Yes," Louis admitted, "Thank you, Basilio."
"Good. Should stop your hair from getting dirty now."
Idly, as if he hadn't really noticed what he was doing, Basilio kept running his fingers through Louis' hair. Normally, Louis would have stopped such a thing in an instant, but... perhaps this illness was lowering his inhibitions. Lowering the walls he'd built. He didn't have the strength to keep them up, and the feeling was far from unpleasant.
Without warning, Louis vomited once more, though there was very little left in his stomach to throw up.
"It's a shame, really," Basilio said, keeping Louis' hair from falling back into his face while he dry heaved, "I thought it might be nice to make you dinner, but you won't be able to keep it down you."
"Another day... perhaps..." Louis managed.
Fidelio entered the bathroom carrying folded fabric in his hands. "I brought a change of clothes," he said, walking over and placing them on a nearby shelf. "How's he doing?"
The question was directed at Basilio, as if Louis himself couldn't answer. It was patronising. Just because he was unwell that didn't mean he was incapable of everything. Was there anything this illness wouldn't take from him? His dignity, his strength, and now even his entire personhood?
"It could be worse, but it certainly isn't ideal," Louis said.
"Right, well. Why don't we give you some privacy so you can change into the clean clothes? We can figure out what to do from there."
Since it was getting late, it was decided that Louis would go back to bed, but a bucket would be left near his bed as a precaution if he woke up and needed to throw up.
The moment he awoke, the bucket proved necessary. Once he was done vomiting - at least for the moment - he flopped back onto his bed, groaning and dragging his hands down his face. He'd been awake for less than a minute before his hopes of his condition improving had been thoroughly dashed. His own body had become a prison.
Trying to get back to sleep proved fruitless, and so he just lay there, bored, staring up at the ceiling. There were books on his bedside table he could read, but he ran the risk of damaging them, and many in his collection were irreplaceable.
Time seemed to drag by as he waited, but for what he did not know. Every second felt like an hour, every minute could have been a day. The room was entirely silent aside from the sounds of his sheets when he moved - there was nothing for him to focus on. After what felt like an eternity, the door opened, and Basilio, Fidelio, and Junah all entered.
"Good morning, Milord," Junah said, her voice cheery and bright, "Feeling any better than yesterday?"
"Not particularly." Louis sat up to look at them properly, and noticed Fidelio had something in his hand. "What's that?" He asked.
"This?" Fidelio lifted it to show Louis. "We thought if you were well enough we'd try and take your mind off things for a while. We brought cards, if you're up for a game."
Tapping his chin, Louis considered. It could be fun, but then again, he'd risk damaging the cards, like with his books.
"If you're worried about being sick on the cards, we can easily get more," Junah said, as though she'd read his mind, "And you have that bucket, don't you? I'm sure it'll be alright."
"Alright," Louis conceded, "What are we playing?"
Junah straightened the blanket while Fidelio dealt the cards - it was easiest to just use the bed as a table. The game was one that they'd played before from time to time called 'mexe mexe.' Basilio and Fidelio had picked it up whilst on the streets, and as such they didn't know what the title meant, but it was by far the most entertaining card game Louis had ever played. It was something of an invasive species - the moment it was introduced to an ecosystem of card players, they wouldn't want to play anything else. Strategy and problem solving played a large role, but there was enough luck involved that it never got too easy. Games that were solely based on luck became frustrating, yet games that were entirely skill based got boring - no-one ever seemed to be able to beat him. Mexe mexe struck a good balance.
The fog in his head made him play worse than usual, but Louis was not doing poorly by any means - then again, it was difficult to lose to Basilio. He almost always came dead last, though sometimes he got lucky.
"I'm afraid you can't play that, Lord Louis," Junah said, "Wrong suit." She tapped one of the three cards he'd laid down.
Rubbing his eyes, Louis looked down and realised she was correct.
“Apologies,” He said, picking them back up. Diamonds and hearts, spades and clubs... they were all blending together. Carefully, he examined what he had in his hand, then looked at what Fidelio and Junah had placed down. He pulled some different cards from his hand and placed them on the bed. "Your turn, Basilio.”
Basilio looked from his cards, to the bed, back at his cards, then back at the bed. A mischievous grin began to spread across his face.
"We really must work on your poker face," Junah said.
"Yeah, everyone can tell you think you've got a good hand there." Fidelio placed his cards in a pile face down, focusing entirely on his brother.
"Well, it don't matter if everyone can tell or not. Because..."
And then Basilio began to play his hand. Two sets of three went down, then one added to another pile, from which he claimed a joker to go with another pair of cards in his hand. For the remaining two, he simply shuffled the groups around a little until his cards fit.
"Hah! Beat that! And you say I never win!"
"Are you serious?" Fidelio said, eyes wide with surprise, "You got all your cards down in your first turn?"
Louis leaned forward a little, examining the cards, nearly certain that Basilio must have made a mistake somewhere, but it would appear that he had underestimated him - all his moves were perfectly legal.
"Hm... Very impressive. Well done, Basilio."
"Thanks!" Basilio grinned with an almost childlike glee, his tail wagging vigorously.
"Suppose the rest of us are competing for second place, then." Fidelio said, and so the game continued.
As embarrassing as this entire situation was, Louis begrudgingly had to admit to himself that this was making him feel better. Fortunately, he didn't throw up at all - his stomach had been thoroughly emptied the day prior - but after a while, his head began to throb, and his vision blurred. Clutching his head, Louis tried to focus on the cards, but it was useless. They were just splotches of red, white, and black.
"Everything alright, Lord Louis?" Junah asked. Perhaps she looked at him with concern, but he could not see her face to tell. Fidelio reached across and put a hand to his forehead - it felt like a block of ice, and Louis jolted back.
"He's burning up," Fidelio said, "Clear up the cards. He should lie down."
Once he was lying down, his symptoms subsided a little. The others fussed over him, making sure he was comfortable, someone got a damp cloth for his forehead, and he couldn't help but wonder - why? Why did they care so much? Certainly he was their boss, but there was no reason to go above and beyond like this. Clearly, he must have done a better job manipulating them than he'd realised. They saw him so weak, so pathetic, and yet it did not alter their perception of him at all. It would be so easy to kill him. Bury a knife in his chest. Slit his throat. Yet he was alive. Not just alive, but he was being doted on. If the roles were reversed, he would have taken the opportunity to ascend the ladder without a second thought. But there was genuine care in the way he was being treated. He'd chosen them well.
Louis' condition only continued to decline - he was almost withering away. The days melded together, a mess of half formed memories and sensations. Fever encased his body, grasping him with its slick, wet fingers, tendrils squeezing him so tightly it incinerated him. Through it, he caught snippets of conversation, Basilio, Fidelio, and a healer? It was difficult to say. The words were difficult to pick out, but he heard the concern in their tone - they feared he wasn't getting better. But he was far too out of it to even care, and even that was swallowed into the vortex of his ailing mind.
As dicey as it had looked, Louis did begin to recover. The fever retreated, his stomach settled. Basilio and Fidelio came by most days, their relief palpable - they would be lost without Louis, and they really did think there was a chance they'd lose him. But it was not yet his time - he refused to yield to death while he still had work to do.
For the first time in quite a while, Louis got out of bed unassisted. His legs did not shake beneath him. Finally. It had been torturous, but finally he was free from this accursed illness.
"Are you completely better now?" Fidelio asked Louis on his first day back at work.
"Indeed. To be well at last certainly is a relief. I'll have to make up for lost time." That was certainly an understatement, but Louis did not want to dwell on it - it was over now. The future he intended to craft was all that mattered now. He would just have to make sure he would never have to suffer a humiliation like this again.
"That's great to hear!" Basilio said, then cut himself off abruptly as though he'd wanted to say something else, but had changed his mind.
"What is it?" Louis raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, well... I was just thinking, since you're not sick anymore, I could make you dinner, like I was going to before. Only if you'd like, of course."
Louis had never eaten anything Basilio had made before, though he'd heard he was an excellent cook. Why not? It would sate his curiosity, if nothing else.
"Go ahead. I'm interested to know what your cooking tastes like.”