Chapter Text
It started with a headache
Two hours after his favorite omelette breakfast, Kuzco pressed two fingers to his temple, trying to force away the pulsing ache at the front of his mind. He should have expected it to happen, really. An omelette wouldn't fix a bad night of sleep. He rarely did have bad nights when sleeping on a mattress that was like a cloud, but sometimes, the loneliness of night got to him. He'd much rather be at Pacha's house, laying on a harder mattress with a woolen blanket, letting the distant snores draw him into sleep.
He'd spent most of last night staring at the ceiling, tired yet unable to fall asleep in the silence. The shadows of his room tugged at him, emphasizing the pit of dread in his stomach that he didn't quite understand why he had. When he did fall asleep, it wasn't long before he was woken up by sunrise and a maid gently knocking on his door, reminding him of the early morning meetings with the officials.
Being a good emperor was tough sometimes, but he wouldn't change it. In the three months since his time as a llama, he'd done everything he could to fix his mistakes as well as the damage Yzma caused over the years - damage he hadn't noticed, trusting her too much when he was a boy and being too naive, selfish, and egotistical in his teens.
'Still a teen,' Pacha's voice reminded him. He said that sometimes, like when Kuzco ate a lot to satisfy a raging appetite or when he was actually trying to take on too much work for once in his life. Kuzco was trying to take his job seriously - responsibly - while still maintaining his utter awesomeness and most of his attitude, and sometimes he went over his limits. He didn't exactly know where they were yet. Inwardly, he worried he wasn't doing enough even as his people became happier.
He'd made it his main mission to ensure everyone had enough food, which meant enlisting farmers, scientists, and engineers to work together on agriculture. Now, the Empire had a surplus in food. No one was hungry. Following that, he expanded to do so much more, including bettering the economy, encouraging trade, building better water systems, and ensuring the people were content through public festivals and surveys. He'd downsized the inside of his palace, feeding more gold into the economy and ensuring the riches were for the betterment of his kingdom.
"Your Highness," one of his secretaries, Paul, called from the door, making Kuzco drop his hand, unsure where time had gone, "you have a few more villagers who wish to see you."
He pushed on his best smile, settling against his throne. "Let them in." The meetings had ended quicker than expected that morning, and he'd decided to open the floor early for his citizens to bring their grievances and worries. (There weren't near as many as there used to be.)
He used to not handle them correctly with Yzma whispering in his ear as well as his own foolishness and ego keeping him flippant to serious problems. Now, he was doing a lot better. And that wasn't just his opinion! Pacha said so too.
Pacha - he had done so much for the young Emperor. He taught him more valuable lessons in a few days than years of tutoring had. He had helped when he didn't have to. Heck, thinking back on it, Kuzco wouldn't have helped himself either if he'd been in Pacha's situation. His friend had done more than he could repay.
There was this small part of Kuzco that recognized Pacha as someone like a father to him. He'd never known his own father. Never known his mother either. Yzma had filled that role, in a way, until she tried to take his position, then kill him for said position. Chicha was a lot better for the role of pseudo mother.
Not that he would tell either of them those particular details.
Kuzco shook his head to clear it as the door opened, allowing three quibbling villagers inside. He had to focus on the present. Going on mental tangents would make the day longer and decrease his already waning focus. He just had to make it through these meetings, then he could go lay down in his room for a while to soothe his headache.
Settling on that plan, he leaned forward, resting his chin on his folded hands as he listened to an argument between three older men. Stolen farm animals, accusations of houses being egged, a torn down fence...
____
By the time he'd acted as judge in deducing the case correctly, his head was screaming at him. The pain was amplified by the laughter of the old men who had gone back to being best friends again. They left, his secretary shutting the door, and Kuzco forced himself not to flinch at the sound it made. "Who's next?" He asked, his voice faint to his own ears.
"There is no one else." The secretary answered. Involuntarily, Kuzco's shoulders slumped in relief. The other man's eyebrows drew together in concern, something that the Emperor wasn't familiar with being directed at him. "Maybe you should go lay down, Your Highness. You look a tad pale."
"Good idea." He pushed himself to stand and had to brace against the wave of dizziness that hit him, briefly leaning against the throne for balance. 'Probably low blood sugar, ugh,' he thought. The snacks in his room would fix that. "When is that meeting with the military?"
"After lunch, Your Grace, but if you feel ill-"
"I'm alright." He assured, giving him a smile that he hoped looked more genuine than it felt. "I'll be there, just let me know, m'kay?"
He bowed. That was another thing. People no longer quivered when they bowed to him. "Of course, Your Highness."
"Thanks." He gave a wave, moving down the reduced amount of stairs as fast as he dared, and then headed toward his private rooms. As he walked, he couldn't help but notice how colors blended around the edges, how his body slowly became more and more disconnected from himself, how the pounding of his head was all that spurred him to keep moving. A nap and some sugar would fix it, he was sure.
He just had to make it up the stairs.
Gripping the railing, he took them step by step, periodically stopping to squeeze his eyes shut against the spinning of the world. His stomach churned, threatening to climb up his throat. Was it really his blood sugar? Or was it something he'd ate? All he'd had was the mid-tier omelette. He loved Chicha's omelette's so much more. She said they were made with love, which might be true with how much better they tasted than what his cooks could make. It had tasted a little different this morning, not exactly bad but not right either-
His blood went cold. He yanked in a breath so fast it hurt.
Poison. He'd been poisoned. Again.
The world spun out from under him in the same moment the thought struck. He hit the hard stairs, the steps stabbing into his ribcage as he landed on his side, his crown falling off his head and clattering to the floor. He blinked at the dimming world, catching sight of the sun and how its rays bounced off the golden walls of his palace, how they shined on his Empire, his people.
He hadn't appointed a successor in the wake of his death. What would they do? He cursed himself mentally. He'd put off appointing a successor with the excuse of his youth.
Really, he didn't know who to trust after Yzma.
The pain surged, coming from his head and stomach to clash at his heart. It knocked the air out of him, leaving his lungs burning as his hands clenched into fists, his body trembling and vision tunneling. He couldn't hear over the rush of blood in his ears. He tried to call out for someone, but his voice didn't work, his throat burning with the taste of bile.
He let his eyes shut, trying to breathe through the pain that tried to drag him under like a tidal wave. He laid on the hard stairs, unable to move or think, praying that this wasn't the end of his life because he was an emperor, a leader, a man people depended on-
-and a teenager afraid to die.
Tears welled up in his eyes, fighting through his eyelids to slide down the sides of his head. His strength had vacated him. He doubted he could wipe them away if he wanted to.
He wanted to see Pacha again. He wanted to see Chicha, and Chaca, and Tipo, and Yupi, and Kronk, and so many others. He wanted to do so much with his life. He wanted to find true love with a woman he'd be proud to make Empress. He wanted to pet another dog. He wanted to watch the llamas with Pacha, talk with Chicha, play with the kids he could call his siblings. He had so much left to say.
Yet all he could do was lay there as breathing burned and his body shivered in the warm air.
Kuzco could have laid there for minutes or hours or days before he finally heard the faint call of a voice. "Emperor Kuzco? You around here, son?"
It took him far too long to place to voice. It was Rudy, the man he'd had thrown out the window for accidentally being in his way. His stomach churned with more than the poison, stirred by guilt whenever his old self came to mind. The voice got closer, calling his name. He was too weak to try and call back.
There was a pause, and then the sound of fast footsteps coming up the stairs. "Emperor Kuzco!" Weathered hands took his shoulders, gently shaking, then moved to gently tap his forehead in an attempt to wake him. He stopped abruptly. "Oh no..." He whispered. "I'll go get help, Kuzco. You'll be just fine." He left, rushing down the stairs and yelling for help. It wasn't long before several sets of feet came running up and then he was surrounded by people - guards, he recognized their voices. He should know their names, except he couldn't think.
"Is it his blood sugar?" One asked, taking his pulse through his wrist. "His heart is beating so fast."
"No," another answered, hand against his forehead. "He's burning, like Rudy said. Get the physician." A pause. "All the physicians." The hand moved away, replaced by an arm going behind his back and another under his knees, lifting him.
"I've got you, Kuzco." Kronk, it was Kronk carrying him. He must have been delivering lunch. That meant he'd been on the stairs for hours. "The doctors will get here, and you'll be okay." The desperation in his voice pierced the ruler's heart. People cared about him. They didn't used to care about him.
Kuzco couldn't muster up the energy to respond. With each light jostle of going up the steps, pain flared through his body. It was all he could do to not let more tears slip out.
Mercifully, he was placed onto his bed. The weight of his earrings was removed and his shoes taken off. Someone pulled his blanket over him. It did nothing to calm the shivers tracing his spine. Someone took his pulse again. Urgent words faded with his consciousness. He tried to hang on to reality, he really did, but the poison was stronger than his willpower.
The darkness dragged him under.