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It was a rather eventless day. The gleaming cookies of the Silver Kingdom were all scattered around to fulfill their given tasks as usual. One of the cookies was dusting the shelves of the library as Elder Fearie Cookie's hand elegantly flipped another page of the tome which lay on his lap. Sitting on the floor was no way of a majesty to behave, one of his helpers had said, but he couldn't possibly deny the comfort of sitting in the middle of the library, surrounded by the towers of books that waft a sweet aroma. The temptation had been severe, and he had found himself settling comfortably without a point in question.
His eyes wandered on the page, the simple paper adorned with illustrations of flowers and herbs, all drawn with the purpose of documenting each plant's boundless benefits. His motive was simple: Help find a cure for the sickness his cookies have been forced to subjugate. The kingdom had gone through worse—he had been there, but seeing his cookies suffer was enough for the monarch to sit down and look for clarity.
"Your Majesty."
A gentle voice grazed his ears, soft and welcoming. Fearie Cookies were known for their strong aura and diligent resilience, yet, in the midst of it all, their kind voices guided other cookies into safety. Elder Fearie Cookie raised his hand to softly touch his throat—and cleared it with a single, silent cough.
"What would you need, dear Berrywine Cookie?"
Taking a look at her eyes, he found her gaze fixed on the floor, at a spot before him. Her shoulders were drawn tight, bottom lip quivering up as if it was hard to speak. A soft hue of pink was on her cheeks, only contributing more to her already shy persona ever since her birth.
"Your Majesty—!" The girl parroted, her hands clenched onto her sides. "Is it okay if I leave you alone in the library for an hour? I have to meet up with someone, and I was hoping—"
Elder Fearie raised his hand, kindly stopping the girl from spiralling.
"It's quite fine. I'll be here if my assistance is needed."
She closed her mouth that was gaping open, gaze absentmindedly directed at the monarch, who only offered her a soft smile. As if noticing she had been staring, she bowed her head, eyes shut close.
"Thank you, your Majesty!" The words left her mouth as quickly as the rest of her rambling. Turning and walking out the door, her steps echoed through the whole library. The empty space only housing the very monarch of the kingdom, and the vast knowledge he wished to have all of.
Buried inside the thickest book he had found, the monarch had almost lost himself to the minute hands clicking by every moment that had passed—unaware of the outside. The light that once allowed radiance into the library was long gone, replaced by the gas lamp he placed beside him. Its dim light graced his already exhausted eyes. They were starting to sting, and the light had helped a lot—leaving him to relinquish taking a break from his studies.
A creak of door hinges echoed through the vast space, causing the monarch to lift his head up and gradually tilt it towards the giant doors of the library.
"Salt?" He whispered, squinting his eyes at the cookie who entered—their hair tidied up in a ponytail which danced in the air like curtains washed by the wind.
"I'm here." Salt of Solidarity's deep and exhausted voice barely reached Elder Fearie—making him only tilt his head further as if that would help hearing his dear friend more easily.
The General's heavy boots thumped against the wooden floor, carrying a sense of sluggishness Elder Fearie wasn't used to seeing.
"I wasn't expecting you. How come no one notified me? I would have greeted you at the gates."
"It is no issue, Elder Fearie." Salt gradually lifted his hand up, not to stop the monarch from questioning, but as if to ask him for a moment—just a mere silence to gather his thoughts. "I've asked about your whereabouts when I came. There was no need to make you aware of my arrival." His steps slowed as he reached Elder Fearie's side and got on one knee. Salt of Solidarity couldn't bear staring loomingly over his friend, whom were almost hidden inside the loop of books. "What is it you're searching?"
"It's simply not important for now—"
"It seems important. Is it about the herbs you have kindly asked me to gather?"
Elder Fearie's hand tightened its hold over the corner of the book, accidentally wrinkling the paper which had survived for years to come.
"Yes," He muttered out, gaze fixed on the ruined corner with a soft frown. "How was your journey? I remember you saying the sickness had been spread terrifyingly."
Silence erupted in the library—only the trinkets singing outside and the faint whistle of the gas lamp could be heard.
"The Knights of Kala Namak and I had found the cause of its contagiousness. Unknowingly, we have encountered the very animal that had spread it such further." He bent his other knee, now fully sitting next to Elder Fearie—whose gaze hasn't shifted. "Yet…"
"I sense troubling news." Elder Fearie tilted his head, turning to look at Salt's helmet and the way his hair's shadow, which was made by the gas lamp, shifted on the distant wall.
"Upon our return, we took notice of many of our knights having been cursed with the disease. However, not contagious between cookies, many had fallen sick into their beds."
When Elder Fearie didn't say anything, Salt kept on.
"I was wondering if you had found the cure." He trailed on, watching the flame burn inside the lamp. "You seem tired."
"It is merely just an inconvenience. Your demeanor reeks of exhaustion, my dear friend. You need rest as much as I do."
A soft chuckle escaped Salt's lips, blessing Elder Fearie's ears like a velvety melody—cottonier than any other songs he had ever heard.
"I simply rather staying with you here, my king. I'll be company as you look through."
Elder Fearie parted his lips to say something, push back, and plead for Salt to rest even for a mere moment. The knight looked too tired—too worked up.
And deep down, he knew he looked just as bad.
"If you wish," He mumbled instead, glancing at Salt's way to see the knight sitting there motionless, hands curled up in his lap. Too stiff.
It took only several minutes before he felt the weight on his shoulder, the clanks of armor shifting, and warmth pooling into his stomach.
He tilted his head from the worn book, already halfway to find a cure for the diseases that had corrupted them whole.
When he looked to his side, his heart almost stopped, his hand twitching instinctively. He closed the book in his hands with a thud, accidentally causing it to echo through the whole space.
"Salt?" The name left his lips in a hurry, hands placing the book on the ground to fly towards the knight who had fallen onto his shoulder quite abruptly.
It wasn't the first time Salt leaned on his shoulder, but the knight always asked. Always.
His fingers wrapped around Salt's shoulders, keeping him away from falling onto the ground or—much more safely—into Elder Fearie's lap.
"Salt." He called out again, his voice carrying a hint of concern and panic all at the same time.
Only a groan escaped the knight's lips, and Salt gently placed his hand onto Elder Fearie's chest, pushing himself up and letting the monarch's hands fall to his sides.
"I am…fine. Just a moment of falter."
Nothing could be enough to convince Elder Fearie.
His hands twitched up before he pulled them back down. His body tensed, and his eyes looked through every corner of Salt's armour, only settling on his helmet later.
"There is no one here," Elder Fearie softly said. "Could you take off the helmet, my dear?" friend, he wanted to add, but it didn't matter.
"I am fine—"
"I beg of you?"
Salt's words got cut off in the middle as he stared at the monarch, who had fully turned towards him. The light next to them shed light onto the Fearie's wings, shining rainbows onto the wall behind them.
"Okay," Salt breathed out, his shoulders going slack.
He watched as the knight moved to take off his helmet. Strands of white flowing hair falling as nothing was left to support them up. They covered Salt's shoulders like a blanket, and were long in a way that still surprised Elder Fearie, no matter how much time had passed—mesmerised by its waves passing Salt's waist and the tips touching the floor.
His baby blue eyes landed on Salt's bold lavender eyes, and the gray eyelashes that almost blended with his iris. Down, on his lip, there was a scar that started from his cheek and traveled down to his chin. It was elegant, an art of a blade Salt couldn't anticipate. Ten cookies against one general. Salt had gone home with victory from that battle, despite his rough state.
Elder Fearie hadn't met Salt when the scar came to life—yet, it didn't mean he didn't want to reach out and brush his thumb alongside the scar, as if that would help.
"I read it correctly." He softly said, taking notice of the fatigued look in Salt's eyes and his pinkish cheeks. "May I touch your forehead?"
Salt didn't answer at first, but then, he closed his eyes and leaned subtly forward for Elder Fearie to reach properly.
He lifted his hand and gently touched his fingertips onto Salt's forehead first, only after he let his palm embrace it whole, taking in the temperature.
Salt was burning up.
Sighing, he didn't pull his hand for a moment, watching as Salt leaned further into his hand—as if he didn't have the energy to sit up anymore, and Elder Fearie was his only support to lean onto.
"I hoped you had the cure ready," Salt mumbled, even lower than everything he had ever said since he entered the library.
Elder Fearie couldn't do anything more than answer with silence. How could he? His dearest first was sick, to the very disease he had been trying to find a cure for, and he was helpless. How was he going to save everyone if he couldn't save his friend from the suffering? He had to find a cure—as quickly as possible.
"Are you certain this is the same sickness?"
Salt opened his eyes gradually, then slowly sat up. His face crunched in a way that said it was damaging to move.
"I am afraid, Elder Fearie. I've fallen sick, and I doubt it could be any other sickness, considering the knights and I would share the same fate."
"Oh my witches…" His hands landed on both sides of Salt's cheeks, trying to get a better look at the knight who looked almost dead in his hands. The sight sent a chill down his spine, standing his hairs on end—terrifying. "Do the Kala Namak Knights know that you are here? The illness?"
Salt closed his eyes gradually once again, hiding the violets behind his eyelids.
"They know that I have come to your kingdom—however, not my state."
"Salt…" He whispered.
"I couldn't let them worry."
Sighing, he moved to gently wrap his hand around Salt's limp one. He shifted a bit, putting one foot on the floor and lifting himself up.
"I'll let the kingdom's medic take a look. Shall I lead you to our chambers?"
Salt faltered, his foot losing its balance before Elder Fearie caught him up.
"Our chambers?" Salt quietly asked.
"I've established a room next to mine for you to use once you arrive here to stay. Guest chambers were too separate for us, as we meet up every morning when you are here."
Salt slowly got up next to Elder Fearie, his moves a bit off, eyes stuck on no point.
"That's—uh, nice. Forgive me, friend. I—" he blinked, shaking his head slightly, his hair hanging dead off his shoulders and gently waving without the wind. "Could you lead us—quickly?"
"Of course."
Inside the chambers Elder Fearie had established for Salt of Solidarity, Salt lay on the bed, lightly groaning at every moment. So long gone the composed knight many knew, replaced by a rare sight of Salt suffering through it all. It hurt—seeing him this way. This is filled with pain.
Elder Fearie's hands worked to wring out a cloth—letting the cold water drip into the bucket he had asked the maids to deliver. He was leaning down, his wings brushing the ground.
Once he deemed the cloth ready, he carefully lifted himself and approached Salt, then slowly lowered himself onto the bed, sitting at the edge of it.
"It's quite cold," He warned under his breath, and moved to gently place the cold cloth onto Salt's forehead, gaining a sharp hiss from the knight.
"That feels like ice," The knight whispered, his eyes opening ever so slightly to look at Elder Fearie. "I apologize for the inconvenience—"
"What inconvenience you speak of, my dear friend?"
Salt glanced at him before he closed his eyes and sighed.
"I merely wish it were you spending time finding a cure, rather than tending me in my sick bed."
Elder Fearie's eyebrow twitched up, and his hand subconsciously moved to cup Salt's cheek and tenderly guide Salt's head to face him. The knight's eyes parted so slightly, enough to look at him.
"Salt," He said—breathless. "If you know me at all—which I, very in fact, know that you do—offering when you are in need of my assistance is a priority to me, no matter what you think. A cure will do nothing for me—if I lose you in the process."
"The cure will help countless cookies—" Salt tried to say, but Elder Fearie shook his head.
"For the price of you? I don't see a fair deal, my dear knight."
Silence fell into the room. Only two cookies, one a monarch, and the other a general, starting at each other, refusing to falter from defending the very things they cared about.
"I'll refresh the cloth. Then, as I still have to find a cure, I'll get my books here."
"Two victories with one sword?"
Elder Fearie let out a low chuckle and removed the dried-out cloth from Salt's forehead.
"We say two berries with one pebble, but it seems that the idiom changes greatly, as the outcome stays the same."
"Guess so," Salt hummed and shifted a bit in the bed, so that he could lie on his side and watch Elder Fearie move through the room—humming a soft melody. "The medicine the healer got me, has it been useful so far, Elder Fearie?"
The monarch halted his singing and got up from wringing the cloth.
"It has helped many cookies with the fever and the bone aches, but it hasn't been able to demolish the sickness, which had caused suffering to most." He placed the cloth onto Salt's forehead and subtly pushed the knight so that he would go back to lying on his back. "For now, it should help you greatly, even if not fully."
"That's good," He hummed, suddenly stretching his jaw to let a quiet yawn out. "I can feel the numbness in my body easing ever since I took it. Please, do send my gratification to the healer."
"I will do." Elder Fearie nodded—a soft smile adorning his face as he watched Salt slowly close his eyes and lose the little consciousness he had left. "Rest well, Salt."
Salt didn't say anything back, other than a quiet sound of snoring which had escaped his lips, causing the smile of the king to become slightly wider.
Having gotten his books from the library, he sat down next to Salt's head in bed, not bothering to make another fortress on the floor just so he could study. This way, his attention was always on his knight, making sure he wasn't uncomfortable, and reminding Elder Fearie that the situation wasn't something to fix, but rather a duty he needed to fulfill in a short time. A longer suffering of Salt of Solidarity would only cause further issues down the path of his journey to find the cure. Tomorrow, he would have to accomplish the duties which were bestowed on him, care for his people, and make sure every sick person in the kingdom got the attention they deserved.
He tilted his head a bit to stare at Salt's sleeping form, the knight's cheek resting against his thigh and shifting ever so slightly in his sleep. He looked peaceful, if the tremors which corrupted his body time to time in his sleep were anything he could ignore.
His shoulders hitched up when Salt shifted once again—but this time, the knight's arm landed on his abdomen, pulling him into a side hug the Monarch did not expect.
"Salt?" He quietly asked, wanting to see if his friend was awake. Yet, no response came, only the distant sounds of ratchets filling the room.
He sighed, and gently moved to take Salt's hand in his—then carefully lifted it up. He wasn't sure what came to him, or what he was planning, but in that moment, his lips landed on Salt's hand. He stayed still for a moment, just closing his eyes, wondering—just wondering if Salt could ever actually leave him because of this illness, falter to it, get lost in the abysses where Elder Fearie couldn't follow.
Shaking his head slightly to keep himself away from the terrifying thoughts, he placed Salt's hand back on his hip—into a better position, more comfortable—and went back to formulating the cure which would only need the animal's extract as the final ingredient.
He was sitting on Salt's bed again, watching as the Knight's mouth worked up to eat the last bit of antidote he and the healer cookies had come up with. It was made to work, and most of the cookies who had taken it had gone back to their normal lives.
Salt mumbled something into his food, grumbling about the taste of the medicine and how he didn't like it.
"I apologise for the inconvenience, my dear friend," Elder Fearie said, mocking Salt's words from before when the knight first came to him for help. "But I couldn't possibly find a way to make it taste better for the likes of you."
Salt glanced at him, but then his nose scrunched up, as well as his face.
Then he let out a thin sneeze and sent his head flying back for a mere moment.
A laugh erupted from Elder Fearie's mouth. It was enticing to know that the rough and composed knight's sneezes were like a kitten's.
"At least your scent is better." Salt whispered, the words mumbled and swallowed under his tongue.
"What?" Elder Fearie asked, not hearing it fully and not believing his ears either.
"Nothing."
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