Pleased a simple tale to hear
"I'll come back and visit you tomorrow, Kevaughn," Celeste promised, shutting the door behind her softly. Ganalath looked up and then away, kicking the section of wall he'd been leaning against for the past half hour. He wasn't going to ask; he didn't care; it didn't matter…
"He's still asleep," Celeste said, and Ganalath felt his shoulders sag with disappointment. Or relief. What would Kevaughn be like when he woke up – if he woke up. Would he still be Kevaughn at all? It was better not to think about it. It didn't bother him. It wasn't like Kevaughn mattered to him. Of course, the instability would be inconvenient, and he'd need a new servant – one who could fight and take orders without question – and there was no telling what kind of damage Kevaughn would cause if…if the condition persisted. But it wasn't personal. Obviously.
"Unkie Ganalath, when's he gonna wake up?" Celeste's blue eyes were shining with moisture. Ganalath sighed and got down on one knee so he could face her eye to eye. Her lip quivered.
"He'll wake up soon," Ganalath flashed an unconvincing smile at the girl. "You go home with your dad and I'll bet by the time you get back he'll be his same old idiot self." She sniffled, and dried her nose on the lacey cuff of one sleeve. "I'll take care of him till you get back," Ganalath heard himself saying, and cursed whatever uncharacteristic urge had brought on the sudden sentimentality. It seemed to comfort the girl though, because she smiled and kissed him wetly on the cheek.
Ganalath sighed again, heavier this time, and watched as Celeste's frilly hem vanished behind the corner. He waited a few measured moments before turning and pushing Kevaughn's door open with the flat of his palm. "Kevaughn?"
Silence – not unexpectedly – was all that greeted him. The room had the cloying, warm atmosphere of a sick room. Ganalath's hair felt wet and it stuck to the back of his neck. On the bed, Kevaughn was a formless lump amidst the formless lumps of pillows and quilts. Celeste had arranged them in a manner more favorable to aesthetics than comfort. Ganalath perched lightly on the unoccupied side of the bed and began idly rearranging pillows.
"Oh Kevaughn," he murmured. "What are you doing?" No reply, which was almost better than any reply Kevaughn could have given him. "I wouldn't be in here at all," Ganalath continued, trying not to think about why he was still talking to an unconscious moron, "but I promised Celeste I'd take care of you. I don't know why she's so fond of you. I suppose children always have a partiality toward dumb animals.
"I guess…" Ganalath paused, looking around the room. "I guess I could read you one of those stories you like." He picked up one of the books lying by Kevaughn's bed, trying to touch as little of it as possible as if it were something dirty. He flipped through a few pages before slamming the book shut and dropping it carelessly back to the floor. "Rubbish," he declared, wiping his hands disdainfully on his leggings. "How do you read that rubbish? My professional opinion is that the author of those stories couldn't write his way out of a broom closet. But I suppose I promised you a story, and it'll be a high quality one, not that trash you and Celeste are so fond of.
"Once upon a time there lived a fabulous young man named Ganalath. He was handsome and brave. He could easily have been a great warrior or a king, but what he liked best was to sing. He started traveling – which he liked a great deal less than singing – and telling his tales and singing his songs. Along the way more than one woman fell madly in love with him. But none of them had that special something Ganalath was looking for – money.
"One day Ganalath was wandering through a field when he found a useless young man bumbling about. The man's name was Kevaughn, and it was obvious to Ganalath that he wouldn't last long on his own. Ganalath should probably have left him there – after all, it was obvious from the start Kevaughn wouldn't do much more than get in our hero's way – but Ganalath was prone to fits of sudden, unexplainable mercy. He invited Kevaughn to come with him as a servant and a body guard, despite the obvious problems this would inevitably cause for the gorgeous and extraordinary young bard.
"It wasn't long before Ganalath realised his new servant had the mental capabilities of a bag of bricks. But Kevaughn had other talents. He was a good listener – if you ignored the vacant look in his eyes – and an excellent swordsman. He was even a pretty good friend, although, of course, Ganalath would never admit that to anyone. Before he knew it, Ganalath had become rather attached to his companion. He woke up one morning and couldn't wait to see the fencer. And Ganalath couldn't remember feeling as happy before he met Kevaughn, or imagine feeling so complete without him. And -- "
Kevaughn stirred, and Ganalath gasped before he could stop himself. But the body guard just whimpered and stuck his knuckle into his mouth. Ganalath frowned and stood up, walked half way to the door, and then turned back. Rolling his eyes, he leaned down and pressed a quick, dry kiss to Kevaughn's moist brow. "Get well soon," he whispered.
The door clicked shut behind him.