In the dark, early morning on Terror Mountain, a figure had just gotten back from slogging through the slush. There had been rain while she was out, a freak occurence even in the spring by this land's standards, and when she entered a rented hut, she was drenched. Cold steeping her bones, the orange Kougra undressed, dried off, put on her sleepwear, and promptly collapsed on the couch. She hadn't even attempted to make it to her room, through a door on the left of the far wall. The partner she'd been given on this mission, an old friend (and perhaps more) was sleeping peacefully through the door on the right. Neither of them could have anticipated what would transpire in the morning.
Come daybreak, Hanso slouched out of his room, and set about his morning routine. Brushing his teeth, getting dressed, making a mug of hot chocolate for both himself and Brynn, the usual. Hanso liked to think he was an excellent hand at fixing hot chocolate; he always carried a specific cream and dark chocolate when he was visiting such cold places, and liked to mix in cinnamon or other spices for a little extra kick. Unfortunately, the sound of raucous coughing nearly made him drop his own mug, after having placed Brynn's on the table. Setting the mug down carefully, Hanso hurried into the living room. While he fully expected to have to hold off an intruder until Brynn got up (unusually late, by her standards), he did not anticipate said orange Kougra to be sprawled on the couch: hair askew, face burning, still wheezing from her fit of coughing that had barely passed.
As he fetched a glass thermometer, Hanso cursed under his breath. "'It's just a last scout for the night Hanso,' 'I won't get lost outside Hanso,' 'The concern's appreciated, but unneeded Hanso,'" he muttered under his breath. Gently setting the thermometer under Brynn's tongue and holding it there (as he didn't trust her to do it on her own, given her present semi-conscious state and all), Hanso waited for the mercury to stop rising. It did not stop until it topped somewhere between 100 and 101 degrees Farenheit. "Well, shoot," the Ixi thief said lamely. "That's a problem." For once, Hanso's wits completely left him. He didn't have a single idea of how to remedy this problem.
Then, he heard a strangled groan out of Brynn. Struggling, she rolled onto her side and tried to prop herself up with her arm. "It hurts," she fought to say. "My chest is, is, hhnnngh!" With a whimper more pitiful than anything Hanso had ever heard from Brynn, the Captain of Fyora's Guard crumpled back onto the couch. Unable to bear it any longer, Hanso laid a quick kiss on Brynn's feverish brow, and hurried into the kitchen. There had to be something, anything to help in here! Then, vaguely, oh-so-vaguely, he remembered some kind of drink he'd been given when he was very young. Fresh to the Thieves' Guild, he'd gotten caught in the rain, and had come down with pneumonia. An older thief made him a drink out of fruits native to Brightvale, and after wracking his brain, Hanso could remember most of the ingredients the thief had said were in it. Clinging to this plan, Hanso began to get to work.
Somehow, Brynn had all of the necessary components to making the drink. Hanso was no medicine man, but he could make a college try if it meant alleviating Brynn's suffering. He thoroughly chopped up the fruit, filled a goblet with lukewarm water, and poured the fruit in. After pouring in some herbs, Hanso began to use a pestle to gently crush and mix the ingredients together. When he was satisfied, he ran back into the living room, where Brynn still lay on the couch.
She was crying. Hanso couldn't remember the last time he had seen Brynn cry. She was a picture of agony, and Hanso couldn't bear to watch. He rushed to her side, and gently placed the goblet to her lips. At first, she was too distraught to drink, but Hanso's gentle murmurings convinced her to take a sip. She quickly began to drink more, and it wasn't long before she had drained the goblet of its contents. Then, she rested, though her chest heaved.
Sat by her side, Hanso gently held Brynn's hand. Normally, Brynn fretted enough for the two of them together. Yet now, she looked so weak and fragile; like she could break, irrepairably, at any moment. As softly as he could, Hanso laid a kiss on Brynn's hand. She moaned, and jerked upwards; eyes stubbornly refusing to open and stay open.
"Hanso," she whined, "please, don't leave..." Hanso whispered that he had never intended to leave, and would never leave her side. This abated Brynn's worries, and she sunk back down into the couch. She gave a rasping sigh, and settled back down to rest.
The Blue Ixi master thief eventually fell asleep, his head on Brynn's stomach.