Author's Note: This is my second fic. I really hope you like it! Cool title, huh? It has nothing to do with the story, really, except that those are their names before they were Crane and Rosethorn. If you like it, then please tell me so I won't change it too much. Hopefully, this story's chapters won't be as short as my other one's. This chapter is Crane's thoughts when Rosethorn is sick.

Title: Isas and Niva

Rating: G

Spoilers: Some from Briar's Book.

Summary: Rosethorn and Crane's romance, according to me.

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. I know I copied some parts of the book, but I need it for this to work.

Setting: This story is set during and after Briar's Book.

*** = setting change

italics = Crane's thoughts

italics = emphasis

~Ponderings~

"You know better," Crane announced sternly. "You—gods defend us." This is horrible.

Briar looked to see what made Crane speak as he had. Rosethorn had turned to face the room, bracing herself on her counter with one hand. For a moment Briar knew only that something was wrong, though he wasn't sure what it was.

"Rosethorn, no," Tris wailed softly.

"Why is everyone staring?" demanded the woman. How could Rosethorn, of all people, get sick?

Briar shut his eyes, then opened them. Immediately he saw the thing that had changed. The red thumbprint on her forehead had turned white.

Rosethorn saw it in their faces. "Oh, my," she said weakly. "It was that spill, I suppose. I wish we could make these clothes skintight!" Those incompetents! How could they be so clumsy?! Why did it have to be Rosethorn? One of the only people I can stand around here has to be a victim of this blasted blue pox!

"No!" Briar cried, going to her. "No, it can't be. It can't! The spot would've turned color right then—wouldn't it?" he asked Crane, trying not to plead. Oh, how I wish that were true. "Our dots ain't fresh. We got 'em more'n a week ago, so they went stale, that's all."

Crane handed a piece of brightly polished metal to Rosethorn, who could then see for herself that her diagnosis spot had changed color. "Your magic?" he asked her, his voice emotionless. She worked too hard. It's all my fault. She ran out of magic. Briar wanted to kick him. Didn't he care, after all she'd done? That boy's looking at me as if I don't care. Of course I care! I've known her for so long. You can't know Rosethorn that long and not care about her well being.

"I'd run low," Rosethorn said quietly. "My power kept it at bay—until now." No! She can't be sick! This isn't happening. Not after all this time, and we were just starting to make some real progress!

"Until now," Crane said. "So long as your body fought, and could fight, the oil would not react to the disease. I knew I should have refined that diagnosis oil, but we were pressed for time...."

"Can't I stay?" Rosethorn asked him. She's so strong. That's exactly why this should not have happened to her. "Surely I have at least a day's more work in me. The tea got rid of my headache."

Crane sighed. Don't be stupid, Rosethorn. "My dear," he said, his voice regretful, "shall I get the orders with regard to a researcher who succumbs to a disease? They are in your writing."

"I hate it when you're right," she replied. I hate it that I'm right this time, too.

"I know," Crane told her. "If it makes you feel better, Lark will kill me for allowing this to happen."

"An accident," growled Tris. Like Briar she had come to stand near Rosethorn. "Just a stupid, stupid—" her voice cracked. She was crimson behind her mask.

"Let me take her home," Briar said to Crane. "She ought to be in bed."

"She cannot go home—surely you are aware of this." She wouldn't want to endanger her home.

Briar stared up at the man, furious. Was that kindness in Crane's eyes? Who was he to go being kind to anybody, particularly to him or to Rosethorn? That Briar boy is looking at me again. Why's he so mad at me? He should know that it is not safe for Rosethorn to go home.

The true betrayal came in her quiet, clear voice. "No matter where I end up, you will stay here." She really is brave. I guess I've always known that.

"I won't!" snapped Briar. "Let them whiffenpoof Water Temple slushbrains have the care of you? Stay here putting a drip of this and a drab of that into a hundred stupid trays on maybe the side chance one of 'em'll creep us along a hair to a cure?" Doesn't that foolish boy realize that the sooner we find a cure, the sooner Rosethorn will be well.

"Yes," Rosethorn said firmly.

"I need you here." It's true. With Rosethorn unable to help, her student is really needed now.

He was hearing things surely. He could have sworn Crane said he needed him.

The lanky dedicate sighed, then leaned against Rosethorn's worktable. "Your hands are steady. Your discipline over your power is such that no shadow of it changes the essence of the blue pox or of the additives. You keep your head in an emergency, for all that you speak wildly enough." Stop arguing, boy, and let someone help her.

***

Crane and Tris returned to their work and Briar to his, though the boy kept one eye on Rosethorn. She sat at her own table, writing notes and tinkering with the tray she had been working on. She seemed determined to finish it, and Crane would not protest an activity that kept her quiet as they waited for word from Lark. Still trying to help. That Rosethorn is still trying to help. She's really determined to be as useful as she can.

***

Rosethorn stiffly got to her feet. "Just one thing, Crane," she said, an impish look in her eyes. She put a drop from an amber-colored vial on the top of one gloved finger and drew a straight line down the cover on the first well in each row on her tray. They began to shimmer green at her bottoms. Slowly the light expanded and rose, until it filled each well, and flowed together on the spaces between them. "Here's your third key." Lark tried to put an arm around her friend's waist, but Rosethorn shook her head. "I can walk--I'm just a bit achy." That's Rosethorn. Helpful to the very end.

***

Crane was lost in thought, gazing blankly through the glass wall at the fog that rose in the night air. I wish I could keep working. Rosethorn's getting sicker. This is getting serious.

It all depended on Crane now, didn't it? He had plenty of help, it was true, but the experience and the skull work would be his.

I don't even like this man, Briar thought, dismayed. I respect him, but I don't like him. And he don't like me.

The things I do for her, he told himself, and walked over to Crane. "You can stare and blink as well outside as in here," he reminded the dedicate. "And I want my supper, even if you don't." I must remember to keep myself well to help Rosethorn get well.

Crane looked at him as if he had forgotten who Briar was. Then he shook his head as if to clear it. "True. Let us be off, then. We shall return all too soon." I hate this. Why can't this all just go away? Why can't there be something we can do to make Rosethorn get better?

***

Briar was just setting up the next morning when he saw white light shimmering in the shiny surfaces around him. Tris yipped with glee, clapping her hands. The boy turned.

Crane was removing a pair of trays from his personal cabinet, where he kept his experiments. They blazed hotly, marking the first breakthroughs since Rosethorn had gone. Finally. I was beginning to think nothing good would ever happen. Once he'd put them on his worktable, Crane turned to Tris. "There is hardly a need for such enthusiasm," he drawled. "It was bound to happen at some point." I'm just glad it happened at this point.

***

"We begin on cures today," said Crane. "For that we shall need a clean slate." Yes! Rosethorn will finally have a chance to get well.

***

Several hours before dawn, Little Bear's yapping roused everyone. Briar lurched out of his blankets to see what had set the dog off; Lark, Sandry, and Tris sat up, blinking. Daja stuck her head out of Rosethorn's room. Opening the front door, Briar found Crane about to knock. The tall dedicate looked as exhausted as a man could look. He clutched a flask in one hand.

"One of the cures worked," he told the boy in a croak. "I told Osprey to create more and try it on the other volunteers at the infirmaries. I want to administer this dose to Rosethorn myself." I really hope this will work. If it doesn't... Well, I don't know what I would do.

Briar let him in.

***

Frostpine arrived halfway through the morning and stayed, helping with chores. Crane came and went. He checked the other cure volunteers, all temple people who'd caught the pox while tending the sick, looked in on Osprey and the greenhouse crew, then returned to Discipline to watch over Rosethorn. Once people knew he was at the cottage, runners delivered the latest reports on the progress of the volunteers to him there.

Rosethorn was doing better. Her sleep was more natural; she didn't babble. She was cool to the touch and dewed with sweat. Lark felt good enough about her progress to draw everyone out of her room after lunch and let her sleep without a guardian nurse.

Fortunately it was Daja, the most even-tempered of them, who looked into Rosethorn's room late that afternoon. What they heard made them all go still, at the table or seated on the floor, their hands freezing on makework tasks.

"Enough!" Rosethorn's voice was a sandpaper-rough growl. "The next one who...who peers at me is going to die in a dreadful way! Either come in or stay out!"

Daja blinked, then murmured, "Stay out," and retreated.

Briar sighed. "Ah, the sweet birds of spring," he said blissfully. "I hear their glorious song."

Lark ran to her own room and slammed the door.

Rosethorn began to cough. Crane stood and went into her room.

A few minutes later, Frostpine asked, "Do you think she's killed him?"

"It's too quiet for murder," offered Briar in his best criminal judgment. "And he'd yelp more if she was mauling him."

"We'd better check," said Frostpine somberly. He and the four young people looked into the sickroom very cautiously. Crane sat beside Rosethorn's bed, accepting a cup from her. Rosethorn heaved a shuddering sigh and fought to sit up. So strong. She has a very brave spirit. She's beautiful too. In body and mind. She's stubborn as a mule, when she's serious about something. I had no idea she meant this much to me. I guess I've gotten used to her.

"More?" Crane asked, offering the water pitcher. Get better, Rosethorn. Please. His manner was as nobly elegant as ever.

"Willowbark, I think," Rosethorn said in a croak. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Please." Her quick brown eyes caught her audience. "Something for you?"

"No," replied Frostpine.

"No? Then go away. You too," she informed Crane.

He rose, poured her a cup of willowbark tea, then swept her an elegant bow. He ruined the effect by adding, "Don't laze about too long. We must go at the blue pox, find out just how so deadly a variation was made. then write a paper to present in Lightsbridge."

"I'll try not to laze," Rosethorn promised, and drank her tea. "I would like to see Lark, though."

"Shoo, shoo," Crane said, sweeping his hands—and Frostpine, and the four—ahead of him until all had left the room. He rapped on Lark's door. "She wants you," he called. I wish there were more that I could do.

"Coming," Lark replied, her voice nearly as clogged as Rosethorn's.

Crane looked at Briar and Tris, arms akimbo. "I could use both of you," he said. "There are problems with the cure's effect on older and younger patients--we must experiment with those. For that, since time is precious, I would prefer that you sleep nearby, in the Air dormitories."

"I'll tell Lark," Sandry offered. She had been crying, though none of the four could remember when.

"Time to go," said Crane. "The sooner we begin, the sooner we are done." And the sooner Rosethorn can be back to normal.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Author's Note: So what do you think? It's not that good, but it'll get better. Promise. (*crossing fingers behind back*) Okay! I gotta type the next chapter now! Bye!