"Cedric? Cedric, darling, it's time to wake up!"
Cedric is shaken awake by his partner's gentle hands. He hums, and the sound hurts his raw throat. He realizes he feels like he's been trod on by a dragon.
The sorcerer has a blistering headache and he can't breathe through his nose and his throat hurts just as much as it had yesterday— his whole body is sore, in fact. He grunts in disapproval, though it brings pain to his throat. It seems the herbal tea he'd had last night had been unsuccessful in staving off this illness.
"Good morning, plucera," Greylock says cheerily, kissing Cedric on the forehead. "Oh!" he gasps in surprise; "You're on fire!" Cedric feels Greylock's palm settle on his forehead and he frowns. Greylock sighs. "That feels like a fever to me," he says.
"No shit," Cedric grumbles out.
"Oh, you poor thing," Greylock mutters, stroking Cedric's hair. "How do you feel?"
"Like I've just crawled out of the underworld," Cedric replies.
"You look it, too, I'm afraid," Greylock says. "Well, you ought to go back to sleep. I'll see what potions I can make for you, but your best chance to get better will come with rest."
Cedric forces his aching body into a seated position. "No, I can't laze around all day; I've got work to do," he protests.
Greylock stops him by grabbing his shoulders. "You are not leaving this bed, dear Cedric, until your health is significantly better."
"Not even to piss?" Cedric asks dryly.
The older man sighs. "Using the bathroom is an obvious exception."
The Enchancian chuckles.
"I'm serious," Greylock says, trying to push Cedric back down. "You need to rest."
"And I'm serious that I have work to do!" Cedric is too weak to resist at the moment, try as he might to remain seated.
"You're in no state to work, tshats," Greylock replies. "You said it yourself that you feel like you've just crawled out of the underworld."
"King Roland asked me to have a new potion ready for him by the end of the day. I can't afford to indulge this."
"Indulge?!" Greylock repeats incredulously. "Taking a sick day is not an indulgence, love— It's a necessity, when you're as ill as you are! Surely King Roland will understand."
Cedric grits his teeth. This simple conversation is exhausting him. "He has only just started to respect me, Greylock. I don't want to disappoint him now."
"Your King might be ungrateful and spoiled, but he isn't a tyrant. Trust me; I know what it's like to serve one of those."
"I don't have the energy to… Do this," Cedric says, gesturing vaguely. "Let me get up."
"Absolutely not," Greylock replies firmly. "You're going to lay down and go back to sleep. I will tell King Roland that you're too sick to work today, to which he will undoubtedly say something like 'oh, I'm sorry to hear that! Tell Cedric that I hope he has a speedy recovery.'"
Greylock delivers the last line with a spot-on impression of the King. Cedric can't help but laugh, but doing so makes him cough rather violently.
"Oh, darling…" Greylock coos, rubbing Cedric's back.
Cedric finally catches his breath, and looks Greylock in the eye. "What if that's not his answer?"
"If King Roland of Enchancia has suddenly lost all his empathy… We shall cross that unlikely bridge when we get to it."
Cedric smirks. "And I suppose it'll be you asking on my behalf. He rather likes you."
Greylock scoffs. "Yes, indeed. Now do lie down! You need your rest."
The younger man is too tired to object. He allows himself to be tucked back in bed, and he closes his eyes.
"If I come back here and you're out of bed trying to work, I swear…" Greylock trails off. "You'd best not be trying to work."
Cedric chuckles. "Understood."
He feels a short kiss on his temple, and hears Greylock's footsteps as he makes his way out of the workshop.
Cedric is soon fast asleep.
When next the Enchancian wakes up, he feels awful, but significantly less awful than before.
"Ah, you're awake."
Cedric looks to his left to find Greylock sitting on a chair next to the bed. His feet are up on the mattress— thankfully he is not wearing shoes, Cedric thinks— and there is a half-kitted something-or-other in his lap.
"You've been sitting here watching me sleep?" Cedric asks, his voice raspy.
"Don't make it sound so creepy," Greylock jokes.
"It's not creepy, just… a little odd."
"Odd to watch over one's sick partner? I think not!" Greylock reaches for something on the nightstand. He hands Cedric a glass of water. "Here."
Cedric suddenly realizes how dehydrated he is. He takes the glass and gulps down about half of its contents before he grimaces at how doing this hurts his throat. He sets the glass down on his bedside table.
"How are you feeling, sweetheart?" Greylock asks. He's moving to sit on the bed beside Cedric.
"Horrible. But better than I did earlier."
Greylock places one hand on Cedric's forehead. "You don't feel as hot as you did then, either." He smoothes Cedric's hair back and kisses his forehead.
"Did you speak to King Roland?" Cedric asks, turning to face the other man.
"I did indeed. And just as I'd predicted, he was entirely supportive of you taking a day or two off to recover."
Cedric smirks. "I'm glad to hear that."
"You were worried about nothing, dear Cedric." Greylock rubs his back gently.
"How long was I asleep?" Cedric asks.
"Four hours," Greylock replies.
"Wow, that's quite some time."
"Indeed."
"And you sat here staring at me the whole time?"
Greylock laughs. "No, no— I started making you a potion. It has to brew for a long time before the ingredients activate, so I came here to do some knitting… And, well, stare at you."
Cedric chuckles. "I see."
"Well, now that you're awake, do you need anything else?"
"Perhaps I could use something to eat." He reaches for his wand on the bedside table, intending to conjure himself a snack.
"Ah-ah!" Greylock grabs his hand to stop him. "Not on my watch. I will do that."
Greylock pulls his wand out of his sleeve and conjures a bowl of what smells like chicken soup, as well as a tray and a spoon so that Cedric can eat it in bed.
Cedric raises his eyebrows at his partner. "You didn't need to do that. I'm not too sick to cast a simple spell."
"But why should you do it yourself when I can do it for you?"
"You're sounding like Baileywick," Cedric jokes. He picks up the spoon and starts to eat.
"Well, then… 'Cedric, let's make it work!'"
Cedric laughs, almost spitting out his first mouthful of soup. "Grey, you're on fire with the impressions today."
Greylock smiles. "Why, thank you. I do endeavour to be entertaining." He looks around and his face lights up as if he's just remembered something. "I ought to check on the potion I was making. I'll be right back."
The Rudistani slips off the bed and makes his way towards one of the ladders to the workshop's lower level.
Cedric continues to eat his soup, wondering what his partner could possibly be making. The younger sorcerer has had more than his fair share of magical medicines in his lifetime. It seems to him that most of them hardly did anything at all. When he gets ill in adulthood, he generally doesn't even bother with anything beyond a couple tried and true spells and potions that help him to ignore his symptoms. After all, no magic seems to be able to cure illness— at least as far as Cedric can tell.
Greylock returns a minute later. "It's almost ready, but not quite," he says to Cedric as he walks back towards his chair. "I'll check again in a bit."
"What exactly are you making?" Cedric asks.
"It's traditional Rudistani folk medicine. My mother used to make it all the time."
"Ah." Cedric furrows his brow. "Wait a moment… Your mother isn't a sorceress."
"No, that she isn't."
"Then how did she make a potion?"
"There's only one magical ingredient— one that needs to be activated, and the reason it takes so damn long to make— and that's bearberry bush leaves. There was a keyere, a traditional Rudistani healer, in our city who sold the leaves with their magic already activated, so those who didn't know magic could use them."
"I see! That's quite interesting, and rather kind of her. I can't imagine that happening in Dunwiddie, for instance... "
Greylock nods. "Enchancia fears magic in the hands of anyone but a sorcerer. Rudistan is not quite the same."
Cedric continues to eat his soup. After a moment of silence, Greylock picks up his knitting project, takes a moment to get his bearings, and resumes. Cedric watches his partner's nimble fingers work the yarn, quickly adding new stitches.
His eyes drift down to the work in Greylock's lap. It's made up of familiar colours and patterns— the same that are on Greylock's sweater vests, the insides of the sleeves of his robes and coats, on his suspenders and stocking garters and various other accoutrements. Cedric has known for years about the traditional Rudistani practice of familienmotifs, but the extent of the custom's prevalence continues to surprise him. "What are you knitting?" Cedric asks to break the silence.
"A scarf," Greylock answers.
"Don't you already have plenty of those?" Cedric asks.
"Yes. But this one's different."
"How so?"
Greylock adjusts his knitting needles so the stitches aren't in danger of sliding off, and he places the scarf on the bed next to Cedric. "See if you can tell."
Cedric follows the well-known pattern from the end of the scarf, trying to find something special about it. A stripe composed of black and white squares catches his eye. "This isn't part of your familienmotif," Cedric says, pointing to it.
"Right, well spotted. Though it is now, as a matter of fact, part of my familienmotif... When two Rudistanis are married, they blend their familienmotifs together to create a new one. This, of course, can't be done if a Rudistani marries someone from another kingdom. This pattern, the black and white one, is added to the familienmotif instead; it signifies betrothal to a foreigner."
Cedric blinks at the scarf before he looks up at the other man. "So you're adding this because… Because of me?"
Greylock nods. "I know we aren't exactly married, but… Well, we would be by now, if one of us were a woman, so…" His russet skin turns even pinker.
Cedric smiles. "I think that's incredibly sweet, Greylock."
"You do?"
The Enchancian nods.
Greylock chuckles. "Oh, good— part of me worried you'd think it was too much."
"Why would it be? It's not as if anyone in Enchancia will know what that means, anyway."
"You're right. There are Rudistani immigrants here, but not enough for us to have to worry." Greylock takes the project back into his lap and continues to knit. Cedric watches Greylock again, and the thought of the new stripe's meaning bounces around in his head. He can't help but smile.
Soon enough, Cedric has finished his soup. He focuses his energy until magic shimmers at his fingertips, and he waves his hand to make the empty bowl and the rest of the things vanish into thin air.
Greylock looks up from his knitting. "Hey! You should have asked me to do that!"
"As I said earlier, I'm not too sick for simple magic."
"And as I said earlier, you shouldn't have to do any magic while you're sick."
"You never actually said that," Cedric retorts.
"Well, that was the subtext."
Cedric chuckles, amused.
"I think the medicine should be ready now," Greylock announces, setting his scarf down and standing up. Cedric watches him return to the lower level.
He hopes this medicine won't taste too disgusting— that seems to be the case with most medicine, unfortunately. Though he retains hope that maybe things are different in Rudistan.
Cedric takes the opportunity to use the restroom. His body is sore and it's difficult for him to balance as he makes his way to the bathroom in the corner of his workshop. He does manage, however.
When he's about halfway back to bed, Greylock's head appears over the top of the ladder. The older man frowns.
"And what are you doing out of bed?!" he asks.
"Using the toilet. I thought that was permitted," Cedric answers with a smirk.
Greylock's expression softens as he climbs onto the second level. "Ah. Of course; I'm sorry."
Cedric gets into bed, the sheets warm and rumpled where he's been lying all day. He watches as his partner pulls his wand out of his sleeve and casts Returno Homeo. A mug gently floats up and into Greylock's hand.
"Here you are," Greylock mutters as he brings the mug to Cedric. "I made sure it's not too hot."
Cedric smiles and thanks him as he takes the drink. It's a deep, murky green colour, which doesn't bode well for its taste. His nose is too stuffed up to give him any insight as to how it smells.
Greylock sits back in his chair, trying and failing not to make it obvious that he's staring at Cedric, waiting for him to try this potion that he's spent all this time preparing.
Cedric steels himself and brings the cup to his lips. He grimaces in anticipation of a foul taste as he tilts it back and takes a sip. He is unpleasantly surprised by the thickness of the potion; it has the consistency of strangely watery applesauce. However, Cedric finds the potion tastes far better than expected. It is sweet, somewhat like licorice. It doesn't taste wonderful, exactly, but it is certainly agreeable.
"This tastes surprisingly decent," Cedric says, knowing that Greylock is awaiting such a comment.
The man looks visibly relieved, though it seems that he's trying to conceal this. He smiles. "I'm glad to hear you think so."
"It's a little odd that it's so thick," Cedric concedes.
"Yes, I won't deny that."
"What exactly should this potion do?"
"If I've made it right, it will make you feel better overall… And make you very tired."
Cedric chuckles. "So you've given me a sleeping potion?"
"In a sense," Greylock says with a laugh. "But as we say in Rudistan, sleep is the best medicine."
"Isn't it supposed to be 'laughter is the best medicine'?" Cedric asks. "Or is that just an Enchancian saying?"
"I've never heard that one, so I suppose it's just Enchancian... Though that's rather close to my own personal philosophy."
Cedric smirks and takes another drink. He notices that Greylock is watching him intently with a strange look on his face.
"You're rather enjoying this, aren't you, Greylock?" Cedric asks, side-eying his partner.
"What do you mean?"
"This whole business of playing caretaker. You love it."
Greylock stammers for a moment, his cheeks turning rosy. "I… It's not that I'm happy that you're sick or anything, but… Well, I can't deny that I like taking care of you."
Cedric snickers. "I knew it! You've been getting a kick out of this since this morning."
The older man frowns. "Does it… bother you?"
"What? No! Why on earth would it bother me?"
Greylock shrugs. "The way you were talking just now made it sound like perhaps you were annoyed."
"Well, I'm not. I'm only amused at how much you're enjoying this."
Greylock offers a small smile. "You don't mind?"
"No, not at all." Cedric hesitates on his next point. "In fact, I'm glad to have you taking care of me. It's been a long time since someone has been by my side during an illness." He takes a sip of the potion to hide his bashfulness.
"Really? You're really glad that I'm taking care of you, I mean?"
Cedric nods. "Without you, I'd be trying to work today."
Greylock laughs. "That's true. I'm glad that you didn't fight me any more than you did on that point."
"I was too tired," Cedric admits.
The Rudistani smiles at him rather wistfully. His eyes hold tremendous affection, and Cedric can feel the same reflected in his own expression.
"I love you, hertsgardien," Greylock says.
"I love you, too."
Greylock climbs onto the bed and snuggles up to Cedric's side, burying his nose into Cedric's shoulder. The younger sorcerer is rather surprised, but pleasantly so. The two men say nothing as Cedric finishes his drink.
The effects of the potion are certainly beginning to set in— Cedric feels his sinuses clear considerably, and the pain of his body subside. Most of all, though, a tremendous but strangely enjoyable exhaustion comes over him like a warm embrace. He yawns, unable to stifle it.
"The potion's working, I take it?" Greylock asks.
Cedric only nods.
Greylock takes the empty mug out of Cedric's hands and sets it aside. Cedric lays back down, the bed feeling softer than ever under his body. He turns so that his back is to Greylock, and he sighs deeply.
"Rest well, my love," Greylock says. The mattress shifts, and Cedric realizes that Greylock is leaving.
"Wait…" Cedric mutters. "Don't go. Cuddle with me, please?"
Greylock says nothing, and, for a moment, Cedric is worried that he's asked for too much. However, he feels the bedsprings compress again as Greylock rejoins him. One arm wraps around Cedric's thin frame and a warm, soft body is pressed against his back.
Cedric sighs in contentment, allowing his eyes to close at last. He feels Greylock kiss the back of his neck and stroke his hair, and he very quickly falls fast asleep.
Old Rudistani translations:
"plucera" – dearest
"tshats" — dear
"keyere" — a traditional Rudistani healer that uses folk magic. Keyeren are almost always— but not exclusively— women. They use large, intricately carved wooden spoons to make their potions. Their name is derived from the Old Rudistani word kweyer, which means 'spoon'.
"familienmotif" — literally "family pattern"; a longstanding custom in Rudistan that describes a collection of certain repeating shapes and symbols which tell the story of a person's family.
"hertsgardien" — literally "heart's keeper"; a Rudistani endearment reserved for one's most beloved.