Regis slept in his study, mostly. More often than not he fell asleep at his desk, pouring his last conscious moments into his work. Sometimes he was exhausted enough at the end of the day to sleep on the chaise lounge or to go upstairs and use the empty room across the hall from his. Other nights he drifted off in the nursery with a child in his arms, though that had become less common as Crea's schedule changed.

Every morning it was a little bit harder to get up.

Immediately after waking, in that realm hovering between dreams and the real world, there were a few seconds when he could forget that she was gone. Once reality set in again, the darkness loomed so he had to get up, had to force himself to his feet and find something to do so that he wouldn't think; then he worked until he couldn't think.

Slowly, it was catching up with him. A naive part of him had been hoping he could keep going in this fashion, but underneath he knew Clarus was right. He couldn't run forever.

His body ached.

Just sitting up sent pain shooting up his back. Regis winced, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. He ran his hands over his face and shut his eyes.

I could just… go back to sleep…

It was a tempting thought and a terrible one. Even when he did sleep it wasn't restful. When he worked or when he was with his children, distractions kept his mind from Aulea, but anything else and she was there, inside his chest, crushing his empty heart.

As nice as it felt, physically, to sit down and breathe for just a moment, Regis couldn't stand the pain for long. He would rather face creaking joints and aching muscles than the emptiness in his heart. He would keep going. He had to, if he didn't want to succumb to his grief again.

He forced himself to his feet, wincing at the exertion. His knees quivered under his own weight and he was forced to put his hands on the back of the lounge to steady himself.

"Shit," he swore as he leaned against the furniture and shut his eyes. How was he supposed to work if he couldn't even stand?

"Regis?"

Weskham. Of course. Right on time.

Regis forced himself to straighten, leaving just one hand on the lounge to keep upright. He opened his eyes and retreated behind as much of his kingly mask as he could muster. If Weskham saw him like this… Then again, he probably already knew, otherwise he wouldn't have used his first name.

"Weskham. Did you find out about Spero for me?" Regis asked. His voice came out a little weaker than he would have liked and he cursed it inwardly. He still hadn't tried to take a step. Perhaps he could send Weskham out for something so that he could hobble upstairs and be changed before Clarus arrived. He hadn't yet worked out how he was going to get upstairs.

Weskham hesitated, evidently trying to decide whether or not to push the subject of why Regis needed to hold onto a chaise lounge in order to stand up.

"I… yes, Sire. He is still in the hospital, but the doctors say his condition is much improved. They expect to see him released within the next week or two," Weskham said at last, still hovering uncertainly by the door.

"Thank you," Regis breathed, shifting his other hand to the back of the lounge and wondering if he dared let go.

"Your Majesty—Regis… are you alright?" Weskham took a tentative step forward.

Regis halted him with one raised hand. "I am fine," he said as sharply as he was able. "Please. Go see to it that breakfast is prepared. I will be upstairs." Somehow.

Weskham hesitated again. He, doubtless, knew that Regis was lying; he just wasn't sure whether or not to call it out. At last he complied with the order, as Regis had guessed he would.

"Of course, Sire…. But if you should need anything…"

Regis didn't respond so Weskham left it there. He withdrew, leaving the king to put himself back together on his own. That was Weskham. Obedient to a fault because he was certain that pushing would only make it worse. If it had been Clarus, Regis would have had no end to trouble. It would have made his morning that much more difficult. Thankfully, Clarus hadn't arrived, yet. Now all he had to do was make it upstairs before his Shield did arrive.

It was easier said than done.

There was nothing between the lounge and the door: no furniture he could hold onto if his steps faltered, nothing to aid him in walking. If he wanted out then he had to trust in his out strength.

He pushed his back straight, wincing at the pain between his shoulder blades, and released the lounge. His legs held his weight on their own and he managed to maintain his balance well enough. He took a first step toward the door, but was forced to limp on the right as pain caught in his knee. That had been building for a few days, as well. Last night it hadn't wanted to straighten out all the way; today putting weight on it made it feel like he was kneeling on needles.

Though he made it to the door in this manner, his posture slipped with every step. He ended up bent double, leaning against the wall beside the door to his study with his eyes shut and a permanent grimace on his face.

Why did it hurt so much?

He didn't open the door. There was no way he was going to reach the room upstairs like this. He just held onto the wall and waited for what he knew would come. All he wanted was to lay down somewhere and go back to sleep, but that was also what he dreaded most. Clarus would make him face it, when he arrived, anyway.

"Clarus."

Something about Weskham's voice brought him to an immediate halt in the entry hall. Weskham never came looking for him so early in the morning and, by the face Weskham wore, Clarus had no doubt that he had been looking.

"I don't think he's going to make it through the day."

Clarus didn't need to ask what he was talking about. He turned on his heel and swept down the hall in the direction of the king's study while Weskham fell into step beside him.

It was what they had been waiting for, more or less, for a month and a half, now. However hard they had been trying to stop it, Regis only seemed to push back harder than ever. He was more stubborn than the rest of them put together and he had an uncanny ability to get them to back down, even when it was for his own good. Even Cor, who had become more and more adamant that they should just lock the king in his bedroom, wasn't willing to stand against Regis. Cor may have had strong opinions, but he didn't have the will to follow through on them where the king was concerned. Clarus seemed to be the only one who did.

So it was Clarus that Weskham had come searching for, rather than Cor. Together they returned to the king's study and found it empty.

Or so it seemed at first glance.

"Good morning, Clarus," rasped voice by his feet.

Clarus looked down to find Regis sitting on the floor beside the door, his back and head resting against the wall as he looked up at them.

"Regis." Clarus dropped to his knees.

He looked like shit. His eyes were fever-bright, made all the more stark by the dark circles that surrounded them. His skin was waxy and sallow, his cheeks hollow. Knowing Regis, he probably felt worse than he looked.

How had they let it get this bad? Cor was right. They should have done something more drastic while they had the chance.

As much as he wanted to call Regis a fool and chastise him for his idiotic behavior the past month and a half, Clarus held his tongue. That was what Cor would have done and that was how they had gotten into this mess in the first place.

"I do not suppose you have come to see me to court?" Regis asked, almost managing to sound hopeful.

Clarus pursed his lips to keep from saying something stupid. He shook one hand free of his robes and pressed his wrist to Regis' forehead. His skin was hot to the touch; Clarus was hardly surprised.

"Can you walk?" Clarus asked.

The night before he had noted Regis walking more slowly, as if his joints ached. It might have seemed a dumb question to ask a young man, but he was sitting on the floor by the door. What else would he be doing there?

"Poorly," Regis admitted, putting his hands on the floor and struggling to sit upright.

Clarus held out his hand and Regis took it. With one great heave, he was on his feet, albeit unsteadily. He stumbled from the effort and hit Clarus, who caught him deftly, holding him under one arm and across his back.

Regis let out a breath, dropping his head so his forehead his Clarus' shoulder and holding onto his arm. He didn't say a word, like he didn't want to acknowledge it was happening at all, but they had all known that if he continued to push himself he would eventually fall. If only he wasn't so damn proud. If he had let himself lean before, maybe they could have prevented this. Now he had no choice. He couldn't even stand up without hanging onto Clarus.

It was going to kill him to be seen walking across the Citadel like this.

Clarus looked over his shoulder at Weskham, who was looking as pained as Clarus felt.

"Clear the halls," Clarus said.

Weskham met his gaze. Regis looked up. After a moment, Weskham nodded his understanding and turned to do as he was bidden.

Regis sighed and Clarus felt some of the tension drain out of his body. "Thank you, Clarus…" he breathed.

"Regis," Clarus said, shifting his hold on his friend and planting his feet so he could lend as much support as Regis needed for as long as it took Weskham to clear the way for them. "There is something you must know—something I should not have to tell you after all these years." He paused, gathering his words and meeting Regis' gaze. "I will always be at your side, no matter what you face. I may not be able to shield you from everything, try as I might, but I will always be here. You can trust in me. You can lean on me."

Regis shut his eyes and rested his forehead forward on Clarus' shoulder once more. Clarus could feel Regis' hand tighten against the back of his robes.

"I know, Clarus," Regis said, voice tight.

He said said it in a way that made Clarus think he didn't actually understand at all. It had been months and Regis still wouldn't speak about Aulea. He wouldn't open up. He wouldn't let himself lean.

"I do trust in you," Regis said at length. "But there are some burdens I must bear on my own."

That may have been the truth. Clarus couldn't hold the weight of the Wall for him, couldn't make the tough decisions, and yet…

"This does not need to be one of them," Clarus said.

Regis didn't respond before the door opened again and Weskham entered.

"Everything is prepared," Weskham said.

True to his word, Weskham had cleared the Citadel of staff between the king's study and the upstairs rooms. Between Clarus and Weskham, they were able to get Regis upstairs with minimal fuss, though his pale, tight-lipped expression spoke of his pain—both physical and emotional. He would never be convinced to sleep in his own room, Clarus knew, so they settled him in the one across the hall that he used, on and off, these days.

He was still only half-dressed, the buttons misaligned on his vest, as he had evidently slept in the study the night before. He didn't protest as Clarus helped him out of the remainder of his clothes and into bed, and he lay where he was left, propped among the pillows with the blankets pulled around him, clenching his jaw in an apparent effort to keep from shivering.

Clarus pulled the window shut. It wasn't cold outside, but if they wanted him to sleep through this fever something would have to be done. He glanced at Weskham, intending to ask him to build up a fire, and found him doing just that already.

"Would you like something for breakfast?" Clarus asked gently as he pulled the curtains shut.

Regis shook his head, not opening his eyes.

Clarus sighed. "I didn't intend to give you a choice of whether to eat, but rather what to eat."

Regis opened his eyes at last, staring up at Clarus without even the will to look reproachful. He opened his mouth, presumably to respond, but all that came out was a hollow cough. He turned his head and coughed into the pillow, clutching at the blankets in front of him as if just that effort was painful.

Clarus' mouth twisted. It was so much harder to be harsh with him when he looked so damn pathetic, but he had hardly eaten in months. Even when he did eat it was broth or toast. He seemed to prefer things that were either naturally bland or liquid. Perhaps, working off of that…

He pulled Weskham aside once the fire was lit. "See if you can't get something liquid from the kitchens for him. If they throw it in a blender, he might just eat it."

Weskham gave him a short nod—perhaps having made the same observations—and slipped away.

Clarus looked at his watch. The schedule had nothing unavoidable that morning, but there were meetings later in the day that would have to be rearranged.

"I do not suppose… you would be willing to bring me some work….?" Regis' voice was hoarse when he collected it once more.

Clarus looked down at him, brows coming together in the middle. "Certainly not."

Regis sighed, his eyes still shut, and nodded as if he had expected nothing less. "Then, at least, stay and speak to me."

That request caught Clarus off-guard more than the previous. He had expected, after those months of unending activity, that being stuck in bed would be tedious for him. But in the months since Aulea's death, Regis had never outright requested company until then.

Hope flickered in Clarus' chest. Could this, perhaps, be a turning point for him? If he wanted to talk….

Clarus retrieved an armchair from the adjacent room and took up a position at his friend's bedside. "I can stay until court begins, but then I will have to take your place."

Regis nodded mutely.

"What would you like to talk about?" Clarus asked.

"Anything," Regis rasped. Then, after a pause: "Tell me about your son. How is Gladiolus?"

Regis shut his eyes. Clarus leaned back in his chair and settled his arms on the rests. "He is well. He'll be three years old in a couple months. He's still exercising his right to say 'no' at every possible turn. Really, I should say his right to yell 'no,' as we're still learning volume control in my house."

Regis smiled, a weak little half-smile, but he didn't open his eyes.

"He got this terrible, daemonic stuffed dog from his aunt for Solstice a few months ago. It has, inside, a recorder that registers whatever is said around it, and then plays it back at varied speeds. I swear, the thing sounds as if it were possessed. The batteries just died in it last night and we've convinced him it's broken. Gods save us when the child learns they can be replaced." Clarus spoke, letting his mind wander to whatever it was about Gladiolus that came to the forefront. It seemed to do some good; the little smile persisted on Regis' face.

"How have you dealt with the aunt?"

"If she ever has children, I will make certain it is the end of her. Until then, I bide my time," Clarus said. "Of course, Gladiolus loves her. He only sees her perhaps once a month, yet they have a peculiar brand of games that he will only play with her. For instance, just a few months ago a new one began quite out of the blue. She was visiting and he calls out to her: 'Aunt Iz-zy!'—he can't quite manage Isemeine, yet—and she, of course, responds, 'Gladio!' and for some reason he thinks this is the funniest thing in Eos. So he does it again: 'Aunt Iz-zy!', and back and forth they go, while he runs around the whole house. Now they'll start it anywhere, without warning. While he's supposed to be eating dinner, when she's quite on the opposite side of the house—a few nights ago he tried to do it while she wasn't even there! We had to call her phone just so he could say 'Aunt Iz-zy!' and she could say 'Gladio!' back at him."

Regis' smile deepened throughout the story. "I can hardly wait until mine are of that age. Though I am not in a hurry to skip all that comes before."

The door opened and Weskham arrived, bearing a tray with a single glass full of vibrantly green liquid. Regis opened his eyes, tilting his head to one side to watch the approach.

"Are you endeavoring to drug me, already?" Regis asked as Weskham set the glass down on his bedside table.

"It is called a smoothie, Sire," Weskham said, undeterred. "A blend of milk, fruit, and often yogurt."

"No fruit is that color," Regis said. Clarus was inclined to agree with him.

"I believe this one also contains spinach."

Clarus had thought Regis looked pathetic in the first place, but it was nothing compared to the look he gave them, now.

"Am I being punished?" He asked.

"It's not so bad, Regis. Just try it," Weskham said.

Clarus turned the glass in a circle, studying the thick green liquid dubiously.

"You're not helping, Clarus," Weskham sighed. "You're free to try it, too."

"Why don't you try it?" Clarus suggested.

"I already have. It tastes nothing of spinach," Weskham assured them.

Regis and Clarus exchanged unconvinced looks.

"You, first," Regis said.

Clarus sighed. When he had sent Weskham to the kitchen for something liquid, he had hoped for something a little less terrifying. But, in the effort of getting Regis to eat—or drink—something besides broth and toast, he picked up the glass and took a drink.

It… actually didn't taste half as bad as it looked.

Regis watched him sharply from his pillows.

"It tastes… fruity," Clarus said, taking another drink. "He's right. I can't taste the spinach."

"Not that I have anything in particular against spinach," Regis said. "But I would prefer not to drink it with yogurt."

"You could do with the nutrients, Regis," Weskham pointed out.

Clarus set the glass down. "Your turn. Just try it."

Regis sighed. He struggled to sit upright and pain showed clearly on his face with each motion, but eventually he managed to prop himself up, leaning back against his pillows, and take a drink of the smoothie. After a moment's consideration, he gave something like a shrug.

"It tastes no worse than anything else," he said.

"Which is to say, not particularly good?" Weskham asked.

"Indeed." Regis took another drink.

They managed to coax him through half of the smoothie before he insisted he was too full to continue. Clarus might have continued pushing, but Weskham was willing to accept the excuse.

"He hasn't been eating hardly at all," Weskham said, taking the glass. "I doubt if his stomach can hold much, anymore."

So they left him alone on the matter, for the time being, but Weskham promised to see to it that more food was brought in a few hours as he left to return the glass to the kitchens.

"You should get some rest, Regis," Clarus said, rising from his chair.

"Wait."

He stopped the word, waiting. Regis had half sat up again, an anxious expression on his face.

"You said you would remain until court."

Surprised yet again, Clarus checked his watch. He still had time. He folded himself back into the chair and Regis relaxed back against his pillows, shutting his eyes once more.

"Tell me more about Gladiolus," He requested.

"Regis…" Clarus sighed, shifting in his chair. As hopeful as he was for Regis wanting to talk for the first time in three and a half months, he also wanted his king well again. "You need rest."

"Please," Regis said. Something about the way it came out, entreating and a little bit broken, tugged at Clarus' heartstrings. What was he meant to do? He spoke.

For the next hour, he told Regis every story of Gladio that crossed his mind, from his favorite books to how he had learned to cheat at a new board game only a few hours after he had gotten it. Occasionally Regis asked a question, which Clarus answered, but eventually he slipped into an easy quiet. His breathing levelled out, his body relaxed, the furrow of discomfort that had been lingering on his brow all along disappeared.

He had fallen asleep, after all.

And not a moment too soon. Clarus was needed in court. As much as he was willing to sit there all day and see to it that Regis had whatever he needed, they both had duty that needed to be filled.

He rose from his chair as quietly as he was able. Not quietly enough, it seemed. Either that, or Regis hadn't been as asleep as he had guessed.

"Clarus." A hand grasped at his sleeve and Clarus turned, surprised, to find Regis looking up at him once more. "Do not leave me alone."

His eyes shut, like he didn't have the strength to hold them open. Clarus caught his hand before the hold on his sleeve slipped, and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Regis, I must attend court for the pair of us. If nothing else, the council must be informed that you are ill, but in the meantime someone will need to head the discussion and make decisions." He held onto his king's hand, watching as Regis' eyes fluttered open once more.

"Please…" he rasped, blinking fever-bright eyes up at Clarus.

Gods, why did he have to be like that?

Clarus squeezed Regis' hand more tightly between his. If he could have stayed he would have, but he dropped his gaze, shaking his head.

"I will send Weskham to you," Clarus said, "Is that alright?"

Regis considered him for a moment before finally nodding. That would have to do.

Clarus rose to his feet, holding onto Regis hand until the last. "He'll be along in a few minutes. I'll be back whenever I am able."

Regis nodded again; his hand fell away where Clarus released it and he watched Clarus, turning his head so he could see until the door was shut. Clarus couldn't turn his back. It took all his willpower just to close the door on him and, once he had, he put his back to it and let out a breath.

You're breaking my heart, Regis. He thought, shutting his eyes and running his hands over his face.

He would have done anything. But Regis always had to ask for the impossible.