The logical part of Regis' mind had known all along that, at the pace he had set, his body would eventually give out. He hadn't expected, however, that when it did happen it would be so catastrophic.
Day by day he dragged by. At first he slept, mostly, but he was only able to do that when he didn't think of Aulea and he was only able to not think of Aulea when Clarus and Weskham lingered and distracted him. They remained by his side, one or the other, steadfast throughout. It was just as well. Without their company, Regis would doubtless have fallen into another depressive stupor. With them, he managed to feel a little more like himself, in spite of the ache in his muscles and the hole in his heart.
Cor was there, on and off, as well, though Regis caught Clarus shooting him significant glares whenever he did come. For the most part, Cor was characteristically silent. Regis had hoped that, if anyone, Cor would be most sympathetic to his desire to resume work. This turned out to not be the case. Whatever the three of them discussed in their secret meetings, it seemed to have changed Cor's mind.
"Cor. Would you do me the service of informing Clarus that some work will not be the death of me?" Regis' words were, perhaps, made less convincing by the fact that they were punctuated by a coughing fit, and that his voice was made weaker for it on the other side. "I am not an invalid," he rasped in a voice that seemed fit for one.
"No, Your Majesty," Cor said. He was standing at attention at the foot of Regis' bed, as if he had forgotten how to be at ease, and he didn't quite meet the king's eye when he spoke. "I will not."
"Surely—" Regis paused as another bout of coughing racked his body. Weskham pushed a glass of water into his hand and he drained it with a grateful look. "Surely you understand: I must be allowed to see to my own duty."
A muscle tensed in Cor's jaw and he finally looked at Regis.
"What you must do is start taking care of yourself, " he snapped. "Everyone will suffer if you don't."
Cor turned and left the room, shutting the door firmly in his wake. Regis, taken aback, blinked up at Weskham, who was staring at the closed door. At last Weskham sighed and took Regis' glass to refill it.
"He's only worried about you," Weskham said. "I don't think he really believed you weren't… recovered."
Regis dropped his gaze. Suddenly they weren't just talking about the cough and the fever. They were talking about Aulea without talking about her.
"I do not believe I shall ever be recovered," Regis murmured.
Weskham grasped his shoulder. "If your definition of 'recover' is to return to the state you were in before Aulea died, then no. You won't. But different doesn't have to be all bad."
Regis looked up, meeting his friend's earnest gaze. Mostly, from where he was sitting, it looked all bad. But he nodded all the same.
"Now get some rest," Weskham squeezed his shoulder and let go.
It was a full week before Clarus would consent to bring him something to work on. Even then, his faithful Shield and his mother-steward set limits on the time he could work and kept him more or less confined to bed.
It was longer, still, before Regis would consent to seeing his children. Whatever infection plagued him, he didn't want it spread to the nursery. To that end, he wouldn't even permit Crea to enter his room with news of them, as much as it pained him to forbid her. In lieu of bringing him information directly, the twins' nanny wrote notes and reports and delivered them to Weskham.
"Noctis hates carrots."
Weskham read aloud.
"Do you remember what he looked like when you gave him that lemon? It's much like that. I'm beginning to think he's just a dramatic child. The last time he was given carrots he spit them out and tried his darndest to wipe his tongue off. Mostly he just hit himself in the face. Coordination is not a strong point, at this age.
"Reina is much less picky. I might say that makes her less fun to watch while she's eating lunch, but it certainly makes our jobs easier, as well. She'll eat just about whatever is put in front of her. She'll try anything once and most things again after that—just like the lemon!
"Usually kids get more picky around two, so we'll have to wait and see what happens. If Noctis is this troublesome now, I bet he only eats cereal when we hit that stage.
"I nearly forgot: they've learned something new since the last time you saw them. I won't spoil the surprise. You'll see soon enough.
"Get well soon. They can't wait to see you."
Regis shifted in his bed, impatient. He loved to hear about his children from Crea, but he would have much prefered actually seeing them and holding them in his arms.
Weskham gave him a sympathetic smile. "You won't be ill forever."
It seemed forever. Forever that he spent drifting in and out of consciousness; forever listening to Weskham read to him; forever begging Clarus not to leave him alone with his ghosts; forever working from bed and conducting meetings with only Clarus, trusting his Shield to convey his wishes to the council; forever before he was out of bed at all, hobbling around, let alone before he was permitted outside.
Spring had, for all practical purposes, sprung by the time that Regis had stopped coughing and was no longer afraid of passing on the infection to his children. He had been given permission to return to his duties—in some capacity—before then, but he was less concerned about making his councillors ill. After all, Weskham and Clarus had both passed through unscathed.
So it was two weeks before he saw his twins again. Two weeks had never felt so long.
Two infants was a recipe for chaos, most any time of day. From here on out, though, it was only going to get worse.
Crea watched as Princess Reina pushed herself up on her hands and knees, wobbled, and fell over. She stared up at the ceiling for a moment before tilting her over-large head back to look at Crea, as if to ask what had just happened.
"Is that it, then?" Crea asked her. "Are you just going to give up, or are you going to try again?"
If the princess had a response, Crea didn't get to hear it. She was distracted by a concerningly wet sensation on her hand and looked down to find that the fingers that Noctis had been holding had become a teething toy.
"You have more toys to your name than I've ever owned in my life, yet you're chewing on me," she sighed.
Noctis babbled through his full mouth. She smiled fondly at him, smoothing her free hand over his fine hair. She didn't pull her fingers away.
"Are you teaching my children bad manners, Mistress Vinculum?"
Crea looked up as a voice spoke from the doorway. So did both twins.
"Your Majesty!" She beamed up at the king. "I wasn't expecting to see you, today."
Reina, who still lay on her back in the middle of the floor, tilted her head so she could see her father. Her little face broke into a sunny smile at the familiar sight. She proudly displayed both of her teeth and gave a squeal of delight by way of greeting.
"Nor at all, I imagine," King Regis said as he stepped into the room with his steward at his heel.
"Well, we hadn't quite given up hope," Crea said.
Two weeks was a long time to be taken ill—though she understood that a portion of his quarantine had been his own doing, out of concern for his childrens' health—but truly, looking at him now, he didn't look worse off than he had been two weeks ago. If she hadn't thought it sounded so mad, she would have even said he looked better. He didn't look quite so drawn. He didn't look quite so wane. Perhaps this was a function of having been closed in his room for a week and fussed over by his staff; it was hard to overwork yourself when you couldn't get out of bed. It seemed getting sick had done him good, after all.
Two weeks apart, one spent confined, for all intents and purposes, to his bed each and every day, and finally he was back where he wanted to be. Back where he belonged.
Two weeks apart and one smile made the whole wait worth it.
Regis smiled down at his daughter, watching her as she tried to keep her eyes on him even as she rolled onto her stomach. Noctis, still chewing on Crea's hand, babbled nonsensically, though his eyes were fixed on the king as well.
"Hello, my dear. So happy to see me!" He cried, awed and amazed that such a smile could have been for him. To Crea, he added: "I can hardly believe they remember me."
"Well of course they remember you! What did you expect, that they would forget you as soon as you were out of sight?" Crea said, somehow managing to sound amused and exasperated at once.
"I know not what I thought…" Regis admitted.
It felt like forever that he was gone. He had thought of them every day—very nearly every minute of every day—and yet he had wondered if they thought of him at all. It seemed they did.
"Reina," Crea called.
Regis watched as his little girl turned to look at the sound of her own name. That was new, wasn't it? Had they always known that? When had they learned? What else had he missed?
"Are you going to show Daddy what you've learned?" Crea prompted.
The infant looked at her for a moment longer before turning her eyes back to Regis. There was no doubt about it, by now. The blue was there to stay. Regis loved everything about it. Both twins had brilliantly blue eyes and stark black hair. Just like their mother.
"What is it, Little Princess?" Regis asked, dropping to a crouch on the floor just a few feet away from her. His hands were itching to scoop at least one of them up, but first he had to know. He looked up at Crea. "Is she crawling?"
"She's sure trying," Crea affirmed.
A smile split the king's face. His little girl, crawling already!
"Reina," he cooed, holding his hands out. "Come here, my dear."
He watched as she expended great effort to put her hands on the floor and push her upper body off of it. Surely that was new.
"Oh, go on, Reina. You can do better than that. I just saw you do it," Crea coaxed.
The princess turned her head to look at Crea once more, then back at Regis. He closed and opened his hands, extending them just a little farther. "Come on, my darling."
She pushed with both arms and slid backwards until she was on her stomach once more. Crea laughed. Regis smiled, but the little princess wasn't through. She hauled herself back up on her arms, only this time she got her knees up underneath as well.
That was new without any doubt.
Regis held his breath, waiting to see if she would do more. She held herself there on hands and knees for a moment, staring at him, before she lost her balance and tipped over sideways, rolling straight onto her back.
"And that's about where we were when you walked in," Crea said.
"This is wonderful!" Regis cried, lurching forward and finally giving in to the impulse to just pick her up.
He scooped Reina up into his arms, fully intending to lift her up over his head and give her the biggest, scratchiest kiss he had ever bestowed, but he hadn't counted on the lingering weakness from his time confined to bed. Instead he over balanced and fell forward, landing on his back and cradling the infant against his chest.
Regis stared up at the ceiling, dumbfounded, until Crea's face appeared in his vision. Weskham appeared above her, a moment later.
"Let this be a lesson to you, my child," Regis said gravely as Reina pushed herself up on her arms against his chest. "You are never too old to fail utterly at the simplest tasks."
Crea grinned. Weskham offered him a hand, but Regis shook his head.
"No, I believe we are just fine, right here," he said, tilting his head to look at Reina, who was doing much the same to him. "How fares Noctis? Is he doing the same?"
"He hasn't gotten as far as that last stage, yet," Crea said. She lifted the little prince into her arms and didn't even fall over. "But he will, soon."
She deposited the second twin on top of Regis, beside Reina. Regis made a sound of surprise, but didn't object. He just wrapped his arms around the both of them and didn't even complain when Noct pulled his beard.
"Ah, my dearest ones," he exhaled, shutting his eyes. "I missed you so."
For the first time in two weeks, he felt truly comfortable. It didn't matter that he was lying on the floor with two squirming babies on his chest. It didn't matter that there was a plastic train underneath his head or that the play mat ran halfway underneath his back and cut him awkwardly in the middle. The only important thing was that he was whole once more.
And he was never going to work himself to exhaustion again.