The dark shadows of alleyways, tucked away from sight and out of mind, were where stray cats and dogs went to die, were they gave up their grip on the last whisps of life that clung to their beaten bodies. Glanni was currently laying in one of Latabæ's many alleyways, stretched out in one of the children's countless flowerbeds that were littered about town (how this one grew any plants with it always being in the shade, Glanni couldn't say). The dirt was cold against his pallid and feverish skin, the cool breeze sweeping across the ground a welcome relief as it cooled the sweat that coated his form.

For the last few days, Glanni had been growing sicker and weaker. He couldn't keep any food or water down, and his already slender form had become even skinnier. His stomach groaned and cried out for food, only for it to come right up when he tried to eat. A brutal headache pounded behind his eyes and his nose was red and stuffy.

As Glanni had deducted from his symptoms, he was dying.

"Glanni Glæpur!"

Of course he couldn't have a single moment to wither away in peace, the annoying elf was never far when Glanni ventured out into public. He might have gotten out of jail after the whole 'poisoning the town's incident, but he certainly wasn't forgiven by the hero - who, speaking of, was now standing over Glanni, "what are you doing? You are crushing the plants! The kids worked very hard to bring them back after you poisoned them, you know."

"Go away, Ibuprofen," Glanni threw an arm over his eyes to block the sun as Íþróttaálfurinn crouched down next to him, "I don't have time for this. Just let me die in peace."

Íþróttaálfurinn's crystal suddenly screeched annoyingly, Glanni scrunching up his nose as the terrible noise blared .

"My crystal..?" Íþróttaálfurinn shifted above him, and Glanni opened his eyes to see the hero fiddling with his crystal before turning his now concerned gaze onto Glanni, "are you alright, Glanni?"

Glanni just barely held back from rolling his eyes, the elf was certainly not the sharpest knife in the block. His attention was caught by the rolling of his stomach, nausea building in his throat, "Now that you mention it," Glanni promptly rolled over and retched, bile splattering onto the ground and nearly landing onto Íþróttaálfurinn's shoes, "I don't feel so good," Glanni let himself fall back onto his back, his stomach churching and a foul taste in his mouth, "I feel rather bad, in fact."

"Woah!" The elf did one of his over-the-top and unnecessary backflips to avoid the vomit, landing neatly on his feet a few feet away as he curiously looked at Glanni, his eyebrows disappearing under the brim of his hat, "are you sick?"

Glanni, shivering like a tree in a gale and his nose as bright as a clown's, simply raised an unimpressed eyebrow, "I think I'm dying," he stated simply, "and I would appreciate it if my last sight wasn't your ugly mug, thank you."

"Glanni," Íþróttaálfurinn shook his head as he moved back to kneel as Glanni's head (on the other side from the vomit puddle, the smell of which was making Glanni rather nauseous) and placed the back of his hand, which felt as cool as ice, against Glanni's forehead before he could pull away, "you're not dying, just running a fever. Let's get you home, where you can rest in peace," before Glanni could protest, he had been scooped up into a bridal carry and tucked against Íþróttaálfurinn's strong chest, the elf bounding across town.

"Woah!" Glanni cried, curling into Íþróttaálfurinn as the world rushed by, the flash of colors and all the movement not helping his unsettled stomach.

"You're as light as a feather!" Íþróttaálfurinn proclaimed, jumping like a damn kangaroo over a fence and somehow landing softly enough that Glanni wasn't jostled on the other side, "when was the last time you ate?"

"...uh," Glanni screwed his face up as he thought, "three days ago? No, four. I had some candy that Ziggy left lying around, ripe for the taking."

"Glanni!" Íþróttaálfurinn admonished him, but sighed as he shook his head, "you're sick so I will not yell at you, but we should discuss your eating habits when you are better. It's not healthy!"

"Oh hey look, we're here!" Glanni put a stop to that conversation as the peeling and rusty door that led to his humble (also known as cheap and downtrodden) abode came into sight. Glanni faintly wondered how Íþróttaálfurinn had known where to go without instructions from Glanni, but he chalked it up to the elf keeping an eye on him (and he made a note to move houses as soon as he felt more capable). After they had gotten through the front door and Íþróttaálfurinn had tugged Glanni's boots from his feet (not without a comment of how unfit they were for activities such as exercising), and turned away to let the villain change into his nightclothes - as sleeping in a leather catsuit while sick would lead nowhere except to a sweaty mess -, Íþróttaálfurinn gently pushed the villain over to his bed and watched him obediently climb into it. Glanni would never listen to anything the hero told him to do, normally, but he was feeling too sick and tired to put up much of a fight.

"Now, go to sleep," Íþróttaálfurinn instructed, pulling the blanket up over Glanni's form, "and you'll feel better when you awake," as he spoke, the elf wove a hand over Glanni's head, a slight shimmer marking the path of his hand in the air.

Glanni felt the familiar feeling of elven magic pass over him as his eyes slipped shut, exhaustion and illness pulling him into a deep slumber, and he knew he really would be better when he awoke.

And with his last sight being Íþróttaálfurinn smiling slightly down at him, Glanni's eyes closed completely and he quickly fell into his dreams.

When Glanni awoke the next day, it was to an empty room. There were no traces of Íþróttaálfurinn's presence left behind, aside from a single fruit lying on the windowsill.

As Glanni snatched it up with neatly manicured and painted hands, a soft smile graced his lips.

"A mango," Glanni snorted at the thought, it was still a fruit - nothing would make the hero give up his love for fruits and vegetables - but it was the sweetest fruit (and one of very few that Glanni would tolerate eating), "he knows me so well."

As Glanni bit into the sweet fruit, savoring the taste, he absently made a silent promise to Íþróttaálfurinn to not try to sell his canned foods to the town. Not permanently, of course, but perhaps for a few weeks he could hold off.

It was the least he could do.