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It’s been raining for three days. Thick sheets of it, lukewarm in summer’s heat, beating the earthen trails into mud, cascading from the wide leaves overhead to collect in the dips and gullies. The Forest Watchers are uncharacteristically disgruntled; everyone has taken to lingering about in huddles of bedraggled misery. Even the search and rescue dogs are tired of it, huddling themselves in the slightly less damp places under the thickest of trees until Collei had taken pity on the ones Amir couldn't fit in his own tight quarters, and made hers into a second gamey-smelling sanctuary, so that her house, too, is damp. Though, to be fair, everywhere is, even Tighnari’s more spacious living area. It’s impossible to keep up with the floors.
At least the mushrooms are happy; there are new clusters of them thriving here and there in the sodden grass.
Tighnari is in the midst of making some of them into medicines when there’s a fuss from outside that makes him lift his head, ears swiveling to listen behind him. An argument, approaching his door.
“What is it?” he calls over his shoulder.
The voices draw closer still, and there’s a muffled grunt and a curse from one of them.
He sighs and sets his beaker down so that he can walk to the door and cast upon them a disapproving look. “Kamran. Iraj. What’s the-“
He stops talking, because Iraj has a sodden lump of human supported on one shoulder. A distinctively familiar one.
“Boss, I told him he needs to take this patient to-“
“Bring him in,” Tighnari snaps, stepping aside. “On the couch there, please.”
“…if you say so, but we don’t know who-“
“Enough,” Tighnari tells Kamran. “Thank you for your caution, but I know this one. I’m surprised you don’t. What happened to him?”
Iraj lugs the half conscious figure into cover- and with him, a trail of more mud and water- while Tighnari snags his satchel. “I don’t know, boss. He just came stumbling into camp like this.”
“Yes, right there, thank you. Get his coat off, please.”
“Who-“ Kamran starts.
“It’s the Akademia scribe. Thank you, Iraj.” Tighnari pauses. “And you for your vigilance, Kamran. But we help those who need it, you know that.”
Kamran dips his head in mollified outrage. “…alright. I’ll leave you to it then.”
He does, but Tighnari has already moved onto helping Iraj arrange the patient on the couch that is also Tighnari’s bed. He’s heavy, all the more so for being soaked through. He’s not quite a dead weight- he’s moving vaguely- but he’s close.
“Where did you find him”
“On patrol, south of the village. All he would say was to bring him to you.”
“Alhaitham. Are you with us?”
The scribe’s eyes flicker open, then closed again.
“Alhaitham.” Tighnari taps one bare shoulder gently a few times in rapid succession. The scholar shifts and groans in response, but that’s it. His very skin is soaked through. “Iraj, there are towels in that chest there- can you fetch some?”
Iraj moves away as Tighnari progresses to patting the scholar’s wet cheek- that illicits the same response. Nothing for it. He balls his hand into a fist and rakes his knuckles against the scribe’s shirt, at the sternum.
That does it. There’s a protest that sounds very much like an ill-formed curse, and Tighnari almost takes a backhanded swipe to the face but he’s expecting that and dodges it neatly.
“Alhaitham- Alhaitham, it’s Tighnari. Can you tell me where you are?”
Alhaitham is panting, eyes darting for a moment before they focus and settle on Tighnari’s ears; the wall behind him.
“Tigh…” the scholar coughs and tries to sit- Tighnari discourages that with two fingers to a shoulder.
“Why don’t we stay like that for now. What’s your name?”
Alhaitham pulls a face. “Stop it. Don’t be daft.”
Oh good, he’s going to be difficult. That’s encouraging. It probably means he isn’t actively dying.
“Alright. Do you know where you are?”
“I- ’s… Gandharva...”
“Okay, that’s good. Can you tell me what happened to you?”
There’s a low tremor in the scholar’s flesh, bone deep. Tighnari can feel it through his fingertips, and doesn’t like the feel of it.
“Alhaitham, tell me what’s wrong. Where are you injured?” Tighnari is already scanning him, and has started prodding his weight up just enough to sweep his back and shoulders- soaked as everything else, but there’s no blood on Tighnari’s hands when he pulls them away. He can’t see anything obvious on a visual scan either- no blood, no misshappen limbs. Iraj has arrived with towels and has already started sweeping his extremities, looking for anything amiss.
“Mmm. Not. Injured.” He coughs again, and his breath catches painfully.
“Hey, hey, hey… breathe. Slower. There you go. Slow and easy.”
Now that the scholar is in out of the onslaught of cooling rain, Tighnari can feel the rising heat of his skin. He’s feverish. Terribly feverish.
“Iraj, is there a cryo wielder on shift?”
“I don’t think so, boss. Nearest one’d be Sumeru.”
“Alhaitham- hey, stay awake.”
“…I’m awake.”
“Tell me what you’re feeling.”
A groan. Tighnari grasps a shoulder and shakes it once. The tremor has progressed to a violent shivering as the excess water evaporates away.
“Alhaitham. Where are you injured?” Except he'd already asked that, hadn't he?
“…’m not injured,” Alhaitham confirms.
“Alhaitham.”
The blasted man laughs, albiet weakly and in a way that dissolves into another cough and then a low whine.
“…just a little… under the weather,” he concludes, and chuckles again.
As far as Tighnari knows, Alhaitham isn’t prone to… giggling. He’s delirious, then. Or afraid, Tighnari thinks with a sinking feeling.
“You’re going to have to be a little more specific,” Tighnari tells him. “Where were you?”
That was too many questions, because Alhaitham skips the first one.
“…Ardravi.”
“Where exactly?”
“D- devantaka.”
“Devantaka? Doing what? No, nevermind.” He’ll get back to that later. “That cough seems painful- how’s breathing?”
“….that’s… mainly the problem.”
Well his voice certainly sounds that way. “Headache?”
“Not really.” Alhaitham shifts, tensing against some hidden crest of pain.
“Muscle aches?”
“…s- something like that.” His voice cracks.
“Were you bit by anything? Stung? Any kind of encounters with wildlife or fungi?”
“No.”
“Run in with the withering?”
Alhaitham opens his eyes just to stare at him dryly in a tone that says ‘exactly who do you think I am’.
“Yes or no, Alhaitham.”
“..no, no withering-“
A dry coughing fit overtakes him. It leaves him gasping, trying to turn onto his side- Tighnari lets him, steadies him there.
“Easy, now, just try to breathe slowly.”
“…ugh… that hurts…”
“I know, I know. Iraj, can you please find a glass vial in that satchel- it’ll be bright green, marked NL2.”
Tighnari finishes towelling off as much of the rain as he can from Alhaitham’s skin and clothing. The man is a wreck, struggling for air, his movements feeble and uncoordinated. On top of that, his pulse is racing recklessly.
“What is it, boss?” Iraj asks quietly. “Eleazar, coming back again?”
“No, not that. Otherwise… I’m not sure yet. An illness. Are you still with us Alhaitham?”
An affirmative groan. “…just …pretty dizzy.”
“I’m going to give you something that may help. Think you can keep something down? It won’t taste pleasant.”
Alhaitham nods into the cushion under his cheek; Tighnari has to prod him up a bit so he can get the vial to his lips. He swallows the draught with a grimace and nuzzles back into the cushion like the effort’s exhausted him.
“ How long ago did this start?”
Alhaitham takes a breath, but holds it instead of answering right away.
“Try to relax. Breathe.”
“…a day or two,” he finally rasps. “maybe three… chills first… then… the rest…”
“Why didn’t you go to Port Ormos, or Vimara? It would have far been closer.”
“You aren’t in Vimara.”
“That’s flattering. But you’re an idiot.” Tighnari sighs. The sickness is ringing a bell, somewhere in the back of his mind. He’s concerned he doesn’t have the supplies he’ll need to halt it.
“I need to check something. I don’t think he’s going to die on us, not anytime soon, but keep an eye on him for a moment.”
“Of course.” Iraj moves to strip the man of his boots- he’s got initiative, Iraj- and Tighnari turns to his journals to check on his suspicions. He only has to flip a few pages to find it- his own handwriting ‘fever, tremors, disturbances of equilimbrium, all resultant from the infection of the blood and associated toxins… endemic to humid and low-lying climates, especially prolific in the summer months and in the caverns and valleys of Adravi forest….’
He reads over the notes alongside it- the materials he’ll need- and is dismayed but not surprised to confirm that the effective reagent is nothing he has on hand, and nothing in easy foraging distance.
He needs a desert plant, and one that doesn’t keep well. He sighs.
“Iraj, I’m going to need you to deliver a message for me.” He swipes a pad of paper and a pen from his desk, and begins to write. “I need you to get this to Caravan Ribat.”
“Sir, that’s a two day journey- one way.”
“You can make it in one. Take a boat from the docks west of here, to Vimara. Overland from there. Less than a full day, if you use the trails we’ve blazed, and if you make haste.”
“Uh… okay. Who am I looking for at Caravan Ribat?”
“The General Mahamatra.” Tighnri seals the letter and holds it out. “He should be there this week on business. He’ll know what to do from there. Hurry. Find Collei first, if she’s in the village, and send her to me. But don’t spend too long looking for her, if you don’t find her right away. Ask a Watcher, if need be.”
Iraj accepts the letter, dips his head, and departs. Tighnari lets out a long breath and rubs his eyes. He takes a moment to gather himself. Alhaitham is strong. He’s healthy. He’s a Dendro wielder, on top of that, with the vitality that comes along with it. His strength should hold out.
Tighnari hopes he’s right. He shakes off his trepidation and turns back to his patient.
“Alhaitham, are you still with me?”
He is, but he’s shaking violently… and difficult to deal with at the best of times.
It’s going to be a long night.
Pain is one thing. He can tolerate pain. He’s tolerated pain before, hasn’t he? Even this bone-clenching, breath-taking betrayal of his own muscles is just a sensation he has to abide.
But the wild spinning of the room, the spinning that surges with his thrumming heart and accelerates everytime he moves, or coughs, or tries to speak… If only that would stop, he could just…
But it doesn’t, and he can’t think straight, and he’s exhausted and weak and freezing and then it’s like someone has lit a furnace in his bones, and then he’s freezing again and except for the moments when mind goes somewhere black and senseless and he has no sense of the passage of time, and it hurts and it won’t. Stop. Spinning.
He wants to be sick, but nausea won’t crest beyond a constant looming threat, and anyway he thinks it would probably just hurt him more and maybe also make the spinning worse.
He knows when Tighnari comes and goes, dimly, and when he’s nearby there is an aura around him of hope, as if by his mere presence he can make it stop, except he doesn’t because of course he can’t, not just by existing.
stop it…. he thinks ….just stop it…
…he doesn’t realize he’s saying it out loud until Tighnari’s hand materializes on his brow.
“Just a little longer,” a quiet voice soothes. “Hold on a little longer.”
His thinking mind wryly observes from somewhere outside him that he’s not sure what to hold on to, because everything is reeling around him and his own body won’t obey him… but he remembers to breathe, and he tries.
Time ticks, and slips, and wheels. The light shifts from gray to black, and back to grey again.
Tighnari brews another dose of something that he doesn’t expect to fix everything but hopes will ameliorate at least a little of the heat, soften the edge of the terrible clenching convulsions. At least it seems he’s managed to suppress the cough.
The rain continues to pour, pummeling the roof above, abrading the earth and the nerves of its denizens.
Alhaitham cries out against a spasm and thumps his fist against the couch, beating a frustrated tattoo there in some effort to banish it.
“Shhh, shh… easy…”
“…guh… can’t…”
“I know, I know… just breathe… breathe, damn you… there you go.”
Tighnari is exhausted, as is his young protege. Not to mention their patient. Night had come and gone while he had deteriorated from sick and cranky to very, very sick and almost combative. It’s hardly his fault- Alhaitham is half-delirious, the fever in full swing. Tighnari can see the spasms in the muscles of his arms and shoulders when they take him; his breath catches in time, and he writhes like he’s trying to escape his own flesh. He’s soaked in sweat at the moment- which is actually a good sign, because it means the fever will likely break for a while. Collei blots it from his brow, and he flinches away from the touch irritably.
The dizziness has gotten worse, too. Tighnari can tell from the movement of his eyes, whenever he opens them to track Tighnari’s movements with an unfocused, glazed-over gaze. He isn’t getting enough air. Tighnari can’t keep the fever down, despite the draughts and the repeated application of water-damped cloths to his extremities, and worries about what it’ll do to his brain if it keeps up.
Actually, maybe a few less brain cells would make him more tolerable.
…Tighnari scolds himself for the thought.
Nevermind that he’s a terrible patient anyway, starting like a startled sumpter beast everytime something touches him, once almost smacking poor Collei in the face with a serpent-quick swipe of an arm. Luckily he’d only sent the cloth she was holding flying. The poor girl is trying her best; Tighnari lays an encouraging hand on her arm.
She’d arrived at his doorstep sodden and breathless but eager and compassionate, ever ardent to help someone- something- as she once had been helped, as she now knows that she can help others. But even her nerves are fraying to irritability. Still, though she’s growing less tolerant, she’s also growing less flighty- more focused. It’s to her credit. Once so unsure and hesistant under the weight of her affliction and misplaced guilt, she has begun of late to forge herself into a force to be reckoned with. That much is showing now… but just at this moment she’s got to be tired.
“You should at least get something to eat,” he tells her. It’s already evening again. They’ve been at this- ostensibly in shifts, but realistically with barely a break to stretch out sore limbs between them- for a full day and a half.
She shakes her head, resolute, as her patient thrashes again.
“Hang on,” she admonishes. “That’s all you have to do right now, not fight, just hang on. Breathe.”
Something of it penetrates Alhaitham’s thick skull because he stops struggling and draws a broken inhalation.
Collei sits back and wipes an arm across her own forehead now he’s settled a bit, twitching rather than flailing now, on the downward slope of the cycle.
“There are some Ajilenakh cakes over there. At least have one of those,” he suggests.
“Honestly, I’m okay,” she insists. “I had a pita pocket a few hours ago- I promise, I’ll get something when I need to.”
“Suit yourself.” Tighnari can’t exactly overrule her when he hasn’t taken his own advice. He’s not really up for food himself- he’s been living on tea and a few handfuls of dried mushrooms. Besides, he’s growing anxious as he’s beginning to wondering if Iraj was waylaid in Apam Woods, or worse.
No sooner does the thought cross his mind than, by some grace of the gods, the encroaching night spits forth an answer.
“You shouldn’t have called yourself a feeble scholar,” a sardonic voice carries. “This must be karma.”
Tighnari looks gratefully over his shoulder to see Cyno in the entry, rainwater dripping from his hood.
“Is this really the time for that, Cyno?” Tighnari scolds, but rises to meet him and takes his sopping headdress to hang to dry. He’s always happy to see Cyno darken his door. Right now, he’s positively overjoyed- a heartfelt relief that rises in his core to chase a little of his exhaustion and frustration back from the forefront of his mind where they’ve been growing for the past few hours.
It’s all he can do not to bear hug him.
Cyno is staring at Alhaitham with an expression somewhere at the crossroads of disbelief, concern, and irony.
“Did you get it?”
“I did.” Cyno produces a sachet, which Tighnari takes to his work table and immediately gets to mixing. “You didn’t say how bad it was.”
“I knew that you’d prioritize the matter regardless.”
“Of course.”
“Collei, can you go fetch me some fresh Nilotpala? Quickly.”
She nods and rises to go. As she does, Cyno approaches the bed cautiously, almost reverently, and gives Tighnari a questioning look. Tighnari shrugs at him, and Cyno reaches out to rest a featherlight hand at the scholar’s temple, gentle as a mother. Alhaitham twitches, but doesn’t pull away. He’s receded to the space between rigors now, nearly unconscious, so it isn’t really surprising. But… still.
“Will wonders never cease,” Tighnari murmurs as he pours a liquid from one vial to another. “The scribe whisperer walks among us.”
Cyno doesn’t indulge the remark with a response. He’s standing like a man transfixed. He pauses, then tentatively smoothes Alhaitham’s damp fringe away from his eyes, which flicker briefly but fall closed again. “Do we need to worry about an outbreak?” Cyno asks quietly. He lifts his hand only to smooth it back again, like he’s stroking a particularly tempermental cat, eliciting a low moan from the subject.
“No, I don’t think so. Archons know where he was mucking about.”
"What is this, then?"
Tighnari is grinding a dried mushroom with mortar and pestle, turning it to dust between stone. "A summer fever of obscure origin. Fairly rare. I'm not certain exactly how it's transmitted, but I don't believe it's communicable. Seems to crop up in certain swamps and caverns, particularly those that are around... well, the sort of ancient ruins and devices he was probably sticking his nose in."
"He usually accounts for that sort of thing."
"Like I said- it's rare. Very rare. I'm not even sure that's what this is, to be honest- I read about it in some old accounts at the Akademia that I happened to remember. We won't be sure until we see if this actually works."
"Huh." Cyno's voice is uncharacteristically quiet, low as a distant bell. Tighnari pauses and looks over to see Cyno still standing there, his fingers carding gently through the hair near Alhaitham’s temple. Alhaitham has quieted a little, still making no move to avoid the touch. Tighnari thinks he’s actually- just perceptibly- turning into it.
“That really is remarkable. Though I suppose you have to deal with injuries in the field with those Matra of yours, so I shouldn't be surprised. Or maybe the last tincture I gave him put him down after all.”
Except, there’s a sliver of turquiose showing now and while Alhaitham’s eyes are glassy, there is presence in them again.
“You’ve looked better,” Cyno tells him. "Though that isn't saying much."
Alhaitham makes a sound that could- generously- be called a chuckle, and inhales shakily. Cyno regards him curiously.
“Do you want me to stop?”
There’s a pause while Alhaitham muzzily considers the question. A shiver runs through him, and then his eyes close.
“…no,” he finally rasps. “…it’s… grounding.”
Thus does Cyno take the stool that Collei had vacated and resume his minstrations; his palm pressed against Alhaitham’s temple; his fingers grazing treacle-slow trails through sweat-damp hair. Alhaitham yields to the touch, a little stiller now, though his labored breathing is laced with pain. Occasionally his teeth chatter, and Cyno murmurs something inaudible and soothing.
It takes a while for Tighnari to finish preparing the base of the medicine, meticulously adjusting the little flame of the burner he’s using to prime the mixture. He hadn't wanted to start it before the arrival of the key component, given the mutable nature of the other ingredients. Nor had he wanted the lotus plucked until the last moment, given how quickly they degrade. But he's sure that Collei will return swiftly; there's a bit of a window, now, for that.
Tighnari wipes his hands, pausing when he hears a strangled, broken whine. He turns back to see Cyno’s other hand is employed as well now, clasped over Alhaitham’s wrist; the sheets are clenched in Alhaitham’s fist beneath it, knuckles white as he fights through a vicious, bone-seizing cramp.
…at least he isn’t flailing, this time. Tighnari crosses the room to lay his hand on his friend’s shoulder, channeling gratitude through the touch; Cyno leans his head briefly against Tighnari’s side in acknowledgment without moving his gaze from their stricken… colleague? Comrade? Friend?
Tighnari isn’t sure how to categorize the relationship that has formed like a gossamer web between the three of them- and with so many others- in the wake of Sumeru’s turmoil. It’s not exactly brotherly, not exactly familial, nothing quite so close as the easy familiarity he shares with Cyno himself, but something more than mere acquaintance. He supposes they have been to war together, more or less. That’s bound to leave some kind of lasting bond. Whatever it is.
Alhaitham’s breath is breaking down into whimpers as the convulsion fades. Cyno looks up at Tighnari in concern. Tighnari meets his eyes directly, his own trepidation unguarded.
Alhaitham is nothing if not stoic. To the point of repression, some might say, except that Tighnari has come to think that it really is just his way, and that he’s as integrated and self aware as anyone. With few exceptions, usually where one architect is concerned, he shrugs off slights, battles, and turmoil with the same infuriating calm. The Traveler had of course brought back stories of his pre-concocted outrage in the face of Grand Sage Azar, and Kaveh will swear up and down as to his temper- but Tighnari’s never seen any such thing from him. Certainly not anything resembling fear, or anguish.
Neither of them would have imagined they’d ever see the infamously stoic scribe crying. But though it’s quiet and restrained, he is, undoubtedly, sniffling brokenly into the bedsheet.
He’s at the end of his strength, Tighnari thinks.
Both of them more or less wordlessly ignore it out of deference. The only acknowledgement Cyno makes is a soft ‘shhh’ing sound, and then he runs his off hand from Alhaitham’s wrist to his upper arm, subtly kneading the muscle there.
If all that weren’t enough to make Tighnari doubt the sanity of his own exhuasted mind, what happens next is.
Alhaitham… the rational, autonomous, self-sovereign Alhaitham reaches shakily for Cyno’s hand- the one near his temple- and not to push it away, but to grasp his forearm like it’s a lifeline, his eyes flickering open to meet Cyno’s keenly composed gaze. They’re red-rimmed and tear-rimmed, and they shut again almost right away, but there was awareness in them while they were open.
Cyno extricates his arm just to clasp his hand over Haitham’s, thumbing pressure against the meat of it and along his wrist.
“It’ll be just a few minutes, once Collei gets back,” Tighnari tells them both.
“…please…” the scribe's voice is a whisper. He's trembling like leaves under the rain.
“Shhh,” Cyno soothes. “It’s alright.”
He repeats the refrain in his low, laconic way while they wait; while the night insects begin to call in a sonorous hum; while Alhaitham’s hand goes slack in Cyno’s and his breath eases into a shallow but steadier rhythm and he slips into something still that isn’t quite sleep.
“…it’s alright.”
When dawn stirs against Tighnari’s eyelids, he frowns at it. Slowly, he becomes aware that he’s sore, and that his bed is cold and hard underneath him. Then he remembers that he’s sleeping on the floor, and then why he’s sleeping on the floor- he cracks his eyes open to see the light streaming across the wooden planks at eye level where the rug ends. He thinks the rug is plush enough underfoot, but less so under his bones, and glances up to see Cyno still seated- no, seated again, because at some point he’d definitely been using Tighnari’s tail as a pillow, the cheeky bastard- at the stool by Tighnari’s bed.
The rain’s stopped, he realizes next.
He stretches, and Cyno stirs but doesn’t look at him.
“Welcome back,” the warrior murmurs. He’s facing the door, arms crossed, the sunlight pooling at his feet where it reaches its tendrils into the room.
Tighnari rises, flicking his ears at a momentary ache in his hip as he does so.
The bed is empty.
“He said he wouldn’t go far,” Cyno drawls preemptively.
“And you took that as good enough?”
Cyno shrugs. “You try and stop that one when he’s made up his mind.”
Tighnari sighs, and moves to his workbench to fix another dose.
“You could have woken me.”
“You seemed like you needed the rest. He’ll be fine.”
“Only thanks to you both,” a third voice intrudes. A shadow crosses the light as Alhaitham steps in, gingerly. He’s dressed in the loose green shirt Tighnari had earlier acquired for him, courtesy of the rangers- hesitating just inside the door, a strange expression on his face, and steadying himself on the frame. “Though, I think I’ll sit a moment, if that’s alright.”
“Before you fall down would be ideal,” Tighnari scolds. “What were you thinking?”
Alhaitham darts a rueful look at him as he sits on the edge of the couch. “Needs must,” he dismisses.
“We’ve arrangements for that. You were half dead a few hours ago.”
“Ugh.” Alhaitham answers, looking wounded.
“Let the man have his dignity,” Cyno contributes, and shrugs.
Tighnari rolls his eyes, but relents. Alhaitham lets a long breath out through pursed lips, hangs his head for a moment, and then apparently decides ‘sitting a moment’ was overambitious and slowly pivots to lie back down on the couch, one foot on the floor. He drapes a forearm over his forehead and closes his eyes with a whine. Cyno touches his shoulder in concern, and Alhaitham cracks an eye open to look up at him, then claps the general’s forearm once, briefly.
Tighnari takes that to mean 'I’m okay'- as apparently does Cyno, because he stands, stretches and then moves to the chair at the desk, where he can slouch properly.
After that, Alhaitham’s careful breathing is the only sound for a while, save the melody of birds outside.
“You’re going to need to take it slowly for a few days,” Tighnari warns him, stirring the concoction he’s preparing. “Your system is compromised. You won’t have your full strength back for a few weeks, I’m afraid.”
“I feel like a popped anemo slime,” Alhaitham grumbles.
“I don’t doubt it. How far away were you really, when you knew you were sick?”
Alhaitham casts a turquiose gaze at him from under the shade of his arm.
“How far, Alhaitham?”
“…the caverns at the south end of Devantaka.”
“So, just north of Port Ormos. To which you could have gotten yourself a day earlier and probably found a Vision healer with every remedy known to the Akademia.”
“…I didn’t think of it.”
“Well, that’s a lie,” Cyno drawls. “You… didn’t think of it?”
“Not for long.”
“You mean you put that much faith in Tighnari.”
Alhaitham closes his eyes again and takes a few breaths. “Of course,” he says, when he answers. “It was the best option.”
Tighnari shakes his head and brings the newly prepared draught to the bedside. “As flattering as that is, it was a big risk. You should be more careful with yourself. Drink this.”
Alhaitham blinks up at him then eases himself onto an elbow to follow the direction, easing down again after he’s finished it.
“You know what I think?” Cyno suggests.
“Mmm.” Alhaitham manages to make the noise sound bored.
“I think you were afraid.”
“Is that so.”
“I think that despite being someone who claims to see so little value in social relationships, you didn’t want to be alone.”
“Really.”
“I think Tighnari was the closest person you could think of that you care about.”
The birds continue their joyful warbling in apparent support.
“…If it weren’t for the fact,” Alhaitham says slowly, “that Tighnari is probably the most reliable healer in Sumeru, with a supremely extensive knowledge of local maladies and remedies, then that might be a logical conclusion.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
Tighnari smirks, turning his stove to the preparation of tea. Not to mention breakfast, which is in order. Cyno, for his part, doesn’t seem to be in a rush- his headdress is still hanging near the door- so Tighnari happily retrieves enough ingredients for three.
Soon, the gentle clinking of his preparations fills the room. Cyno joins him, pouring himself tea, giving Tighnari’s ear a ruffle on the way by and earning himself a swat.
"Do you know, one of my Matra recently led the resolution of a minor case that he told me about. He said that he had spent nearly five months tracking a small time smuggler who put up a terrible fight, but because he hadn't injured anyone, not even any of the Matra, the authorities, with very little consideration and hardly a mind for the trouble the fellow had caused, took only about an hour to deliberate- over their tea and pastries nonetheless- and finally ruled it a minor offense despite the Matra's testimony and sentenced the man to pay restitutions to the injured men with merely six months to be served in custody."
"Oh? What was your response?"
"I told him that sentence was way too long."
Tighnari blinks. Then he sighs. "Cyno-"
"You don't get it?"
Tighnari raises a hand to forestall him, but it's too late.
"You see, it's humorous because the sentence in this case can refer to either the decree of the court or to-"
"Cyno."
"-the grammatical construct of the- hey! That's uncalled for," Cyno protests.
...because Tighnari is attempting to swat him with the flat of a knife. Then he realizes that Alhaitham is watching quietly, with something suspiciously close to a smirk.
"Oh, not you too," Tighnari grumbles.
"..it's a little amusing."
Tighnari scoffs, and then he realizes that Cyno has stopped dodging him, and is instead pointedly not looking at Alhaitham.
"...he gave you that one, didn't he."
Alhaitham's face is entirely blank.
"...someone please kill me now... Cyno, why don't you make yourself useful and slice these mushrooms, you wretch."
Cyno chuckles and complies while Tighnari tends to the soup he's heating. It's quiet for a while. The breeze ruffles the leaves at the door. The birds chirp their chorus.
“…do you mind,” Alhaitham asks eventually, just when Tighnari thinks he’s drifted to sleep. “If I stay a little while? I’m not sure I’m up to the trip back to Sumeru just yet.”
“Like I’d let you try it if you wanted to,” Tighnari answers. “Maybe in a day or two.”
Alhaitham scoffs. “I’m not going to take up your bed while you sleep on the floor for days.”
“There are other quarters. We’ll move you later on- this afternoon if you can be trusted not to disappear.” Tighnari supposes he can hold the treasured earpieces hostage. They’re secure in his desk, after all. And apparently waterproof, no worse for wear as far as he can tell.
“…thank you.”
“No need.”
“No, truly. Both of you. I’m… glad you were here.”
Honestly, Tighnari thinks. The man pronounced the word ‘glad’ like he’s never said it before.
“It’s Collei you should thank. Maybe with an apology as well. You almost took her head off yesterday.”
“…what?”
“You are absolutely and without a doubt the worst patient I’ve dealt with in years. Well, perhaps excepting that scholar who-“
“I… don’t remember.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“Wait… Collei. Isn’t her hair… green?”
“That’s her,” Cyno confirms.
Alhaitham rolls onto an elbow and judges them each in turn. He looks… apprehensive. Cyno tilts his head and crosses his arms, faintly amused. Tighnari’s ears flick backwards.
“…I thought that was a fever dream.”
“I’m afraid not,” Tighnari sing-songs.
“…how long was she here?”Alhaitham scrubs his face and presses the heel of his hand against his forehead.
“She left when Cyno arrived. For the most part. I sent her to bed after. Hopefully she’s still sleeping.”
“…oh.”
“Nearly took her head off wasn’t an exaggeration. You were entirely hostile. Not that I’ll hold it against you, with the state you were in. Still, a little contrition would go over well. I’m sure that apologizing once in your life wouldn’t hurt you too badly.”
Alhaitham scowls at him blearily. “I apologize, when it’s called for.”
“If you say so.”
“Will you thank her for me? Until I can do so in person.”
“I’ll pass along your regards. You can do the apologizing yourself.”
“…I… think I thought she was a dendroshroom at one point.”
Cyno hrpmhs. “You really were in a state.”
“Not my best,” Alhaitham says, and swallows. He’s a bit grey.
“Lie down,” Cyno says. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I don’t-“
“Don’t try to say you don’t care about that kind of thing. Don’t forget who can beat you at cards.”
“I wasn’t going to-” Alhaitham cuts off his own protest with a groan. He lays his head down on his arm. “Ugh.”
Tighnari steps to his side to feel his forehead and relaxes when he finds no sign of resurging fever.
“I’d expect the dizziness to come and go for a few days. Your blood was infected. Go to sleep. Or else eat something. There’s soup ready, and mushrooms, or baklava too, if you can handle any of those.”
“…maybe… in a minute…”
Cyno draws alongside Tighnari and resumes his place at the stool. He shoots Tighnari a glance, and gestures at breakfast with his chin, assuming responsibility so Tighnari can relinquish it. His hand comes to rest on Alhaitham’s head, as it had the night before, steady and nonchalant. Except this time the scholar tenses, drawing in a huff of air, his eyes opening so that the morning sun’s glimmer casts them the shade of Sumeru’s waters.
Cyno lifts his hand, regarding him calmly. “Are you well enough for this to bother you?”
There’s a taut moment- Tighnari discretely watches it unwind, sidelong. Then the scribe lets out a long breath, and his tension drains away with it. He closes his eyes.
“…no,” he murmurs. “…not just yet.”
(...and they all lived happily ever after)
FIN