dpscheck | stuck meme

[these dizzy spells are not unfamiliar to francel, although he thought his sickly boyhood days were behind him. he nods his assent, grasping loosely at zephirin's arms for support. he allows himself to be lowered onto the bench, but he is breathing heavily, with his eyes closed, as if even this much strains his delicate constitution.]

I'm sorry... This is my fault. I should not have been so excited...

[ Beside Francel, Zephirin is silent to discourage the boy's apologies while breathing should be his first concern. He frees one of his hands from the gauntlets he wears, and gently, he touches his palm to Francel's cheek, then his brow, leaving it there in his attempt to determine whether a fever is to blame for this dizzy spell.

Finally, Zephirin takes Francel by the shoulders once more, keeping him steady upon the bench. ]

Have we somewhere to be this very instant?

[in lieu of a voiced refusal, francel shakes his head, weakly. he has no particular fever, but he is short of breath, and by the way he is looking not quite into zephirin's eyes, he cannot see properly, either.]

Your hand... feels nice.

[he closes his eyes and leans into zephirin's touch. his lips are awfully chapped.]

[ Though satisfied that Francel did not wander the city in search of him when strict bed rest may have been advised, Zephirin implicitly agrees to their prolonged contact, repositioning his hand to cradle Francel's head. Francel's skin is not overly warm, but his unfocused gaze and his dry lips both tell another tale. He seems in no condition to continue on their way yet, not by relying on his feet.

Zephirin's hand is no remedy to replace fluids and a bed. ]

If you are not well, Joacin, allow me to see you home safely. Do you give me permission to carry you?

[ Drawing attention would be unavoidable. ]

[francel nods weakly — it's not his first time having to be carried home, although it will be his first time being carried home as a grown man. nevertheless, at this point he does not entirely care about what others think of him, and he reaches weakly for zephirin's shoulders, desperate for sweet relief.]

Please...

[ Zephirin, while no Ser Guerrique, easily gathers Francel into his arms and lifts him from the bench. Despite Francel's height, the knight holds him securely around the shoulders and under his legs, and so they set out again for Haillenarte Manor, at a slow, steady pace.

Saint Valeroyant keeps their route relatively undisturbed.

The sight of Lord Francel carried to the manor's doors by a Temple Knight is understandably alarming for the guard outside, however. The man calls out, rushing to meet them as they approach. ]

[francel opens his eyes blearily to see the manor guard's concerned face; he lifts his hand weakly, thereby assuring the man that all is quite well and that house haillenarte's youngest master has not, in fact, befallen some terrible fate on this day of saint valeroyant's honor.

the guard seems to know what to do. "v-very well then, inside," he says, anxiously looking about as if for a chirurgeon. "i will inform civerege."

the guard ushers them inside, and beseeches ser zephirin to set the young lord on a nearby chaise set at the entrance specifically for this purpose. civerege, as it turns out, is lord francel's personal manservant, who hurriedly brings over a glass of water. the man smiles apologetically at zephirin, whom he dimly remembers as being francel's guest from a few nights prior. "lord francel has these — spells," he explains. "he will be fine with some rest, and some fluids. come now, my lord, can you hold this yourself?"

francel reaches weakly for the glass, meaning to lift it to his lips himself — he is old enough, strong enough for this — but his wrist buckles suddenly, and he spills a small amount of the water upon his chest. he grimaces.]

Forgive me...

May I?

[ Civerege is on hand, doubtless prepared to come to Francel's aid, familiar with his lord's spells and his duties — and Zephirin's intervention is odd for a guest not a close friend, not family. Even so, he already kneels beside the chaise, and he reaches out and steadies the glass in Francel's hands. Holding it there, he seeks the boy's consent to offer his help until Francel's strength returns. ]

[civerege is only too happy to allow zephirin the privilege of helping francel drink his glass of water, if only because it gives him ample opportunity to lecture his young lord. "this is all because you spent all that time in the music room," he huffs, tearing into francel with the affection exasperation of a mother. "i told you time and time again to at least take meals..."

francel, for his part, seems strangely blissful, for someone suffering a headache, dizziness, and fatigue. he closes his eyes and drinks his glass of water like a man parched, with desperate, but almost loving gulps; he seems quite content to let zephirin set the pace of his drinking.]

[ The explanation behind Francel's overexerting himself into this particular spell brings a flash of concern to Zephirin's features, but he contains it, setting a moderate pace, careful to support Francel's upper body and assist him in tilting the glass just enough to drink from it without the risk of spillage or choking. When Francel has had his fill, Zephirin withdraws the drained glass and hands it to Civerege. His gaze wanders back to Francel upon the chaise. ]

...When you are recovered, Lord Francel, would you grant me your company over a meal?

[with his lecture finished (most of which francel did not even listen to), civerege dutifully takes up the glass and disappears to some facility downstairs. francel closes his eyes. he nods. the room has stopped spinning, at least, and he feels well enough to sit up — but he doesn't push the matter just yet.]

...I would be glad to...

[his eyelids flutter open, and he stares dreamily at the ceiling.]

What would you like to eat?

[ Temporarily, they are alone. On the floor beside Francel's chaise, Zephirin folds his legs out of the way.

Francel characterized himself as not exceptionally studious, yet he is capable of a single-minded diligence, at least in the music room or playing the innovative chirurgeon. Zephirin's request this time endeavours to rectify the unintended consequences of his previous request for one of Francel's compositions; sitting back on his heels, he seems to contemplate his options, but instead he plans to ensure that Francel takes a meal to compensate for those he neglected. ]

It was my hope that you might share your recommendations... [ He shrugs, noting Francel's still-dazed look. ] Soup, perhaps.

[francel has enough energy, it seems, to giggle as he lies prone upon the couch.]

Soup sounds lovely. And it is accessible, too. Madam Adrienne always has a pot of something hot in her kitchen.

[gingerly, francel pushes himself into a sitting position (a nearby servant starts, but then withdraws as she sees that her lord has largely recovered from his fainting spell). he smiles at zephirin, deciding that he does indeed feel much better now, and most importantly, that he should not squander his time with his beloved.]

Shall we? I fear I'll need your help walking the way there.

My thanks to you and Madam Adrienne both.

[ After all, on this occasion, their plans were a spur of the moment decision, and the contents of Madam Adrienne's pot were intended for the Haillenarte household, not for any surprise guest.

Zephirin unfolds himself from the floor, rising to help Francel to his feet. As he did before, he offers the young lord his arm, that Francel might lean upon him for support, enabling him to react, in the event that Francel is overeager to disregard his body's needs again and mistakenly believes himself fully rested. ]

[they make for a charming picture, the frail young lord and his tender temple knight. francel takes zephirin's arm and practically squeezes it to his chest — goodness, he's lively for someone who was lying on a chaise just a moment ago. they walk the halls down to madam adrienne's kitchens again, and this time, francel thoroughly expects zephirin's eyes to close.]

I apologize for my frailty. Did I frighten you overmuch?

[ This time, Zephirin's eyes close for but a second longer than mere blinking only when Francel asks his question, otherwise watchful. He was undeniably concerned. He is undeniably relieved.

Had he foreseen what would come of his request and Francel's attachment to their friendship, he would have sought to prevent it. ]

...When I requested your composition, it was not my intent to drive you to work yourself into exhaustion.

[at the very least, the young lord has the grace to blush. heedless of any passing servants, he very gently presses his forehead into zephirin's shoulder as they walk, almost beseechingly, seeking forgiveness.]

I-It is no fault of yours, I promise you that! But once I began working, and I had the melody in mind, the chords came after, and — and I simply couldn't stop writing for fear that I would lose the music if I paused for a meal.

[ Admittedly, losing oneself in productivity is not unfamiliar to Zephirin. He knows the pull of accomplishment waiting at the end, the difficulty of stepping away in the midst of an engrossing task; he has pushed himself to train for one more bell.

Easily, his mind's eye imagines Francel's golden-haired head bowed over sheets of music taking shape. Inspiration had ill effects on Francel's health, but that aside, Zephirin's request achieved its true intent. ]

Be at ease... If you do not make it a habit, my fears are laid to rest.

[ Zephirin glances down at the boy beside him. ]

I shall endeavor to keep myself in good health, then...

[at last they reach the doorway to madam adrienne's kitchens — the promised land. she certainly has something cooking on the stove now — it smells savory and warm and comforting, and when francel pushes the door to the kitchens open, he lets go of zephirin's hand.

"madam adrienne?" francel calls, softly — to no response.

the woman in question, it seems, has set everything to a slow simmer, and is taking a nap in the corner of the kitchen with her face propped up on a small cushion apparently stolen from the parlor for exactly this purpose. the scene might be cause for concern, if not for the fact that francel laughs.]

She takes an afternoon nap like this from time to time, whenever the sky is dark and it makes her sleepy... Come, let's just help ourselves. She won't miss a bowl of soup or two.

[ The inviting scent of Madam Adrienne's cooking reminds Zephirin of his own body's needs after bells on duty, but he must wonder whether the woman he remembers meeting when he first visited Haillenarte Manor truly will not notice their sneaking into the kitchens and lightening her pot by two bowls of her soup — not even the young lord of the house was spared her chiding him over his nearly burnt pudding. Francel makes his suggestion with a cheerfully confident air, however, and no doubt Madam Adrienne shares the other servants' concern for his well-being.

Looking from the slumbering woman to Francel, Zephirin nods. ]

I am grateful to sample it. I only regret that I cannot match your hospitality.

Oh, do not worry about such things as hospitality.

[pressing one finger to his lips in indication of desired silence, francel very quietly lifts the lid of the pot and ladles out two generous bowls of warm mutton stew. the young lord seems practiced in the art of pilfering food from the kitchens; he opens the spoon drawer soundlessly, and soundlessly inserts the spoons into the soup. he grins.]

Take your bowl, now, and be careful! 'Tis still hot.

[ Near soundlessly, save the clinking together of the proffered bowl and Zephirin's gauntlets, Zephirin accepts his serving of Madam Adrienne's stew. He thanks Francel with wordless gestures: another nod, a smile that betrays his amusement over the young lord's expert sneaking about.

Steam rises from their bowls, and the stew's aroma upon the air has the sort of comforting warmth that one might associate with home. Taking care as advised, Zephirin waits patiently, in part to be certain that Francel's plan does not include absconding with the pilfered stew. ]

[francel does in fact intend to abscond with the stew — the only question is where to abscond to. his bedroom is no place for eating soup, and going there seems like to end with zephirin rubbing him to sleep again. the music room, meanwhile, is filled with expensive instruments that will not withstand any savory soup-spilling...]

...Nothing for it but to eat in the dining room like civilized men, then.

[francel sighs as if he does not, in fact, wish to be a civilized man, but in the end he takes up his bowl and quietly tiptoes out of the kitchens, smiling over his shoulder as he waits for zephirin to settle into place beside him. fortunately, the dining room is not far.]

I shall follow your lead.

[ Zephirin's amused smile lingers as he receives his answer. The last vestiges of Francel's fainting spell are gone, his energy regained even without the help of a meal, it seems, but Zephirin takes it upon himself to open the door as they steal away to the dining room, letting Francel step through before he closes it one-handed, quietly. Madam Adrienne's nap goes on undisturbed. No soup is spilled to soil the manor floors.

Francel the master kitchen raider and his accomplice have made their clean escape. ]

[at this point, the master kitchen raider has indeed recovered his energy, if only because he has realized that he is very hungry and would very much like to wolf down his soup.

francel takes his usual seat at the haillenarte dining-table, gesturing for zephirin to take chlodebaimt's customary seat if only because it is next to his own. he smiles and gestures to the bread-basket.]

You may help yourself to as much bread as you wish. We have salt and pepper as well, of course...

[francel pauses and stiffens, as he suddenly becomes acutely aware that the of course was rather unnecessary — the poor that reside in the brume do not have such things.]

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