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Asbel stares at the ceiling.
An icy draft snakes through the room. He lies, motionless, the cold rendering his fingers numb.
The mattress is stiff, the blanket threadbare. It's nothing like his bed in Lhant, where the quilt enveloped him in a haven of warmth, and the sun shimmered through undulating curtains in the early morning, where the honeyed scent of flowers wafted in from the window. Perfect for sharing with little brothers who, perhaps, wet their own bed. For playing hide-and-seek with sick friends.
Asbel reaches out his hand. He, in an inexplicable way, feels numb too.
He gets out of bed. He figures it would be better to get some fresh air, as it's useless lying around like this. Maybe get some practice with the sword in. But as Asbel enters the hallway, he hears something. Some muffled groaning, coming from Richard's quarters.
"Hey, Richard, are you alright?"
Silence. He opens the door.
"Asbel."
Richard's voice is weary. He lays on his side, his half-lidded eyes gazing at the bedside table.
"Can't sleep?"
"It appears you cannot either, my friend."
Asbel makes his way over to Richard's side. The room has a foreboding, burning, warmth. A light pang of sweat hangs in the air.
"Is it your chest again? Or are you—"
He places his hand on Richard's forehead. He can't tell if Richard is feverish, like he was, or simply hot from an unfruitful night of tossing and turning, but either way, he could not allow Richard to carry on like this.
"Asbel, wait, you don't have to—"
Asbel had already run out of the room. After much rummaging in the dark, he was able to find a flask of water. And it wasn't long before he was back, cup and flask in hand for the prince.
"It's ok, Richard. If you need something, I'll always be there, right by your side," Asbel pauses as he places the cup, "Oh… But I really should have brought a washcloth for you…"
"What for?"
Asbel takes the flask and pours the contents onto his sleeve. He presses his arm yet again on Richard's forehead, the warmth tickling against the cold skin of Asbel's arm.
"How does that feel?" asks Asbel.
"Marginally better."
Asbel huffs.
"Oh, I only jest with you, my friend."
The both of them stayed like this for quite some time. On occasion, Asbel would rewet his sleeve, and brush Richard's fringe out of the way to place his arm again. Richard's hair had gotten awfully long. It draped down his face, framing a newfound jawline all bony and angled and sinewy.
Even with his weak smile, Richard's condition looked no more improved. Neither did it sound that way, with the continual grunting, and the intermittent whimper, restrained so that Asbel would not hear. So, Asbel flips over Richard's pillow. After that, the quilt. He waves it freely in the air—
—Was his body always so lithe and slender?—
—And lets it flutter down onto Richard, to his amusement.
The sound of breathing resounded in the stagnant atmosphere, dancing around like words on the tips of tongues, and yet, conversation was not to be had. Until it was, by a familiar gurgling sound emanating from Richard's stomach.
"You didn't tell me you were hungry!" Asbel squeaked.
Richard averted his eyes, his lips pursed.
"Hold on, I'll get something for you."
Asbel returned to his own quarters. As he rummaged under the bed, that same numbness penetrated him, a void swallowing him up on the inside. Asbel grasped at his chest, yet the sensation resisted. He resigned to doing what he came for.
"Here, it's yakisoba," Asbel says as he reenters Richard's room.
The yakisoba did not look particularly appetizing. Half-eaten in the throes of battle, the sauce was largely reduced to globs and splatters on the side of the bowl, and a sad portion of noodles lay timidly to side, much to Asbel's chagrin. Still, he presented it earnestly.
"You should eat some."
"Asbel, it's close to morning, I can wait until then—"
Richard's breath hitched, and his body tensed.
"So, you'll starve until then?"
Richard reeled back, taken by this sense of fear, consumed by it—
"Asbel, I know your intentions are admirable, but, I can't—"
"Because it's poisoned? It's not, see?"
Asbel took a small bite of the meal. It was hard not to feel bewildered, seeing Richard, frozen in place like a scared child… the burdens he must bear. So immeasurable, twisted, complex, pitiable.
He so wanted to reach out, to take these things onto himself.
To help Richard. That was his purpose.
A prick of warmth crept at Asbel's chest.
"Asbel, I—"
Richard was silenced by a spoonful of yakisoba being shoved into his mouth.
"There. Now, that wasn't so bad now was it?" said Asbel.
"Alright, I concede," replied Richard, "I must say, you are as tenacious with a sword as you are with a spoon."
Asbel chortles. Feeding Richard another spoonful, it seemed knight school hadn't disciplined the impudence out of him entirely.
Richard tries to settle down a bit.
He takes a deep breath.
"Richard, you have so many people supporting you."
He nods.
"So let us be your strength. Let me be your strength. Let me be the wind that lifts you to the sky."
Richard's expression darkened.
"Asbel, a king cannot survive on the generosity of the populace alone. To be coddled— spoonfed— makes one weak. Weakness is fatal. I must become strong, stronger…!"
"But you don't! I'm weak too!" Asbel pleaded, "But I can be strong because I have Sophie, and you with me!"
Like a snare, the smell of sweat from before encircles Asbel.
"Yes, because you trust Sophie. Sophie doesn't conspire against you. You don't have to live in fear of your food being laced with poison, of a friend turning out to be foe—"
It's caustic, burning, burning, burning at the back of his throat.
"—An insolent fool such as yourself would never understand being at the mercy of a thousand enemies who wouldn't hesitate to strike you down!!"
Richard leaps for Asbel's throat. His fingers dig into Asbel's temple, sharp nails pinning him to the ground, subsumed by the bitter malice within him. Asbel writhed. He kicked and flailed about, before being consumed by the searing heat of his own skin.
"You know, Richard, I feel like I understand you better now."
Asbel had awoken, taking Richard's place on his bed. He gazed upward, where his eyes met another, teary and yet relieved.
"Enough about that. Are you sure you're okay?" asked Richard.
"Yeah."
The sensation of warmth persists within Asbel.
"I'm sorry, I- I—" Richard continues, "I don't know what came over me."
"It's ok. The pain you feel must be… so strong."
Richard bit his lip, guilt written all over his face. Even now, Asbel longed to get closer to Richard, like they had been moments before. There was the urge to embrace him, hug him, even kiss him—! And tell him everything would work out ok. As the saliva pooled in Asbel's mouth, and his neck stung, he reached out for Richard:
"If you'll have me… I can still be… your strength…."
Richard pushes him away.
"Tomorrow, Asbel. Now hurry onto your own bed. For both our sakes."
Defeated, Asbel returned to his own quarters. It had completely frozen over in his absence. As Asbel lays down onto his own bed, the waft of flowers only seemed more and more distant.
Asbel stares at the ceiling.