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The frosty air sent chills through the Lamb as they made their way to the infirmary. Despite the wool that layered their body and insulated them from the cold, even they were not immune to the sudden winter's bite. The snow blanketing the ground made things far worse, sparks of pain shooting up their legs as their hooves sank into the icy frost. Yet still, they were able to handle the surprising shift in weather better than their followers. And much to their concern, there was one in particular who was struggling worse than anyone.
Kallamar had long been a being prone to sickness. It was an unfortunate side effect of losing his crown. While he had been able to manage his illnesses better over time, his bedridden days becoming fewer and further between, this weakness of his had always been a sore spot. Though he'd never deny the Lamb's pampering and rapt attention when they offered it.
But now, he seemed to spend more days in the infirmary than out. What was once a frustrating but manageable problem had become an unceasing war within his body. The cold shocked his already compromised immune system leaving him susceptible to every illness that reared its ugly head within the cult. And while he fought each one with all the strength he had, the Lamb couldn't hide their worry that one day, that strength might run out.
They shoved their troublesome thoughts aside as they pushed through the tarp-covered entrance to the infirmary. In a way, they were relieved to find Kallamar as they often did as of late. He was curled beneath a mound of cotton and wool blankets, small tremors emanating from his body. His breathing was hoarse yet steady, wet coughs occasionally interrupting his breaths. The dark circles beneath his eyes and his fever flushed cheeks did little to hide the pallor of his skin.
"You awake, Kal?" the Lamb called out softly. He made a small, half conscious sound of recognition.
"Seal the doorway, won't you?" Kallamar muttered, his voice little more than a rasp. "It's freezing in here."
"Oh, uh, sure. Sorry." He didn't need to know they already had. They walked across the floor, hooves tapping against the wooden floorboards, and they sat beside him on the edge of his bed. "I brought you some tea. Maybe that will warm you up a little." He cracked one eye open, a narrowed slit staring skeptically up at them.
"You're not going to try and force feed me anything, are you?" The Lamb grimaced, remembering their last attempt at trying to make him eat something. It ended with vomit everywhere and a very queasy, irritable squid.
"I think we’ll call it a win if you can keep something down period."
They held their hands forward, and from the Red crown they summoned a steaming pot of tea. They set it down on the beside table along with a mug, careful not to disturb Kallamar's books and illegible scribbles. A small frown tugged at their lips; it had been days since he last had the energy to enjoy either. He was silent as they helped him sit upright, stuffing pillows and blankets behind his back, though his perturbed gaze had softened significantly. His eyes lingered on them as they worked, a warm fondness shining within his gaze. Or maybe it was just the fever.
They poured a cup of tea and made it just how he liked it, one spoonful of honey stirred clockwise till dissolved. They blew gently till they were certain it was cool enough to drink. The Lamb lifted the mug to his lips, and Kallamar took slow, cautious sips. He wasn't eager to choke and fall into another coughing fit; the last one ended in an asthma attack. Once he'd had his fill, they set the half empty cup to the side and helped ease him back against the mattress.
"How are you feeling this morning?"
"As pitiful as I look, I'm sure," Kallamar mumbled.
"Kal, please." He huffed a laugh before his lips flattened into a close approximation of a thin line, only enough of a gap between them so he could breathe.
"The nausea has eased. I don't feel like I'm drowning when I breathe anymore, but I'm still exhausted. If you weren't here to help me, I don't imagine I could move much on my own."
"Well, how fortunate for you that I am here." The Lamb flashed a cheeky grin and continued, "I know you still don't feel well, but at least it's progress."
"Until I catch something else, you mean." Their brow furrowed.
"Hey now, there's no guarantee you're going to. Maybe this time will be different and you'll actually get better!" Kallamar averted his gaze, his lips turning downwards into a frown. When he spoke next, his voice was a hoarse whisper.
"We both know that won't happen." The Lamb shot him a glare before quickly smoothing over their features. They weren’t going to get mad at him, not for this. They'd be pessimistic too if they felt this sick for so long.
"Well I guess I'll just have to carry enough hope for the both of us."
They shed their fleece and draped the garment over the back of a nearby chair. They crawled into bed and laid next to Kallamar, pulling him close to their body, one hand on his chest and the other pressed against his back. His fever was higher than they thought, his skin scorching to touch. But hearing his contented sigh, feeling how his lips curved into a smile as he nuzzled against their neck, they wouldn't dare pull away.
Under different circumstances it would have been a pleasant morning, the type of lazy morning spent in each other's arms where Kallamar might have convinced them to stay in bed for the day. But as it was, hearing the labor with which each breath took, feeling him shiver despite the waves of heat pouring from his body, it made the Lamb want to cry. So instead, they held him a little closer and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. They were going to have hope, even if being strong for Kallamar killed them.
"You don't have to stay here," he mumbled, breaking the near silence.
"I've no reason to leave."
"Don't be ridiculous, of course you do," he snapped before a coughing fit wracked his body. After a few moments he managed to catch his breath, wheezing gasps turning gradually into steadier, still wheezing breaths. "You are a crown bearer with a cult to run. I am sure your followers would be lost without your guidance." The Lamb shrugged one shoulder.
"Narinder can look after things for a little while. He owes me one anyway." Kallamar's brow furrowed, frustration crossing his face.
"You can't leave him in charge of things forever, Lamb. You'll have to return to them eventually."
"Well, that's then. This is now, and right now, I want to be here with you." They frowned and pulled back slightly to get a better look at his face. "Why are you trying to get rid of me?" He froze then looked away, a hint of guilt coloring his expression.
"I just... I think it would be best if you got more comfortable with the idea of letting go. Of me." The Lamb inhaled sharply, horrified.
"Kallamar-"
"I-I'm not afraid like I once was! I know it won't be too bad. You wouldn't let it be that bad. But as much as I may enjoy stealing your company, there are others who need you. And you can't be the leader you need to be if you're having to spend so much time caring for me.
“And I'm not so blind to deny that it's a very real possibility that I won't get better, that I could very well get worse. For the life of me, I never understood what you saw in me to begin with, but I know this wasn't what you had in mind. So if you wanted to let me go, if you wanted to allow nature to take its course, I wouldn't blame you. We both know it's the nature of fate to be cruel. So you don't-"
"Enough." The Lamb cupped his cheeks, tilting his head up to meet their gaze. He blinked, seeming surprised. But as their face slowly registered in his mind, the pained expression, the wet spots matting the wool on their cheeks, he crumpled beneath the weight of his guilt.
"Lamb, I-"
"You listen to me," they commanded, voice warbling with emotion. He snapped his mouth shut, a blend of awe and terror jolting his stomach.
"I don't want to hear any more of this nonsense. You are not wasting my time or keeping me from my duties. I am here because I choose to be, and no mortal has the right to deny me this. The world will not end because I choose to stay be your side. And nothing is going to happen to you; you are going to get better, I'm certain of it, even if it means I have to tend to you day and night. Understand?"
Kallamar was silent at first, his gaze studying them. The Lamb's eyes shined in grim determination. Despite how their hands shook, whether in rage or fear he wasn't sure, their conviction was certain. There would be no peaceful death for him, not anytime in the near future. Perhaps it was just the fever, but he could feel his heart warm from the sheer force of their love for him. He nodded, placing one hand over theirs and squeezing gently.
"Of course." Then, "I'm sorry." The Lamb released a shaky sigh along with a breath they hadn't realized they'd been holding.
"No, I'm sorry. I know you weren't trying to be hurtful. And I know you're suffering like this. But I'm not letting go of you, not yet. I can't," they added, voice cracking.
They pressed a gentle, needy kiss to his lips. They could feel how chapped they were, taste the blood and sickness on their tongue. Yet still, he leaned into their touch, a pleased sound escaping his throat. They pressed their forehead against his and held him tight.
"You won't stay sick forever, I promise. No matter how long it takes, you're going to get better. Now please, get some rest. And when you wake, I'll still be here."
Kallamar leaned into their chest, his aching body lulling him back to sleep. A small smile formed on his lips as the sound of the Lamb's steady heartbeat surrounded him. Their optimism truly was infectious. So much so, he might just believe them. He didn't want to miss a moment of loving them.