For the first time in weeks his bedroom window was closed, no soft breeze taking away the stuffiness of the room. He was laid in bed under the pile of blankets including his fur and cloak. His winter clothes vanished away covered in vomit to be cleaned eventually. He was laying under the blankets shirtless, he didn't care to ruin any more clothes. The jeans were expendable. The last time he had a fever like this he had heard the family fostering him for the winter whispering how they would have to summon Askeladd and tell him the boy would die.
He didn't die, hell Askeladd had demanded he get up and march out as sick as he was. It was the only winter he spent any time in Askeladd's winter home. Of course, the man himself was no where near him, just serving girls sent by Gorm to make sure the young warrior didn't die. Illness was a death sentence and yet he pushed through then with no ill effects.
But this.
This was worse.
He was so hungry and thirsty at the same time but the more he ate the more it came right back up. The fever and the chills combined had him absolutely miserable. He had had to send Sylvi away, not just for fear of getting her sick but because she was just to warm and energetic for him to deal with at the moment. He knew Jo was working, but that she would come back soon if Merlin didn't. One or the other constantly coming to see if he had improved through the day.
He had fished the old broken comb out of one of the drawers near his head earlier while he had been alone. His fingers curled around it under the pillow as he shuttered feeling another spasm of pain shoot through him. He rolled over quickly for the bucket near the bed. How the fuck did he still have anything left for his body to reject?
Sniplet Sickness Day 1
For the first time in weeks his bedroom window was closed, no soft breeze taking away the stuffiness of the room. He was laid in bed under the pile of blankets including his fur and cloak. His winter clothes vanished away covered in vomit to be cleaned eventually. He was laying under the blankets shirtless, he didn't care to ruin any more clothes. The jeans were expendable. The last time he had a fever like this he had heard the family fostering him for the winter whispering how they would have to summon Askeladd and tell him the boy would die.
He didn't die, hell Askeladd had demanded he get up and march out as sick as he was. It was the only winter he spent any time in Askeladd's winter home. Of course, the man himself was no where near him, just serving girls sent by Gorm to make sure the young warrior didn't die. Illness was a death sentence and yet he pushed through then with no ill effects.
But this.
This was worse.
He was so hungry and thirsty at the same time but the more he ate the more it came right back up. The fever and the chills combined had him absolutely miserable. He had had to send Sylvi away, not just for fear of getting her sick but because she was just to warm and energetic for him to deal with at the moment. He knew Jo was working, but that she would come back soon if Merlin didn't. One or the other constantly coming to see if he had improved through the day.
He had fished the old broken comb out of one of the drawers near his head earlier while he had been alone. His fingers curled around it under the pillow as he shuttered feeling another spasm of pain shoot through him. He rolled over quickly for the bucket near the bed. How the fuck did he still have anything left for his body to reject?