Fort Weyr - Th'ero and Velokraeth's Weyr

Up those stairs (now very well sanded and cleared) Th'ero climbs and he enters into the weyr he shares with Kimmila as quietly as he can manage. Not that he's looking to sneak in, but he doesn't want to come barging through in case she is resting. He hadn't want to leave her here while he skipped off to Southern Boll Hold and he's not certain how her mood is given their previous discussion. Now… Oh shards and shells… now he's back and he'll have to explain why… His head throbs and he has to close his eyes, jaw clenching as his hands curl into fists. He feels sick with the anxiety and suddenly his mind focuses on one thing: he needs a drink. Something strong and very powerful. Into the kitchenette he goes and he will not be entirely quiet with his movements. Cuppboards thud and bang, glass tinks and chimes. Hello sweetheart, I'm home?

Kimmila was sleeping. /Was/. In the bedroom. Her cough, sneeze, hack, blowing nose…all of those noises now drift out from behind the mostly closed door. Sexy. "Wingmate?" Kimmila calls, her voice groggy and rough. "Back so soon?" She didn't think she slept, but…one never knows with illness.

Oops? Th'ero has found what he was looking for: one of his more well aged and powerful whiskeys. Pulling out a high ball glass, he pours it straight and knocks it back in one shot. Gritting his teeth against the kick, he leans heavily on the edge of the counter and gasps, coughing quietly to clear his throat and glowering at how his hands shake against the countertop. Stop that! When he hears Kimmila coughing from the bedroom his head lifts. Concerned and worried, his expression soon shifts to one of dread and anxiety. How can he bring this gently to her? The longer he hesitates, the worst it will become and so he pours himself another shot and one for her and after two steps turns around and just snares the whole bottle. To Between with it! He needs it. "Never left," he tells her as he steps into the bedroom. "How're you feeling?" Setting the bottle down on the nightstand, he offers her her glass. Want this?

Kimmila blows her nose noisily and sits up slightly, still mostly slouched against the headboard. "What's this for?" she asks, taking the glass of whiskey and sniffing it. "What went wrong?" And she eyes him. No keening, so no one is dead…"Your mother? Garan?"

Th'ero reaches over to gently adjust some of her pillows so she can rest comfortably and he does so without pause. Instinctual almost. He has no answer for her at first, his eyes meeting hers and then sliding away but in that fleeting glance she'll see his internal conflict and upset. Something is most certainly wrong! "No, not mother or Garan. I never went to Southern Boll Hold. I came across Nyalle and Kayeth in the bowl…" he falters and sits heavily on the edge of the bed and beside her. His posture is tense and rigid and he lifts his glass to his lips, lowers it and scowls at the wall. He's trying to gain the courage to utter the words, knowing he owes it to her to be straightforwards and honest even when he knows the news will hurt her. He hates himself for that but it would hurt her worse if he withheld it, right? Closing his eyes, he inhales deep and then sighs, looking over to her sitting next to him and his expression is suddenly sad and yet his voice comes out steady and flat. "Nyalle," he begins, raising the glass to his lips again. "Is pregnant." And that second shot of whiskey is knocked back and when he sets the glass aside, his hand is noticeably shaking.

Kimmila shifts and gives him a sweet, loving smile when he adjusts her pillows. Then she has to quickly turn away so she doesn't sneeze on him. Eying the whiskey again, she takes a small sip and grimaces. This is the nice stuff. Then she waits, not all that patiently, for him to speak about this issue. And when he does, she pales. Blinks. Stares at him. "Oh." Clearly it's his, if he's in this state. She can only look at him and then she looks away. That soft hiccup is nothing to be worried about, right?

Th'ero knows well before that soft hiccup that his news has hit hard and deep. Worry? Oh, he's well past worrying. He's almost worked himself into a worried state of anxiety, enough that Velokraeth is now hunkered down in his wallow and concerned. The pale bronze had been pleased, but he is confused by his rider's mood. Reaching for her hand, Th'ero will try to clasp it firmly and still his shaking fingers. "Kimmila," he murmurs in a soft and loving whisper. He's so sorry. He hates this and it twists at his insides to sense the upset he's caused.

Kimmila grips Th'ero's hand, her grasp tight and fierce before she has to lighten up because she doesn't have the strength to maintain it. Then she's crying. Another sniffle, another hiccup, and then tears as she shifts to collapse on her side against his body, curling as much around him as she can. Outside, Varmiroth croons, also confused, thoughts reaching to brush the bronze's mind. « She feels she's lost something…but I don't know what… »

Th'ero grips back just as tight and fierce and when she lets go, his hand will simply drift to some other part of her body as she begins to cry and his heart lurches a bit. Yet how else could he have broken this to her? Sugar coating it would have been almost insulting and there is no way to soften it. The truth is too painfully clear. Shifting, he will move onto the bed and pull her with him until his back is resting against the headboard and she has full access to him. "Shh, love. Shh…" he whispers softly and strokes at her hair, at her back as he tries to comfort her or sooth her enough to stem her tears. Outside, Velokraeth rumbles and is equally as perplexed as his blue ledgemate. « She has not lost him? He is still very much devoted and loyal to her. He is… hurting. He does not like what he has done to upset yours but felt it was the more honourable thing to do. »

Kimmila shifts, scoots and crawls until she's pressed tightly against him and she can cry, sniffle and hiccup all over his tunic. Sorry. She's surprised by her own reaction, but with her body so sick and her defenses so low…she really shouldn't be surprised. Outside, Varmiroth croons softly as he patiently and expertly navigates his rider's feelings. « She is no longer his only. » Only mother, that is.

Th'ero supports her easily against his body and he does not even shed a single thought to her crying and sniffling all over his tunic. That's not his pressing concern. His concern is her and seeing her reduced to this state is hurting him worse that Nyalle's news. Gathering her into his arms, he is very careful about guiding her into his embrace which is both fierce but so tender and gentle and just as she had cradled and rocked their son not so long ago, now he does similar for her. "I'm so sorry, Kimmila." he whispers by her ear, his voice thick with emotion. He's not happy about this either. Not in the slightest bit. Outside, Velokraeth snorts as if taken aback. « Why would she worry over such a thing? » he asks, confused. To him, siring offspring is the whole point! Right?

Kimmila finally manages to get a grip and she breathes shakily. "I'm sorry," she whispers, wiping her nose on her sleeve. "I…shouldn't have…I'm sorry. It was a flight…that's…just…" And more tears stream down her cheeks as she shakes her head. Varmiroth rumbles again softly. « She likes being his only. »

"Don't be," Th'ero murmurs softly and kisses the top of her head before resting his cheek there and stroking it gently over her hair. "That just…?" he coaxes her gently — talk to him. He wants her to and not hold back. He brushes and kisses away her tears and just holds her close and tight to him. Trying to comfort and reassure her with his presence. He's here and hers. Always. Outside, Velokraeth exhales heavily and his mind continues to ripple with confused and conflicted emotions. « She still IS his only. His devotion to her has not wavered. She is his only and his first and he holds her in high honour and respect. No other could ever come close. Surely she knows this? »

Kimmila shakes her head again. "Just…stunned…hurts," she whimpers softly, much like Kyzen did when he sprained his wrist. "Not…the only mother…" she whispers, pressing close to him. « Not the only mother of his children. He shares that with another now. »

Th'ero can relate to the stunned feeling and the hurt. He's still feeling rather floored by the idea and his stomach is still a tight knot. His expression is grim and strained but he continues to hold her all the same. Determined to see her comforted as best he can. Then she reveals the issue hurting her the most about this and he sighs. "Oh Kimmila… No. Don't think like that." he murmurs and will try to lean down to kiss her on the lips and does not care for her current state. He wants that contact, that comfort. "You will always be the mother of my children. Our children! And you've given me a son. My first born. No one else can. I… I am not pleased either by this. I do not know how to explain it to Nyalle that I do not want anything to do with it…" Harsh but true. Th'ero has no desire to fuss or fawn over the Weyrwoman, aside from the bare minimal. Of course he'll have to acknowledge the child as his but beyond that?

The poor kid. Getting no attention from his father because his mother isn't who his father loves. Harsh. Kimmila recoils from the kiss a bit, not because she doesn't want to but because of how /gross/ she is. "Don't, don't want you sick," she protests weakly, leaning against him again with another sniffle. "I…" And she sighs. "Alright."

Quite harsh but that is Th'ero for you. He was very serious with taking Kimmila as his weyrmate! When she recoils from him, he looks a touch hurt by it and yet some small part of him understands. It does not make him desire it (or her) any less however. "I don't care," he whispers gruffly and when his eyes meet hers she'll see that he speaks the truth. Holding her and stroking her back, he kisses her forehead again instead. Alright? That's it? He fidgets a little, troubled and uneasy. Never good with expressing his emotions, he struggles and that only serves to frustrate him further.

Kimmila sighs softly, snuggling against him. "Nothing we can do, right?" she whispers softly. "Nothing…it was going to happen eventually, as many flights as Velo wins…" Nothing to do but accept it and move on, right? Still. She sighs and presses closer to him with a little shiver and another sniffling hiccup.

Th'ero snuggles back against her and continues to keep one arm looped around her with the other reaching over to caress and stroke along her back. "No, there is nothing we can do." he murmurs sadly. He's not about to force Nyalle to rid herself of the pregnancy as he is not about to be that cruel and heartless. So they will have to accept it and move on, but Th'ero knows that Kimmila may never accept it just as he won't acknowledge the child as openly as he does with Kyzen. He makes a low soothing sound when she shivers and hiccups and his features have settled into such a saddened and troubled look. How does he fix this? "I've always thought it impossible to happen…" he admits quietly. "Becoming pregnant from a flight."

Kimmila takes a few deep breaths and then pauses, turning to blow her nose and then snuggle against him again. "Impossible?" she asks with a frown. "Flight babies happen all the time…"

Th'ero leans his head back to tilt it so he can look down at her, frowning as well and still looking sad and a bit drawn. Exhausted, almost, by the drag of emotions and shock. He also looks embarrassed and as his cheeks flush a bit he drops his gaze. "Well, yes. What are the odds that from one coupling it leads to pregnancy? Velokraeth has caught many greens. None of those women have carried my children. Unless, of course… I'm not being told." There's a scary thought? He brushes that aside as he exhales heavily. "It just seems so unlikely."

Kimmila shrugs, "I don't know the exact odds, but it's possible. It happens." She flinches slightly at the idea of him having /other/ children out there. No, she can't handle that right now. Moving on. "Did you talk with her about…about what she wants you to do? What role to play? Names?" All that stuff?

Th'ero should learn when not to do or say certain things but in his troubled headspace right now, he's not entirely aware of what he is doing. His hand caresses down from her side and then rests flat against her belly, firm and warm. "If it happens so easily, why does it not for us?" He suspects he knows the answer but in his still reeling mind it's a thought that surfaces. Why Nyalle and not Kimmila? He slept with the Weyrwoman once through flight lust and he… well, can't even count with Kimmila how many times they've shared the bed (and the couch, and the floor and…). Th'ero flinches a bit this time and he shakes his head to her questions. "No. She told me her news and I… excused myself." Classic. His expression looks pained and troubled though as he begins that inner tug of war between 'right and wrong'.

Kimmila shifts slightly beneath his hand with a small frown. "I don't know," she says, her voice flattening slightly. "I go between a lot more than she does…" Maybe they have conceived a lot, but the babies just don't make it. "Mm." is all she says to him excusing himself.
Th'ero shifts with her but his hand slides back up to her hip and side, lingering there instead. He gives her a look for her flattened voice and his mouth draws back into a thin line. That is what he had assumed and it upsets him to know that logically it would make sense. Nyalle does not Between much, Kimmila does. He shies away from his thoughts, from the truth hovering there. There must be another reason! Sighing, his body sinks back against the pillows and he lifts his free hand up to scrub wearily at his face, leaving it to linger as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

Kimmila tilts her head, looking up at him. "You don't think I'm…incapable of having children, often, do you?" Nyalle is young, beautiful, and clearly fertile… "What?"

Th'ero lowers his hand and looks at her with a shocked look, "What? No… No of course not, Wingmate!" he tells her, reaching over to gently cup the side of her face and almost by habit he begins to tilt her chin up and lowering his head to kiss her. For a half-second he hesitates, knowing she is sick and remembering how she almost recoiled from him before. Yet he is suddenly swept with a desire for it and so he will attempt to touch her lips to his. "I know you could carry my… our child if we planned it carefully." Or she was injured again!

Kimmila frowns when he kisses her, drawing back. "Stop," she protests. "I'm sick and disgusting. No." Bad weyrmate. "I'm not so sure about that. There have been plenty of chances, and nothing happened…"

"You are not," Th'ero protests in return even though it could very well be the truth and he is just selfishly not seeing it or in all honesty just does not care! He does look a touch stung though by her drawing back and he will respectfully do the same. "Perhaps there were other factors too. Stress? You Between almost every day though, Wingmate…" he murmurs softly.

Kimmila sighs. "I know," she murmurs, shaking her head. "I need to get back to sleep," she murmurs, taking a few deep breaths and having to turn away to cough. "I…just…you have a safe trip okay? I'll be here…"

Th'ero frowns in concern when she coughs and… dismisses him? He's not sure how to feel at this point, aside from low and miserable. Seeing to her being settled comfortably on the bed again, he will lean forwards to kiss her but stop midway. No… she doesn't want that of him. So he strokes back her hair instead and just looks down at her lovingly but sad. Saddened that in his mind he has failed her somehow, knowing she is hurting but powerless to help when he is the problem. "Is there anything you need?" he asks in a very quiet voice while slipping from the bed. Right, he was supposed to be in Southern Boll Hold by now. "Before I go?"

Kimmila shakes her head as she snuggles beneath the covers. "No, just hurry back with more…of whatever you're going to get," she mumbles. Poor Th'ero. But Kimmila is exhausted, and sick, and she just can't muster up the energy to do anything but sleep right now. Sleep and forget and heal, hopefully. "Be safe," she adds softly.

"Herbs." Th'ero answers her softly. Herbs for her, more of that chowder and anything more to make her well again. Happy and comfortable… only now he's made her upset in a different way. He knows she is exhausted and sick and he tries to quell the selfishness he feels. Who is he to talk to now? Kenali? Garan? That brings a grimace as he shoves all that aside. No, he cannot talk to them. They'll know something is wrong but he does not feel comfortable discussing such things with them, parents or not. "I'll be safe." he promises. That much he can promise with certainty. "Rest easy, love." he says in a whisper soft voice before stepping out of the bedroom. It takes him forever to do it but once he's in the main living area his steps turn brisk only to slow again when he's in the wallow. Velokraeth rumbles soft and concerned as Th'ero steps forwards to check on the straps the pale bronze is wearing and then apparently stops to stand still with his head lowered. It takes a gentle nudge from Velokraeth to get him moving again, out to the ledge to wait and the bronze lingers long enough to neck-bump Varmiroth. « We will be back soon. » he assures the blue.

Varmiroth croons softly, his worry for his rider plain in his posture and the hue of his hide. « Hurry back, » he says, « I do not like her being alone. » Though he will guard the entrance, he can't get /in/ the weyr. But he knows Wiyaneth is right there, within his mental reach, if something were to go wrong. And that soothes him somewhat.

Velokraeth croons as well and in gentle reassurance. « We won't be gone for long, I promise you. Mine does not wish to be gone long from her side either. This… has upset him greatly. » Though why the bronze isn't so certain. Outside, Th'ero has climbed up and buckled in and Velokraeth spreads his wings to launch into the air. Circling slow, he has to struggle to get his rider to focus long enough for the Between image. Then they're gone and there is only a quick brush agains Varmiroth's mind from a distance to assure the blue that all is well on their end.

Varmiroth is relieved at that mental brush from Velokraeth, and the blue settles down to wait. Inside, Kimmila has dropped into a deep sleep, though Faranth knows how long her sickness will /let/ her sleep before she's tossing and turning. Especially when her dream begins to take hold….

Velokraeth waits in a high level clearing while Th'ero goes to pay a visit to Kenali and Garan's cottage. Going through the motions of greeting and the usual exchange of news. Herbs are gathered, chowder and bread is packed and he has to placate his mother by having a bowl for himself to assure her that he's not about to drop dead too. They can sense something is wrong with Th'ero but of course he says little. Just eats as quickly as he can manage, already growing anxious the longer he stays away. At last he can make his escape and he all but runs back to Velokraeth to pack the supplies.

Kimmila is well sunk into her dream by now, deep in a fever dream that even Varmiroth can't get her out of. The blue twitches on the ledge, tail swishing as he waits none too patiently for the bronze and rider to return. Hurry up…

They hurry as fast as they can and Velokraeth appears above Fort Weyr and circles down to land on the ledge. Th'ero dismounts and goes through the routines: unpacking, slipping the straps off and hanging them, gathering everything to bring it into the weyr. Undressing from his flight gear and preparing a kettle to boil for Kimmila's medicinal tea. He's going to keep the chowder in it's thermal packing for now, to ensure it is still hot and warm for when she wakes. Little does he know… « We've returned! » Velokraeth greets Varmiroth, only to hesitate as he can pick up on the blue's distress. « What is it? What's happened? »

When Velokraeth returns, Varmiroth reaches out to him immediately. « She is in a dream I can not wake her from. A fever dream, and it's a bad one… » There are flickers from the blue's mind, a feeling of lost hopelessness, of being cast away, of running…running, running, running.

Velokraeth is immediately on alert and concerned, settling close to Varmiroth's side. « How long has she been like this? She wasn't feverish when we left! » Was she? The bronze absorbs those thoughts and passes them to his rider. Poor Th'ero. He almost drops the mugs he was washing out as he curses loudly and harshly in the kitchenette. Hurrying into the bedroom, he will immediately sit beside Kimmila and reach out to touch her forehead. "Wingmate?" he calls to her softly, urgently. Please wake up?

Kimmila is burning with fever, a sudden and swift turn of her illness. « Not long, » Varmiroth answers. Time. It's hard for him to comprehend. But he tries. Inside, Kimmila stirs with a soft whimper. "No," she whispers, "don't…she's not good…"

"Shh, Kimmila. It's alright." Th'ero soothes even though he's certain she cannot hear him. Swearing under his breath, he will then hurry off again to gather supplies. Water, a washcloth and then he's hurriedly tearing through their medicinal supplies. He has to brew her tea but now he's searching for the herbs known to aid with fever… He'll find them but now comes the tricky part of waking her enough for her to take it. Setting everything up in the bedroom, he will sit at her side and begin to apply the wet washcloth to her forehead. "Kimmila, love?" he calls gently. "Wake up. You're dreaming, you have to wake up." Please? Velokraeth can grasp time a little more but time is not the issue. Getting Varmiroth's rider well again IS. « Mine needs her closer to a coherent state to give her the medication she needs. We need to wake her as much as possible, little brother. » Can it be done?

Varmiroth is agitated, but Velokraeth and Th'ero's presence is helping him quite a bit. « I will try, » he promises, his mental focus shifting after he speaks. Inside, Kimmila thrashes a bit, twitching and whimpering again. "What about Kyzen…" she mumbles. Then, "Southern…" Before her eyes slowly blink open and she whimpers again before they close once more. "Let me sleep…"

Velokraeth will keep Varmiroth company and lend his support to the blue in all ways possible. Be it physical, mental or both the bronze is there for his ledge mate and for both their riders. They've been through this before and they can do it again! He is a strong source of confidence and strength, allowing it to drift into Varmiroth over their bond. Inside, Th'ero comforts Kimmila as best he can as she thrashes, gently holding her until she settles. "Kyzen is safe," he tells her in a gentled tone and then shakes his head. "Soon, Kimmila. I'll let you sleep soon, alright? You got to stay awake for me now. I've something for you to drink. It'll help. Do this and then you can sleep." he murmurs and moves to gently prop her up against the pillows, stroking back her hair and helping to support her if she needs it. He'll help her with the mug too, making sure the liquid within is cooled enough for easy consumption before lifting it to her lips.

Kimmila frowns, blinking in confusion and jerking back when she smells the liquid. "That's tea," she says, her groggy voice /highly/ accusing. She drinks it though, but she makes a fuss and horrible faces while she does. Betrayed! When she's done she falls limply back again with a groan. "Don't leave me," she whispers brokenly, eyes struggling to focus on Th'ero's face. "Her baby is beautiful. Baby girl. Sweet. Her hair though." And there's a brief, /wicked/ grin. "But we're good. Me'n Kyzen. We're good for you. Don't pick her…"

Th'ero grimaces, "It's tea but it's going to help you." Don't accuse him! Not his fault that there is so few ways to ingest herbs and he's not about to try to get her to eat when she's this gripped by fever! "That's it. I know it tastes awful but just this one mug… there. It's done." he murmurs and sets it aside. Next comes some water. "Just a few sips of this. Clear out that taste. It's water." In case she can't tell. Once she has fallen back to the bed, he will resume keeping the cool cloth to her forehead. "I'm not going to leave you," he says in a low but fierce tone and her next words have his eyes widening and his heart lurching painfully. Just fever words, right? Leaning down, he whispers right by her ear in a voice choked with emotion and gruff. "I've always chosen you, Kimmila. Always. You are mine and I want only you." Cursed fever!

Kimmila sips the water and then squirms away, slouching more deeply beneath the blankets. " didn't…" she mumbles, her eyes drifting close again. "You…went to her…proper. S'good. Mates…Weyr…weyrleaders…can't be with a bluerider," she mumbles, shifting again, trying to get comfortable.

Th'ero allows her to squirm away and will try to help settle her comfortably under the blankets and against the pillows. The only thing he is insistent on is keeping the cool, damp cloth on her forehead and he will readjust it anytime it slips or if she attempts to remove it. Her words though… Her words cut him and he winces, knowing now in his heart that what he is glimpsing from her fevered state are her fears. Fears he set into motion with his news of Nyalle's pregnancy. Fears he cannot fix and it tears at him. No amount of gifts or reassuring words or caressing touch could soothe that. Could it? "The Weyrleader will be with a bluerider because it is the bluerider who has his heart." he whispers to her, desperate for her to understand. Even though he knows it's the fever talking and part of him just wants to stay silent but he can't.

Kimmila shifts, groaning softly before she turns away to hack and cough and sneeze. Exhausted, she flops back against the pillows again. "No," she protests weakly, eyes closed. "You left. So we left…gone to Southern…again…"

Th'ero will stroke and caress her back when she coughs and hacks, suddenly no longer caring if she protests his touch. Again, he will adjust the cloth on her forehead and he will lean in close against her side. His eyes drift closed at her weak protests, his jaw clenching and working silently. It's just the fever, it's just her nightmares. There is no truth in it and he knows this but it still hurts to hear. Knowing that she has that fear or her mind conjures it up. "I haven't left you, love." he says in a voice that wavers slightly. He takes a few slow, calming breaths. "I'm not going to leave you…" He will reach for her hand then and gently hold it, as if to will her to hear him. "You're safe, Kimmila and I am here beside you. In Fort." Home and safe.

Kimmila squirms again, pulling her hand away from his and then kicking, sending the covers flying. Whimpering, she sniffles and starts to cry softly, curled up into a fetal position. Soft crying, gentle sniffles, sneezes and coughs as she blindly shivers and reaches for the covers she just discarded.

Th'ero begins to break at her tears and out of defence he shields. His guards go up and he shuts down the emotional side of himself before he can sink too deep. Just enough is left that he does not become so emotionally detached as to be cold and impersonal but if anyone saw him now it would be evident that he's not himself.. or at least has reverted to his brooding and closed off nature. Gathering the covers she's kicked off, he pulls them over her again. He murmurs to her soothingly as he finds that cloth and dampens it again before resting it on her forehead and he tends to her with unwavering patience as he focuses on one goal: to seeing her well again. Out in the wallow, Velokraeth fidgets restlessly where he rests with and against Varmiroth.

Varmiroth shifts in agitation and worry, his mind brushing against Velokraeth's. « She is not well, » he whispers, worried. Inside, Kimmila stills for a moment and then scoots over closer to him, seeking to press her body tightly against his. As tight as she can get, a weak embrace with one arm as she wants to hold him but lacks the strength to. Seeking him out, needing him.

Velokraeth shares in that concern and worry with Varmiroth, his mind rippling with it. « She will recover. She is strong. » THAT he is confident of! « Mine… he hurts and hurts for her. His shields are up but he is determined to help her be well. He will not fail her. » he tells him, his voice quiet. Inside, Th'ero stiffens at first when Kimmila is pressing tightly against him and so abruptly. Yet rather than linger there, he relaxes and visibly sags and does not leave her to seek for what she desires for long. Carefully he will stretch out on the bed and then guide her gently to him. Here he is and all for her. Always hers. "Come here," he calls to her in a heavily drawled and accented voice. "I'm here, Wingmate." Shielded, but he's there for her.

Kimmila scoots and wiggles, almost instinctive in her search for him. She nestles against his side, her head on his chest and pressed close with another soft hiccup and whimper. "I don't feel well," she whispers. The first thing she's said coherent in a while.

Th'ero guides her and welcomes her, curving his body to press reassuringly against hers and close those gaps. Offering her what she seeks and needs and keeping himself carefully shielded so he can function and not fall apart at a crucial time. Later perhaps, but not now. His hands stroke along her hair and down along her back in slow, gentle motions. Repetitive and soothing. "You've become feverish," he explains gently. "It's alright, Wingmate. You just need to sleep. Everything will be alright."

Kimmila sighs softly, pressing close. "Varmiroth says..I was dreaming…" she murmurs. Her posture is familiar in how it curves to match his, how she shifts to meet his body, so natural and so well known to them both.

Very familiar and Th'ero does take some comfort it that, but he cannot quite yet relax his guard and shields. He continues to caress her hair and back, holding her to him and curving his body to hers. "You were dreaming. A nightmare, I think. It was the fever," he whispers softly. "But it's passed now." She's safe. Safe here with him.

Kimmila shifts to look up at him. "What was it about? Was I talking?"

Th'ero should have known she would ask and despite having his shields up, he flinches a little. Just a brief twitch before his features settle into a gentled look and he leans in to lightly brush his lips against her forehead. Is she still feverish? "You were talking," he whispers softly. "And quite upset. You were… I think you were dreaming that I had chose Nyalle over you and Kyzen." It takes him awhile to say all of it out loud and even then it's so quiet.

Kimmila frowns at that flinch. "What?" she presses with her frown deepening. She's still feverish, but not delirious. She grimaces at his words, shaking her head. "You would never," she whispers. "Never." She believes that, but does he believe she does?

Th'ero sits up a little on the bed and against the pillows, reaching for that damp cloth and soaking it again. While he rings it out, his expression wavers and then falls. He's troubled and conflicted, still hurt by her fevered and delirious words and yet aware that he shouldn't be but cannot seem to shake it off. "Never," he agrees. "And I tried telling you that but you were still delirious at the time." he tells her as he places the cloth back over her forehead tenderly.

Kimmila closes her eyes when he places the cloth over her forehead, still pressed close to his side. "I'm sorry," she says softly. "That must have been hard for you to hear…"

"Don't be sorry, Wingmate. You weren't yourself and it was the fever making you say those words." Th'ero murmurs, smiling softly to reassure her even though his mind is still troubled. Does he believe it was all the fever? He wants to but he is also concerned that there is some truth to it. Her fears made into nightmares, fears he should not have seen perhaps and never would have if it weren't for her delirious state. "How are you feeling?" he asks, whisper soft as he brushes back some of her hair and adjusts a few of the pillows.

Kimmila keeps her eyes closed, exhaling softly. "Tired," she admits. "Exhausted. Weak. I couldn't get up if I wanted to." Thankfully she doesn't. "I just need rest…lots and lots of rest." No more tea.

Th'ero nods his head and exhales slow and soft, reaching over to gently pull up the covers over her body as he begins to sit up and shift on the bed. "You won't have to get up, Wingmate. I am here and I will tend to you." he murmurs, looking down at her with a faint but loving smile. Guarded, shielded. "Rest now. When you wake, there is more of that chowder if you are hungry."

Kimmila smiles gently up at him, too sleepy to notice his guarded and shielded state. "That sounds delicious. I love that chowder…thank you, love." Shifting further beneath the covers, she begins to slowly drift to sleep.

Th'ero does not hold it against her that she doesn't notice. How could he? She is ill and he is a grown man. He will cope, as he has in the past. Smiling at her thanks, he slides from the bed and sees to her being settled comfortably. "I love you, Kimmila." he whispers softly but in a genuine tone by her ear as she drifts to sleep and then steps back. Lingering to be certain she falls into an untroubled sleep before turning to slip out of the bedroom with slow steps. Into the living area he goes and he settles heavily onto the couch. He should work, but he cannot seem to bring himself to move and his eyes focus on the flickering flames of the fire in the hearth. Lost to his troubled thoughts and brooding, occasionally interrupted by Velokraeth's meddling.