fic: Sickbed Symphony
Jul. 14th, 2019 11:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bonnefoisTitle: Sickbed Symphony
Series: Fire Emblem: Awakening
Character/pairing: Laurent/Noire,
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Noire falls ill, and returns to the recovery tent she knows all too well.
Word count: 5,365
Author's note:
I've always wanted to write about the isolating aspects of chronic pain + disability, or the overwhelming loneliness of it. it's not so easy to do in published work, though I don't think the scope really came through here either. But at least I got to express the feeling of I'm in such pain, I just wish someone would hold my hand that I've felt several times in my life.
I didn't intend to parallel or reference the Brady/Lucina supports (Or Brady/Noire supports, for that matter) but maybe I accidentally did. I'd blame that I just finished getting them again to ensure that Lucina got a happy ending, so no swinging solo ending for her.
Anyways, I feel bad, sickfic comes. It's like clockwork. Also note that this one as a content warning has a bit of unsanitary note due to sickfic, you know.
As I mentioned before, according to lore (largely gold tile) Noire has begun to learn hexes and curses on her own, and can even do your elemental magic even though she is canonly an archer, and Tharja didn't teach her. You can specifically see this in her gold tile supports, especially involving her mother.
Stahl!Laurent, Gaius!Noire.
In the end, she was a liar. But all the words she'd said were just to try and reassure herself.
I'm not really unhealthy, I'm just pale.
I'm fine, honest.
I don't need help.
I'll be okay.
It was with some shame that she returned to the sickbed that had been waiting for her. The blankets to her chin was a mockery, not a comfort. In the end, she was so damn good at letting people down. It was her best talent, right after being a pessimistic coward, and pushing away everyone when her other side came out.
Noire fell in and out of fitful sleep. She'd awake to a throbbing in her head like it was cracking in two. She was dying, surely. She'd survived the horrors of the Risen and the fell dragon Grima destroying her time, only to fall to some invisible affliction.
It was pathetic, a horrible end to an endlessly tragic story.
But it was fitting, wasn't it? She was never going to have a happy ending.
Through the pain, she reached out to nothing. There were no nurses, no one she could call for help. Her father and mother were dead and gone. She couldn't count on these versions of them to love her. After all, they'd have their own Noire one day.
Her whole body was racked with heat, her mind filled with pain and delirium. Even thinking was painful. Yet horrible thoughts always bubbled up from the ether of her mind.
She just--she just wished someone would hold her hand. That was all. Some kind of comfort before death. But she wouldn't even get that. Naga never listened to her prayers, but she couldn't blame her. After all, she was Plegian. Naga probably didn't think too fondly of the people who delivered up their children and prisoners to the Dragon's Table. Even if she wasn't part of the Grimleal, Noire didn't expect the divine dragon to think kindly of her.
Her plea came out as a cry in the darkness that echoed into nothing.
She closed her eyes, only to wake to dreaming.
Every part of her ached. But there was pressure. A hand was there, clasped in hers. She knew that had to be a dream, because nobody would stay beside her like this. Not even her parents. They'd left her, taken by the Risen.
She asked the ghost, pleaded, really, to not leave her. To never let go. Because the pain would always be a step away, be it a nightmare, a terror that gripped her in battle, a wound that wouldn't heal.
The ghost stayed.
*
She could feel the heat under her skin, as potent as the Demon's Ingle. Everything was blurry, with soft edges of olive green and brown and red. She was half-lidded, barely awake, but even that amount of effort was exhausting. There was a voice.. somehow that voice seemed familiar. This person was reading something? She couldn't make out the words, but they were so calming. She wished the ghost would stay. Please stay, please stay she said in a cracked, hoarse voice. Don't leave me, never leave me.
Do not fear; I will not leave your side, the ghost responded.
The ghost held tight to her hand as she reached out. Noire was glad for that one comfort before a death.
*
All the pain coalesced inside her, until a horrible feeling rose up, desperate to escape. It started with horrible coughing, then bent over her sick bed. A black bucket was there. She clutched the edges with trembling hands.
There was an acrid, horrible taste in her mouth. Something wet was pushed against her lips.
"Come, now. You need to drink. Do you need me to lift your head?"
Her chin was softly lifted by gloved hands. Water dribbled from out her mouth, but she felt a little less parched. She fell back to the bed, spent by that small exertion.
"S-sorry..." Noire murmured. "I didn't...mean...."
More apologies were on the tip of her tongue, but she was too tired to speak them. Had she spilled...some some on them?
No apologies are needed. Just...please get well, Noire. That's all I ask. Please return to us...to me.
The ghost had such a calm voice. Noire felt like she could blanket herself in faint comfort just at the sound of it.
A hoarse "I'll try..." was all she could manage.
*
Noire's eyes fluttered. Something cool was applied to her neck. Water slipped down her back, over her face. Some wet cloth was placed on her forehead. She blinked into nothing. Everything was painful, everything was blurry.
You're finally awake.... Can you take this? I know it's bitter.
She was helped up to a seated position. All she could manage was a faint nod. Her throat felt swollen.
My apologies that it's still bitter. I tried to sweeten it with honey the best I could. I know you prefer sweet foods.
The pain and heat slowly began to recede. She felt something like hope that maybe, just maybe, she might survive all this. Still, sleepiness spread over her like a blanket. Maybe it was a side-effect of the medicine.
"Thank you..." she murmured.
The ghost said something, but she couldn't hear. But the voice calmed her completely as she fell to the escape of the darkness of slumber.
*
She awoke, clearer around the edges this time. Maybe the medicine really did help that much. It certainly couldn't be her body. Despite her protests, she fell into the sickbed with alarming frequency. The excruciating pain and heat had dimmed to a low hum. She managed to push herself up. A wet cloth slipped from her forehead, to land in her lap. A hand reached out to instantly steady her, help her up.
The memories of her illness were a blur of olive and brown, and a soft voice. But now, lucid for that moment, she began to put together the fragments of her memory. Her "ghost" was no lingering mystery, but the person who had been there all along.
"Laurent...? You're here too?"
Laurent opened his brown eyes. Had he fallen asleep there, with his glasses still on, no less? They'd fallen down on his nose/ Laurent let out a yawn, which he covered with one gloved hand. It was rather...adorable, really.
Maybe it was just that she was coming back into lucidity, but he cut such a handsome profile. His dull robes were pristine despite being in a sickbay tent. He leaned in and she felt her cheeks heat. He licked his cracked lips.
"I have scarcely left this bedside since then. Only to get supplies, and rest on a nearby bedroll."
"What?"
"You asked me not to leave. Even if you had not asked, I would have visited many a time to reassure myself that you would, in fact, recover."
All those fever dreams of a hand clasped in hers had been Laurent all a while? And that calm, comforting voice was him reading and reaching out to her.
"I'm sorry for being a burden," Noire said softly.
"It was no burden."
Laurent smiled gently.
"I'm so glad... You've returned to us, Noire. To...me."
He peeled off his glove and rested it against her forehead. Then he pressed his own forehead against hers. Close enough to leave a thrumming inside her. Close enough to feel his breath against her, close enough to almost kiss. His hair was always slightly unkempt from his hat, brown like his father's, with a hint of his mother's more auburn shade.
Her lips parted, she took a quick breath.
"Your fever has broken. While you may be weak for a few days and should certainly take care not to overwork, I daresay you will be all right now."
When he drew back, it took Noire a few moments to compose herself again.
"Mmnnggh....Where is everyone? Wait, what day is it? How long have I been--like this?"
Laurent pushed up his glasses, which had slightly been pushed aside from when he'd come so near to her. "You've been down with a horrible ague that has been going through the entire camp. This would be the seventh day. Some say it is a curse from the fell dragon himself, or from Plegian mages from the last parley. Several have fallen ill. However, none with your intensity."
Laurent cleared his throat.
"I spoke with Brady. He theorized that yours manifested in a worse manner due to overwork and lack of care. I personally agree with his assessment. I am not a member of the clergy, though my experience with making of potions and research leads me to that answer being correct."
Noire brushed her mouth with the back of her hand. "Maybe."
Noire grimaced as she realized the scent of her. There was some kind of salve that had been rubbed upon her body at some time, and mixed with the sweat of her unwashed skin and the sickness--she truly smelled horrific. Somewhere between herbs, pig slop and the fetid Risen themselves.
Noire blushed. She could hardly believe that Laurent could even stand to be this close to her without recoiling.
"If you feel well enough, Lucina taught me this technique. Can you sit up? I believe this will surely help."
"Are you...sure? I smell..."
"It is to be expected for any work within the sickbay tents. Besides, I'm used to strong scents. Before Grima brought about the end of our time, I spent many an hour in my father's apothecary. The brewing of potions is not for the weak of stomach. Some of the herbs are not quite so fragrant, especially when boiled down to their essence."
"Did you make the salve?"
"Yes. I worked together with father to ensure it was made correctly. I'm not sure if it helped with lowering your fever. I did not wish to leave your side them, but I tasked Brady and Libra with checking in on you whilst I perfected it."
Noire leaned up, though the effort left her feeling somewhat dizzy.
"All right..if it helps..."
He removed his gloves. She let out a soft cry at the first touch against her. It'd been so long since anyone touched her. At least, when she was lucid. Even her friends treated her like an explosive compound that almost anything could set off.
"My apologies, did I shock you? Sometimes, being a mage, we hold more power. There is more chance of static surprises as such. I'm used to it, but others..."
"N-No... I just... didn't expect it."
She hadn't expected the warmth, the firmness and steadying feeling of Laurent's hands. She hadn't expected the way her body would react, heartbeat desperate, leaning in towards him for more. Were parts of this ague still lingering, or....?
"There are so many knots and tightness in your muscles. You've truly overworked yourself."
She didn't even have to turn around to know how he was looking at her. A crease between his eyes, pursed lips. She'd seen it before when she'd carried water and he took the bucket from her, and when he'd told her to eat more.
Maybe it was a symptom of all the times she'd been exposed to dark magic, but she rarely felt hungry. Sometimes a terror rose up in her that she was surely turning into a Risen and that would be all she could think of for days. Even as illogical as it was, the waking nightmare would consume her. The thought would intrude over and over and obsessively beat down her defenses until she was left curled up in a ball, and then screaming at the onslaught of her mind. Her horrible mind would always find something to worry about until she felt numb and barely alive.
Saying she sleptwalked through life would imply she slept.
"I'm just trying to not let anyone down, and trying to keep up with everyone else," Noire said softly.
"Pushing yourself into a sickbed and early death accomplishes nothing except worrying those that care for you."
"If you're not careful, you'll catch what I had," Noire said.
"Always a concern of those that work within the sickbay." His hands paused, and rested at her shoulders. "Do you wish me to stop?"
Noire closed her eyes. "...No."
She'd spent many sleepless tights, her back tight and a deep ache in her arms from drawing her bow so many times. But that was nothing compared to the torment of the battle. The screams of the Risen, the people they had been unable to save, her parents. It never left her, but at the night was when it truly ruled over her.
And it didn't make everything better, but her muscles slowly began to soften under his touch, and the knots smooth out. Maybe 'relax' was too simple a term, because she felt anything but relaxed. The softness and warmth of his touch only made her long for him to put his hands on her more--she couldn't put it into words, couldn't even bring herself to think of what kind of desire had come up inside her. She blushed deeply, glad that he couldn't see her face at this angle.
"There, that should suffice for now. I wouldn't want to risk tiring you out. Regardless, I brewed up some tea from some herbs I requested my father gather. It's supposed to help your inflamed glands, according to the tomes I have thoroughly researched."
"I must leave a moment to gather it--it's brewed elsewhere."
"Ah....all right, then," Noire said.
She pulled the covers tight around her, grateful for this moment to compose herself. He returned in a few minutes with a tea cup in hand. Not the delicate porcelain that Brady's mother took hers in, but a sturdier brown one which had been forged in fires.
Steam rose up from the cup. She bit her lower lip--his fingers grazed hers as he passed it along. Noire took a tentative sip of the warm liquid. It was bitter enough that her face twisted into a grimace.
"My apologies, I asked your father to bring me some honey to sweeten the tea, however he has not returned yet. You probably have quite a sweet tooth with Gaius as a father?"
Sweets reminded her of her father. The scent of sugary pastries, and she would be transported to her father teaching her how to find a mark, and how to steal a cookie and wallet alike. One bite of buttery, flaky deliciousness and she would be transported to sitting on a stone wall, her father's gloved hand patting her head.
Happy times that would never quite come. Because even if her father was so near, he was so very far.
"A bit," was all Noire said.
Noire finished the rest of the tea in gulps simply to finish it off. When she leaned back (fell back, really) she honestly hoped the bitterness was filled with such potency that she'd be cured almost immediately.
He held out a flask of water. "To removed the horrible taste. I promise next time it will taste better. I'll get that honey if I have to hunt down a hive in the forest myself--Ah, I should not keep you up. Rest is tantamount to proper healing! Indeed, the body cannot heal without it. So please, be sure to--"
Noire cut him off. "QUIET YOUR FLAPPING LIPS!"
Noire covered her mouth. She hadn't even reached for her talisman. Maybe the sickness brought her other side up closer?
"S-sorry! I didn't mean to, really--"
Laurent blushed. "Yes, I did go on too long. You need to rest and recovery, not listen to me blather on about unimportant minutiae."
"No, I'm sorry...Um, thank you for being here, Laurent. And...everything else. You took such good care of me, really...I'm so grateful. You put so much of your tasks on hold while you stopped everything to attend to me. I'm going to try and get better now because...I don't want to let anyone down. ....Especially you."
"You've never let me down, Noire. And It would have been meaningless. Whatever task I had set to, I would have not been able to focus upon at all for fear and worry at your condition. And had I not rested here, in the sick bed near you, I would have surely lost much sleep, unable to even close my eyes for concern of you."
She knew he was just trying to make her feel better, but it was still rather nice to hear, even if it was idle flattery. Still, a little part of her wanted to believe it, to believe that he could care about her.
*
Three days later, Noire found herself in a sickbay tent again, but this time, she wasn't the one upon the bedroll.
Noire hoisted up her satchel. Inside were the implements of the get-well curse, though she still felt a deep reserve at the thought of actually trying it upon another person. Noire had begun to learn what her mother would not teach. To better understand the mother she lost, and protect herself against future hexes.
She couldn't just sit idly by and watch Laurent burn away to nothing. It wouldn't hurt, she reminded herself. The books she had poured through said it wasn't painful.
Laurent let out a low groan, and pushed himself up to a seated position. He actually seemed thinner, though she couldn't tell if it was simply because his voluminous robes had been stripped down, and he had on a simple shirt, the buttons undone past his throat to allow salve to be applied.
She swallowed at his exposed throat, the parts of his chest that the buttons showed. She looked away quickly.
"Laurent... sorry, you caught my fever," Noire said.
He gave her a grim smile. "So be it. A small price to ensure your continued health. I would do more, if I could. I am afraid I must respect my own tenents of not working too hard," Laurent said.
"No, don't push yourself--You...already did so much..."
She smiled softly. She wanted to believe that in the end, he didn't resent her for this. Even if it wasn't true...she wanted that lie.
Her heart whispered then that he had to live. She liked him too much to ever lose him. Loved him, really--no, she didn't allow herself to think on this.
The fire tome was left in her lap. If she overdid it--she couldn't even think about what would happen.
"Did you need fire to burn something?"
Noire nodded. "Yes, but a full fire tome seems...dangerous."
"Noire, there's a tome in my satchel. The one with the small flame. It is one of those tomes I collect with little but sentimental value. It forms a infinitesimal tiny flame in the palm of your hand. Actually, this one has great use. It is quite good for lighting candles and incense."
"And ingredients of potions," Noire said.
The leaves were rough in her hands as she put them one by one, into the fire. Smoke rose up from the leaves and filled the tent with a scent so unique that it was difficult to describe. Neither sweet or spicy, but thick and bitter like the taste of a potion.
These opened up the lungs, and helped breath. The books she read called them the 'herbs of the air' and 'the plant of breath.' The actual name of the plant, however, was difficult to write.
Maybe in the end, they weren't really hexes or curses. She put no ill will in them, merely herbs and prayers she knew would never reach Naga. Prayers that Laurent would survive this ague, and return to them--to her. It wasn't quite the works of a mage, dark or elemental. Maybe she was forging her own path, her own magic.
Following her mother's example, but with her own twist.
The fragrant smoke filled the room. Laurent's coughing stopped, at least temporarily. The book said it would take several applications.
"Remarkable, whatever you have done has already made my breath come far more easily. Would you teach me later on?"
Noire nodded. She refused to think of a world where she lost Laurent. "I learned more. But I'd have to preform them on you...they won't hurt, but I'd need your permission...I wouldn't want to be like---her."
"Do what you must. I trust your judgment and that I won't be soundly turned into a frog," Laurent said wryly.
Noire chuckled. "No, I don't know any curses of that magnitude. Just little things. A happiness curse for my talismans, and some get better curses. And... um... And....thank you. You stayed with me. You probably didn't get as much done on your tasks as you wanted. I'm sorry to have wasted so much of your time."
"As I have told you again and again, it is not a waste. Time spent with you is never a waste."
Noire blushed and stared down at the tome. "I probably won't be as good as you, but would you like me to read to you?"
"Yes, if it is not too much trouble. Once I fall asleep, then feel free to go back to your quarters. I wouldn't want you to overtire on my behalf."
"No...I'm staying. It's only right," Noire said.
"I do not consider it a debt to be paid. It was not entirely unselfish. I stayed because I wanted to ascertain your condition to alleviate my own concerns."
She clutched her talisman. "QUIET AND GET TO HEALING, DAMN YOU! WE WILL STAY AND THIS IS FINAL, SO SHUT YOUR MOUTH BEFORE YOU MUST HEAL FROM MORE THAN A MERE SICKNESS!"
He blushed, deeper than the flush of his fever. "Y-yes, I shall obey immediately..."
"Sorry," she said softly. "She just...comes out sometimes. I don't really mean it or want to hurt you."
"I know. I do not fear that side of you. In fact, I find that part of you...rather....captivating."
Noire blushed. "You..."
"This is no feverish delirium. I have been trying to say these words for some time."
There were many ways of saying 'I love you.' A sweet pressed into her palm when she was sad, a pat on the head, and a nickname just for her, and how her mother refused to teach her curses that would harm her, and leave her covered in rashes and aches in the aftermath. Neither of her parents were adept at expressing their affection, so Noire knew all too well the in-between.
And it was in the in-between that she saw so many I love yous. There was do watch out and vulnerary for her satchel, made by his own hand, staying by her side in battle, in the sick bay tent even when the scent must have been unbearable. There were teas and potions brewed for her every night to try and find a way to heal her.
There was his hand in hers, held tight through feverish delirium. It was no unknown ghost, nothing so intangible.
"When you fell ill, I was racked with such a dread that you might not survive. I couldn't bear to be parted from you. Even the time I left to make that potion was true agony. It made me realize--"
He broke off in a series of coughs. His symptoms had actually taken a different turn than hers. She only hoped he wouldn't go through the torment she had.
"Laurent...please don't exert yourself."
"No...I want to say this. Despite this ague, I have never felt more clear. Noire, I adore you completely. All of you. You don't have to apologize for your outbursts, because that's just another part of the woman I love entirely. The sound of your battle cry sets my heart alight just as much as your soft words."
She held the tome to her chest. It almost felt like getting sick again. A racing heart, heat under her skin. But this time, it didn't hurt.
"I've never felt a single second with you an inconvenience. Every time I came to check on you then, I merely was filled with such a concern that I would lose you. I never meant to smother, merely to keep you safe and well."
"When I said that it would only be right, that um, was a poor way of phrasing it. What I mean is that leaving your side would be just as you said before--a-agony. Because I...." She blushed deep. The next part came out a whisper. "...love you too."
"I'm not good with words like you are. It's hard to explain, because--I like everything about you. You're so strong and smart, and you're always so steady. Sometimes I can't even fathom somebody like you would like somebody like me. Always dragging behind, always wanting to run away from battle, and even when I try to do something, I fail and need help. Always worrying and paranoid at every shadow, and the other side is just--uncontrollable screaming and vengeance."
"You always worry so much...that's why I love you," Laurent said softly.
And it seemed such an impossibility. But she knew Laurent wouldn't lie. The last smoke of the leaves faded. She pulled out more from her satchel, yet did not burn them.
"Actually, I believe us an excellent match. I have thought upon this much, especially with the time at your side. Even those leaves in your hand prove it."
"While I appreciate your affection for me, truly, I have much to learn as a man. And you too have much to learn within this era. You are only eighteen and have seen enough tragedy to last a lifetime. Yet, there is your entire life before you. One I wish to spend by your side. I am certain once the battle has gone, you will see changes within you. And even if not, if the nightmares remain, then I shall wipe away the tears and love you all the same. And besides, between then, we truly will make some astounding potions and teach each other much in the magical arts."
She reached out and took his hand in hers. She focused her energy at that point of their hands meeting. His fingers intertwined in his. Honestly, someone like her would have a sickbay as a first date. If she could call it that.
"I'm looking forward to it, Laurent. But for now, please get well. I will stay by your side until then. And when the fever breaks, I'll still be here."
"I love you, Noire," he said softly. "I'll say it every time my eyes close to slumber, every time we are parted, at every meal, noontime to midnight. Even if such a thing causes me to blush. You'll never have to fear or wonder a moment of my feelings...For they are always true, and always everlasting."
She clutched a little tighter. He'd sensed the weakness and worry even before it had a chance to manifest, like a storm in her head. "I-I love you, too."
It seemed such a faint, pathetic followup to his eloquence. But, he smiled, and let his eyes close. She spoke the words of a prayer in her mind. Even if Naga wouldn't listen for her sake, she knew Laurent would surely be a beloved child of hers. How couldn't he be? She couldn't fathom any god who wouldn't adore someone as steady, intelligent and diligent as Laurent.
She climbed into the bed beside him. Laurent flushed, and not just from the fever.
"Is something the matter, Noire?"
"I just--wanted to be closer. Thought it'd help the get-well curse, and wanted...to be next to you while I read aloud. Is that okay?"
"Of course. I must warn that some of the symptoms of this ague are not so pleasant."
"I know. I already suffered through them. I don't want you to ever suffer alone again."
And she'd take everything, get well curses, potions, to help him through this ague. And she'd be waiting on the other side, waiting for their first step into forever.
Author's note:
"You worry too much, that's why I love you" is actually one of Laurent's lover responses. Specifically Laurent: "You worry too much, that's why I love you. I promise to avoid what perils I can."
Noire also has "Please don't push yourself, Laurent. I worry about you because... I love you." which while generic, I feel fits them lots.
(And Laurent has a cute one where he buys a hair ornament which I thought was rather fitting for the girl who canonly has hair ornaments.)
Also noteworthy that Laurent rather indirectly implies that he's losing sleep over her in support B:
Laurent: And yet, I would impress on you that resting adequately is your greatest responsibility.
Noire: Even if I tried, I don't think I could sit still with everyone else buzzing around. If the guilt didn't keep me up, the sheer amount of activity around me would.
Laurent: And what if thinking of you pushing yourself beyond reason keeps the rest of us awake?
Plus I just got Frederick!Laurent/Gaius!Noire a couple nights ago despite seeing the support almost every playtrhough (save my first, where Noire went unmarried) I just noticed how much Laurent smiles at her. Coupled with the fact that he canonly is extremely gentle towards her even outside the supports in the few times they interacted--it's adorable, y'all!
Like look at the FP Epilogue:
Laurent: Where is everyone? They're late.
Noire: But, Laurent... The meeting doesn't start for another 10 minutes.
Laurent: Well, they ought to be early so we can start on time! The Shepherds don't gather just for ceremony, you know. It's been less than a year since we defeated Grima... Already they're acting as if the world is immune to crisis!
Noire: I-I'm sorry...
Laurent: You don't need to apologize, Noire. You got here even earlier than I did.
Noire: Well, I figured I could work on these while I waited...
Laurent: Oh, that's right. I'd heard you started making good-luck charms for the people. I'm told they're quite the hit. It must be that happiness curse you put on them. Can I have a look at that one?
Noire: DESIST, FOOL! YOUR CLUMSY HANDS WILL ONLY DESTROY MY CREATION.
Laurent: Eek! Right, then...
Even when he's pissed off at everyone else, he's kind to her and shows interest in her talismans.
Also look at them in the drama CD cover. They only interacted a little there, but he was always really calm and sweet to her, even when he was pissed off at everyone else, he always had nothing but calm and kind words to say when she was crying.
Series: Fire Emblem: Awakening
Character/pairing: Laurent/Noire,
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Noire falls ill, and returns to the recovery tent she knows all too well.
Word count: 5,365
Author's note:
I've always wanted to write about the isolating aspects of chronic pain + disability, or the overwhelming loneliness of it. it's not so easy to do in published work, though I don't think the scope really came through here either. But at least I got to express the feeling of I'm in such pain, I just wish someone would hold my hand that I've felt several times in my life.
I didn't intend to parallel or reference the Brady/Lucina supports (Or Brady/Noire supports, for that matter) but maybe I accidentally did. I'd blame that I just finished getting them again to ensure that Lucina got a happy ending, so no swinging solo ending for her.
Anyways, I feel bad, sickfic comes. It's like clockwork. Also note that this one as a content warning has a bit of unsanitary note due to sickfic, you know.
As I mentioned before, according to lore (largely gold tile) Noire has begun to learn hexes and curses on her own, and can even do your elemental magic even though she is canonly an archer, and Tharja didn't teach her. You can specifically see this in her gold tile supports, especially involving her mother.
Stahl!Laurent, Gaius!Noire.
In the end, she was a liar. But all the words she'd said were just to try and reassure herself.
I'm not really unhealthy, I'm just pale.
I'm fine, honest.
I don't need help.
I'll be okay.
It was with some shame that she returned to the sickbed that had been waiting for her. The blankets to her chin was a mockery, not a comfort. In the end, she was so damn good at letting people down. It was her best talent, right after being a pessimistic coward, and pushing away everyone when her other side came out.
Noire fell in and out of fitful sleep. She'd awake to a throbbing in her head like it was cracking in two. She was dying, surely. She'd survived the horrors of the Risen and the fell dragon Grima destroying her time, only to fall to some invisible affliction.
It was pathetic, a horrible end to an endlessly tragic story.
But it was fitting, wasn't it? She was never going to have a happy ending.
Through the pain, she reached out to nothing. There were no nurses, no one she could call for help. Her father and mother were dead and gone. She couldn't count on these versions of them to love her. After all, they'd have their own Noire one day.
Her whole body was racked with heat, her mind filled with pain and delirium. Even thinking was painful. Yet horrible thoughts always bubbled up from the ether of her mind.
She just--she just wished someone would hold her hand. That was all. Some kind of comfort before death. But she wouldn't even get that. Naga never listened to her prayers, but she couldn't blame her. After all, she was Plegian. Naga probably didn't think too fondly of the people who delivered up their children and prisoners to the Dragon's Table. Even if she wasn't part of the Grimleal, Noire didn't expect the divine dragon to think kindly of her.
Her plea came out as a cry in the darkness that echoed into nothing.
She closed her eyes, only to wake to dreaming.
Every part of her ached. But there was pressure. A hand was there, clasped in hers. She knew that had to be a dream, because nobody would stay beside her like this. Not even her parents. They'd left her, taken by the Risen.
She asked the ghost, pleaded, really, to not leave her. To never let go. Because the pain would always be a step away, be it a nightmare, a terror that gripped her in battle, a wound that wouldn't heal.
The ghost stayed.
*
She could feel the heat under her skin, as potent as the Demon's Ingle. Everything was blurry, with soft edges of olive green and brown and red. She was half-lidded, barely awake, but even that amount of effort was exhausting. There was a voice.. somehow that voice seemed familiar. This person was reading something? She couldn't make out the words, but they were so calming. She wished the ghost would stay. Please stay, please stay she said in a cracked, hoarse voice. Don't leave me, never leave me.
Do not fear; I will not leave your side, the ghost responded.
The ghost held tight to her hand as she reached out. Noire was glad for that one comfort before a death.
*
All the pain coalesced inside her, until a horrible feeling rose up, desperate to escape. It started with horrible coughing, then bent over her sick bed. A black bucket was there. She clutched the edges with trembling hands.
There was an acrid, horrible taste in her mouth. Something wet was pushed against her lips.
"Come, now. You need to drink. Do you need me to lift your head?"
Her chin was softly lifted by gloved hands. Water dribbled from out her mouth, but she felt a little less parched. She fell back to the bed, spent by that small exertion.
"S-sorry..." Noire murmured. "I didn't...mean...."
More apologies were on the tip of her tongue, but she was too tired to speak them. Had she spilled...some some on them?
No apologies are needed. Just...please get well, Noire. That's all I ask. Please return to us...to me.
The ghost had such a calm voice. Noire felt like she could blanket herself in faint comfort just at the sound of it.
A hoarse "I'll try..." was all she could manage.
*
Noire's eyes fluttered. Something cool was applied to her neck. Water slipped down her back, over her face. Some wet cloth was placed on her forehead. She blinked into nothing. Everything was painful, everything was blurry.
You're finally awake.... Can you take this? I know it's bitter.
She was helped up to a seated position. All she could manage was a faint nod. Her throat felt swollen.
My apologies that it's still bitter. I tried to sweeten it with honey the best I could. I know you prefer sweet foods.
The pain and heat slowly began to recede. She felt something like hope that maybe, just maybe, she might survive all this. Still, sleepiness spread over her like a blanket. Maybe it was a side-effect of the medicine.
"Thank you..." she murmured.
The ghost said something, but she couldn't hear. But the voice calmed her completely as she fell to the escape of the darkness of slumber.
*
She awoke, clearer around the edges this time. Maybe the medicine really did help that much. It certainly couldn't be her body. Despite her protests, she fell into the sickbed with alarming frequency. The excruciating pain and heat had dimmed to a low hum. She managed to push herself up. A wet cloth slipped from her forehead, to land in her lap. A hand reached out to instantly steady her, help her up.
The memories of her illness were a blur of olive and brown, and a soft voice. But now, lucid for that moment, she began to put together the fragments of her memory. Her "ghost" was no lingering mystery, but the person who had been there all along.
"Laurent...? You're here too?"
Laurent opened his brown eyes. Had he fallen asleep there, with his glasses still on, no less? They'd fallen down on his nose/ Laurent let out a yawn, which he covered with one gloved hand. It was rather...adorable, really.
Maybe it was just that she was coming back into lucidity, but he cut such a handsome profile. His dull robes were pristine despite being in a sickbay tent. He leaned in and she felt her cheeks heat. He licked his cracked lips.
"I have scarcely left this bedside since then. Only to get supplies, and rest on a nearby bedroll."
"What?"
"You asked me not to leave. Even if you had not asked, I would have visited many a time to reassure myself that you would, in fact, recover."
All those fever dreams of a hand clasped in hers had been Laurent all a while? And that calm, comforting voice was him reading and reaching out to her.
"I'm sorry for being a burden," Noire said softly.
"It was no burden."
Laurent smiled gently.
"I'm so glad... You've returned to us, Noire. To...me."
He peeled off his glove and rested it against her forehead. Then he pressed his own forehead against hers. Close enough to leave a thrumming inside her. Close enough to feel his breath against her, close enough to almost kiss. His hair was always slightly unkempt from his hat, brown like his father's, with a hint of his mother's more auburn shade.
Her lips parted, she took a quick breath.
"Your fever has broken. While you may be weak for a few days and should certainly take care not to overwork, I daresay you will be all right now."
When he drew back, it took Noire a few moments to compose herself again.
"Mmnnggh....Where is everyone? Wait, what day is it? How long have I been--like this?"
Laurent pushed up his glasses, which had slightly been pushed aside from when he'd come so near to her. "You've been down with a horrible ague that has been going through the entire camp. This would be the seventh day. Some say it is a curse from the fell dragon himself, or from Plegian mages from the last parley. Several have fallen ill. However, none with your intensity."
Laurent cleared his throat.
"I spoke with Brady. He theorized that yours manifested in a worse manner due to overwork and lack of care. I personally agree with his assessment. I am not a member of the clergy, though my experience with making of potions and research leads me to that answer being correct."
Noire brushed her mouth with the back of her hand. "Maybe."
Noire grimaced as she realized the scent of her. There was some kind of salve that had been rubbed upon her body at some time, and mixed with the sweat of her unwashed skin and the sickness--she truly smelled horrific. Somewhere between herbs, pig slop and the fetid Risen themselves.
Noire blushed. She could hardly believe that Laurent could even stand to be this close to her without recoiling.
"If you feel well enough, Lucina taught me this technique. Can you sit up? I believe this will surely help."
"Are you...sure? I smell..."
"It is to be expected for any work within the sickbay tents. Besides, I'm used to strong scents. Before Grima brought about the end of our time, I spent many an hour in my father's apothecary. The brewing of potions is not for the weak of stomach. Some of the herbs are not quite so fragrant, especially when boiled down to their essence."
"Did you make the salve?"
"Yes. I worked together with father to ensure it was made correctly. I'm not sure if it helped with lowering your fever. I did not wish to leave your side them, but I tasked Brady and Libra with checking in on you whilst I perfected it."
Noire leaned up, though the effort left her feeling somewhat dizzy.
"All right..if it helps..."
He removed his gloves. She let out a soft cry at the first touch against her. It'd been so long since anyone touched her. At least, when she was lucid. Even her friends treated her like an explosive compound that almost anything could set off.
"My apologies, did I shock you? Sometimes, being a mage, we hold more power. There is more chance of static surprises as such. I'm used to it, but others..."
"N-No... I just... didn't expect it."
She hadn't expected the warmth, the firmness and steadying feeling of Laurent's hands. She hadn't expected the way her body would react, heartbeat desperate, leaning in towards him for more. Were parts of this ague still lingering, or....?
"There are so many knots and tightness in your muscles. You've truly overworked yourself."
She didn't even have to turn around to know how he was looking at her. A crease between his eyes, pursed lips. She'd seen it before when she'd carried water and he took the bucket from her, and when he'd told her to eat more.
Maybe it was a symptom of all the times she'd been exposed to dark magic, but she rarely felt hungry. Sometimes a terror rose up in her that she was surely turning into a Risen and that would be all she could think of for days. Even as illogical as it was, the waking nightmare would consume her. The thought would intrude over and over and obsessively beat down her defenses until she was left curled up in a ball, and then screaming at the onslaught of her mind. Her horrible mind would always find something to worry about until she felt numb and barely alive.
Saying she sleptwalked through life would imply she slept.
"I'm just trying to not let anyone down, and trying to keep up with everyone else," Noire said softly.
"Pushing yourself into a sickbed and early death accomplishes nothing except worrying those that care for you."
"If you're not careful, you'll catch what I had," Noire said.
"Always a concern of those that work within the sickbay." His hands paused, and rested at her shoulders. "Do you wish me to stop?"
Noire closed her eyes. "...No."
She'd spent many sleepless tights, her back tight and a deep ache in her arms from drawing her bow so many times. But that was nothing compared to the torment of the battle. The screams of the Risen, the people they had been unable to save, her parents. It never left her, but at the night was when it truly ruled over her.
And it didn't make everything better, but her muscles slowly began to soften under his touch, and the knots smooth out. Maybe 'relax' was too simple a term, because she felt anything but relaxed. The softness and warmth of his touch only made her long for him to put his hands on her more--she couldn't put it into words, couldn't even bring herself to think of what kind of desire had come up inside her. She blushed deeply, glad that he couldn't see her face at this angle.
"There, that should suffice for now. I wouldn't want to risk tiring you out. Regardless, I brewed up some tea from some herbs I requested my father gather. It's supposed to help your inflamed glands, according to the tomes I have thoroughly researched."
"I must leave a moment to gather it--it's brewed elsewhere."
"Ah....all right, then," Noire said.
She pulled the covers tight around her, grateful for this moment to compose herself. He returned in a few minutes with a tea cup in hand. Not the delicate porcelain that Brady's mother took hers in, but a sturdier brown one which had been forged in fires.
Steam rose up from the cup. She bit her lower lip--his fingers grazed hers as he passed it along. Noire took a tentative sip of the warm liquid. It was bitter enough that her face twisted into a grimace.
"My apologies, I asked your father to bring me some honey to sweeten the tea, however he has not returned yet. You probably have quite a sweet tooth with Gaius as a father?"
Sweets reminded her of her father. The scent of sugary pastries, and she would be transported to her father teaching her how to find a mark, and how to steal a cookie and wallet alike. One bite of buttery, flaky deliciousness and she would be transported to sitting on a stone wall, her father's gloved hand patting her head.
Happy times that would never quite come. Because even if her father was so near, he was so very far.
"A bit," was all Noire said.
Noire finished the rest of the tea in gulps simply to finish it off. When she leaned back (fell back, really) she honestly hoped the bitterness was filled with such potency that she'd be cured almost immediately.
He held out a flask of water. "To removed the horrible taste. I promise next time it will taste better. I'll get that honey if I have to hunt down a hive in the forest myself--Ah, I should not keep you up. Rest is tantamount to proper healing! Indeed, the body cannot heal without it. So please, be sure to--"
Noire cut him off. "QUIET YOUR FLAPPING LIPS!"
Noire covered her mouth. She hadn't even reached for her talisman. Maybe the sickness brought her other side up closer?
"S-sorry! I didn't mean to, really--"
Laurent blushed. "Yes, I did go on too long. You need to rest and recovery, not listen to me blather on about unimportant minutiae."
"No, I'm sorry...Um, thank you for being here, Laurent. And...everything else. You took such good care of me, really...I'm so grateful. You put so much of your tasks on hold while you stopped everything to attend to me. I'm going to try and get better now because...I don't want to let anyone down. ....Especially you."
"You've never let me down, Noire. And It would have been meaningless. Whatever task I had set to, I would have not been able to focus upon at all for fear and worry at your condition. And had I not rested here, in the sick bed near you, I would have surely lost much sleep, unable to even close my eyes for concern of you."
She knew he was just trying to make her feel better, but it was still rather nice to hear, even if it was idle flattery. Still, a little part of her wanted to believe it, to believe that he could care about her.
*
Three days later, Noire found herself in a sickbay tent again, but this time, she wasn't the one upon the bedroll.
Noire hoisted up her satchel. Inside were the implements of the get-well curse, though she still felt a deep reserve at the thought of actually trying it upon another person. Noire had begun to learn what her mother would not teach. To better understand the mother she lost, and protect herself against future hexes.
She couldn't just sit idly by and watch Laurent burn away to nothing. It wouldn't hurt, she reminded herself. The books she had poured through said it wasn't painful.
Laurent let out a low groan, and pushed himself up to a seated position. He actually seemed thinner, though she couldn't tell if it was simply because his voluminous robes had been stripped down, and he had on a simple shirt, the buttons undone past his throat to allow salve to be applied.
She swallowed at his exposed throat, the parts of his chest that the buttons showed. She looked away quickly.
"Laurent... sorry, you caught my fever," Noire said.
He gave her a grim smile. "So be it. A small price to ensure your continued health. I would do more, if I could. I am afraid I must respect my own tenents of not working too hard," Laurent said.
"No, don't push yourself--You...already did so much..."
She smiled softly. She wanted to believe that in the end, he didn't resent her for this. Even if it wasn't true...she wanted that lie.
Her heart whispered then that he had to live. She liked him too much to ever lose him. Loved him, really--no, she didn't allow herself to think on this.
The fire tome was left in her lap. If she overdid it--she couldn't even think about what would happen.
"Did you need fire to burn something?"
Noire nodded. "Yes, but a full fire tome seems...dangerous."
"Noire, there's a tome in my satchel. The one with the small flame. It is one of those tomes I collect with little but sentimental value. It forms a infinitesimal tiny flame in the palm of your hand. Actually, this one has great use. It is quite good for lighting candles and incense."
"And ingredients of potions," Noire said.
The leaves were rough in her hands as she put them one by one, into the fire. Smoke rose up from the leaves and filled the tent with a scent so unique that it was difficult to describe. Neither sweet or spicy, but thick and bitter like the taste of a potion.
These opened up the lungs, and helped breath. The books she read called them the 'herbs of the air' and 'the plant of breath.' The actual name of the plant, however, was difficult to write.
Maybe in the end, they weren't really hexes or curses. She put no ill will in them, merely herbs and prayers she knew would never reach Naga. Prayers that Laurent would survive this ague, and return to them--to her. It wasn't quite the works of a mage, dark or elemental. Maybe she was forging her own path, her own magic.
Following her mother's example, but with her own twist.
The fragrant smoke filled the room. Laurent's coughing stopped, at least temporarily. The book said it would take several applications.
"Remarkable, whatever you have done has already made my breath come far more easily. Would you teach me later on?"
Noire nodded. She refused to think of a world where she lost Laurent. "I learned more. But I'd have to preform them on you...they won't hurt, but I'd need your permission...I wouldn't want to be like---her."
"Do what you must. I trust your judgment and that I won't be soundly turned into a frog," Laurent said wryly.
Noire chuckled. "No, I don't know any curses of that magnitude. Just little things. A happiness curse for my talismans, and some get better curses. And... um... And....thank you. You stayed with me. You probably didn't get as much done on your tasks as you wanted. I'm sorry to have wasted so much of your time."
"As I have told you again and again, it is not a waste. Time spent with you is never a waste."
Noire blushed and stared down at the tome. "I probably won't be as good as you, but would you like me to read to you?"
"Yes, if it is not too much trouble. Once I fall asleep, then feel free to go back to your quarters. I wouldn't want you to overtire on my behalf."
"No...I'm staying. It's only right," Noire said.
"I do not consider it a debt to be paid. It was not entirely unselfish. I stayed because I wanted to ascertain your condition to alleviate my own concerns."
She clutched her talisman. "QUIET AND GET TO HEALING, DAMN YOU! WE WILL STAY AND THIS IS FINAL, SO SHUT YOUR MOUTH BEFORE YOU MUST HEAL FROM MORE THAN A MERE SICKNESS!"
He blushed, deeper than the flush of his fever. "Y-yes, I shall obey immediately..."
"Sorry," she said softly. "She just...comes out sometimes. I don't really mean it or want to hurt you."
"I know. I do not fear that side of you. In fact, I find that part of you...rather....captivating."
Noire blushed. "You..."
"This is no feverish delirium. I have been trying to say these words for some time."
There were many ways of saying 'I love you.' A sweet pressed into her palm when she was sad, a pat on the head, and a nickname just for her, and how her mother refused to teach her curses that would harm her, and leave her covered in rashes and aches in the aftermath. Neither of her parents were adept at expressing their affection, so Noire knew all too well the in-between.
And it was in the in-between that she saw so many I love yous. There was do watch out and vulnerary for her satchel, made by his own hand, staying by her side in battle, in the sick bay tent even when the scent must have been unbearable. There were teas and potions brewed for her every night to try and find a way to heal her.
There was his hand in hers, held tight through feverish delirium. It was no unknown ghost, nothing so intangible.
"When you fell ill, I was racked with such a dread that you might not survive. I couldn't bear to be parted from you. Even the time I left to make that potion was true agony. It made me realize--"
He broke off in a series of coughs. His symptoms had actually taken a different turn than hers. She only hoped he wouldn't go through the torment she had.
"Laurent...please don't exert yourself."
"No...I want to say this. Despite this ague, I have never felt more clear. Noire, I adore you completely. All of you. You don't have to apologize for your outbursts, because that's just another part of the woman I love entirely. The sound of your battle cry sets my heart alight just as much as your soft words."
She held the tome to her chest. It almost felt like getting sick again. A racing heart, heat under her skin. But this time, it didn't hurt.
"I've never felt a single second with you an inconvenience. Every time I came to check on you then, I merely was filled with such a concern that I would lose you. I never meant to smother, merely to keep you safe and well."
"When I said that it would only be right, that um, was a poor way of phrasing it. What I mean is that leaving your side would be just as you said before--a-agony. Because I...." She blushed deep. The next part came out a whisper. "...love you too."
"I'm not good with words like you are. It's hard to explain, because--I like everything about you. You're so strong and smart, and you're always so steady. Sometimes I can't even fathom somebody like you would like somebody like me. Always dragging behind, always wanting to run away from battle, and even when I try to do something, I fail and need help. Always worrying and paranoid at every shadow, and the other side is just--uncontrollable screaming and vengeance."
"You always worry so much...that's why I love you," Laurent said softly.
And it seemed such an impossibility. But she knew Laurent wouldn't lie. The last smoke of the leaves faded. She pulled out more from her satchel, yet did not burn them.
"Actually, I believe us an excellent match. I have thought upon this much, especially with the time at your side. Even those leaves in your hand prove it."
"While I appreciate your affection for me, truly, I have much to learn as a man. And you too have much to learn within this era. You are only eighteen and have seen enough tragedy to last a lifetime. Yet, there is your entire life before you. One I wish to spend by your side. I am certain once the battle has gone, you will see changes within you. And even if not, if the nightmares remain, then I shall wipe away the tears and love you all the same. And besides, between then, we truly will make some astounding potions and teach each other much in the magical arts."
She reached out and took his hand in hers. She focused her energy at that point of their hands meeting. His fingers intertwined in his. Honestly, someone like her would have a sickbay as a first date. If she could call it that.
"I'm looking forward to it, Laurent. But for now, please get well. I will stay by your side until then. And when the fever breaks, I'll still be here."
"I love you, Noire," he said softly. "I'll say it every time my eyes close to slumber, every time we are parted, at every meal, noontime to midnight. Even if such a thing causes me to blush. You'll never have to fear or wonder a moment of my feelings...For they are always true, and always everlasting."
She clutched a little tighter. He'd sensed the weakness and worry even before it had a chance to manifest, like a storm in her head. "I-I love you, too."
It seemed such a faint, pathetic followup to his eloquence. But, he smiled, and let his eyes close. She spoke the words of a prayer in her mind. Even if Naga wouldn't listen for her sake, she knew Laurent would surely be a beloved child of hers. How couldn't he be? She couldn't fathom any god who wouldn't adore someone as steady, intelligent and diligent as Laurent.
She climbed into the bed beside him. Laurent flushed, and not just from the fever.
"Is something the matter, Noire?"
"I just--wanted to be closer. Thought it'd help the get-well curse, and wanted...to be next to you while I read aloud. Is that okay?"
"Of course. I must warn that some of the symptoms of this ague are not so pleasant."
"I know. I already suffered through them. I don't want you to ever suffer alone again."
And she'd take everything, get well curses, potions, to help him through this ague. And she'd be waiting on the other side, waiting for their first step into forever.
Author's note:
"You worry too much, that's why I love you" is actually one of Laurent's lover responses. Specifically Laurent: "You worry too much, that's why I love you. I promise to avoid what perils I can."
Noire also has "Please don't push yourself, Laurent. I worry about you because... I love you." which while generic, I feel fits them lots.
(And Laurent has a cute one where he buys a hair ornament which I thought was rather fitting for the girl who canonly has hair ornaments.)
Also noteworthy that Laurent rather indirectly implies that he's losing sleep over her in support B:
Laurent: And yet, I would impress on you that resting adequately is your greatest responsibility.
Noire: Even if I tried, I don't think I could sit still with everyone else buzzing around. If the guilt didn't keep me up, the sheer amount of activity around me would.
Laurent: And what if thinking of you pushing yourself beyond reason keeps the rest of us awake?
Plus I just got Frederick!Laurent/Gaius!Noire a couple nights ago despite seeing the support almost every playtrhough (save my first, where Noire went unmarried) I just noticed how much Laurent smiles at her. Coupled with the fact that he canonly is extremely gentle towards her even outside the supports in the few times they interacted--it's adorable, y'all!
Like look at the FP Epilogue:
Laurent: Where is everyone? They're late.
Noire: But, Laurent... The meeting doesn't start for another 10 minutes.
Laurent: Well, they ought to be early so we can start on time! The Shepherds don't gather just for ceremony, you know. It's been less than a year since we defeated Grima... Already they're acting as if the world is immune to crisis!
Noire: I-I'm sorry...
Laurent: You don't need to apologize, Noire. You got here even earlier than I did.
Noire: Well, I figured I could work on these while I waited...
Laurent: Oh, that's right. I'd heard you started making good-luck charms for the people. I'm told they're quite the hit. It must be that happiness curse you put on them. Can I have a look at that one?
Noire: DESIST, FOOL! YOUR CLUMSY HANDS WILL ONLY DESTROY MY CREATION.
Laurent: Eek! Right, then...
Even when he's pissed off at everyone else, he's kind to her and shows interest in her talismans.
Also look at them in the drama CD cover. They only interacted a little there, but he was always really calm and sweet to her, even when he was pissed off at everyone else, he always had nothing but calm and kind words to say when she was crying.
