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Title: N/A
Fandom: Tales of Destiny
Pairing: hints of Marian/Leon and Chal/Leon
Rating: PG
Word Count: 631 words
Marian was halfway up the stairs before the first shouts came. She'd dropped the laundry the moment she heard the crash, leaving a shirt half-pinned on the line as she picked up her skirts to dash inside. She was lucky it wasn't a windy day--hopefully everything would still be where she left it when she got back. As she neared the top of the stairs, she could hear the raised voices getting louder, their source exactly where she knew it'd be--Leon's room. The door was open a crack already, so she didn't even bother with knocking before throwing it open.
"Shut up!" Leon yelled, knocking a second chair to the ground. He was breathing heavily, she noted, and stumbled as he tried to walk forward, having to clutch at the nearby dresser for support.
The maid who was supposed to be watching over him was huddled by the door, her eyes wide and fearful. "Eleanor," Marian murmured softly to her, placing her arm on one shaking arm, "it's okay. I'll take care of this." She got a sharp, scared nod in response before the poor girl fled in a flurry of skirts out the door. Marian closed the door behind her and walked over to where Leon stood. He wobbled in an attempt to stand straight as she approached before collapsing onto the dresser again.
"Marian," he said, staring up at her with eyes still glazed with fever. "Marian."
She sighed softly, brushing a hand that felt all-too cool over his flushed cheeks and pushing the hair out of his eyes. "Emilio, you're supposed to be in bed. Your wound still isn't healed yet, and your fever--"
"That doesn't matter," he muttered scornfully, but leaned into her touch ever so slightly.
"Yes it does," she said firmly. A glance at the still-white bandages covering his stomach told her that at least he hadn't reopened it.
He shook his head, nearly stumbling again as he did. Marian caught him by the shoulders and helped to steady him until he regained his balance. "Marian," he said again.
"Yes, Emilio?"
There was a kind of desperation in the too-bright violet eyes that flicked up to to look at her. Leon's hands dug into her forearms, his fingers clutching almost painfully tight. "Where's Chal?" he asked, his voice going high and strained. "He's not here and she wouldn't tell me where he is and no one will let me go anywhere!"
Her eyes widened. "Your sword? I... I'm not sure," she admitted. "Master Hugo probably know, but..."
The hands clutching her arms began to shake, then a whole-body shudder seemed to overcome him. "Chal," he whispered, "I need... I. I can't feel him, Marian."
Marian didn't know what to say to that, so she pulled him closer and just held him as he trembled. "If you go back to bed," she said finally, "I'll find him for you. All right?"
After a moment he nodded, still clinging to her. He didn't say anything, but a horrible, raw whimper rose up from his throat. Taking a deep breath, Marian slowly lead him back towards his bed, half-carrying him as she did. As he curled up in a fetal position, clutching his knees to his chest, she carefully slid the blankets over him. It wasn't long before his eyes closed and he was claimed again by what seemed like unpleasant dreams.
Her own hands shaking faintly, Marian righted one of the chairs Leon had knocked over in his fit and sat down heavily. Part of her wondered about the wisdom of giving him a weapon while he was in this state, but the rest of her ached to at least make him more comfortable while they all waited for his fever to break.
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