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The Warrior of Light has a frankly ridiculous constitution, so when he does get sick, he gets SICK. Of course, being the absolute idiot he is, he tries to just push through it. He goes so far as to show up to a meeting with the Scions- looking relatively okay, silent as usual- but his little shudders and unfocused gaze do not go wholly unnoticed. They mostly say nothing since it seems like perhaps it's just a minor cold. He catches side-eye from Y'shtola, but a little smile and a quiet promise to rest placates her enough for him to finish the meeting without being forced to his rooms.
Then, less than an hour after the meeting ends, he shows up to the grounds at which he and Estinien often sparred.
Yes, they had originally arranged to train together that afternoon, but after Estinien had overhead his conversation with Yshtola, he'd assumed today would be a solo session. But there was his Warrior, lance in hand and drachen helmet tucked under his arm. At his raised eyebrow, Glaedr blinked at him, a silent little 'what?' in his gaze.
"What happened to your promise to rest after the meeting?" he asked pointedly, crossing his arms. He watched as Glaedr's face went from surprise to sheepish embarrassment. Evidently, he hadn't realised they had been overheard.
"...Tis only a passing fatigue. Naught to fret over." came the quiet reply, in a voice rougher than Estinien's own- certainly not the other's normal intonation, not by far. His frown deepened.
"Doesn't sound as such. Or do you expect me to believe your voice has naturally deepened so?"
Glaedr huffed, and set down his helmet, adjusting the tie of his hair and sweeping it away from his face.
"Are we sparring or not, Azure Dragoon?" Though said without malice, the title was meant to goad him, he knew. Glaedr rolled his shoulders with the smallest of winces, then settled into a ready stance, lance levelled at at his partner.
Estinien swallowed back the growl of annoyance that threatened to bubble up his throat, instead giving Glaedr a long, narrow eyed stare before shrugging and settling into a mirrored stance.
"Hmph. On your head be it."
He didn't miss the cheeky little grin shot his way before the two launched at each other, blades flashing under the dimming light.
To his credit, Glaedr lasted rather longer than Estinien had expected.
It started with stumbling feet when they landed after a dive. Then the quiet rattle of the lance shaking some in Glaedr's gauntleted hands. Then blows that most certainly should not have landed hit their marks, sending him gasping backwards for breath. But the blasted idiot just wouldn't yield, and Estinien knew better than to try to force him to stop. If he had to beat a little sense into his Warrior to get him to admit defeat, then he would. He took no pleasure in this, watching Glaedr stumble and shake through what would normally be a simple, easy bout, but he nearly had him now. A leap, a dive, a series of short, close clashes that left Glaedr gasping, and he flipped his lance in his hands, taking his partner's legs out from under him with a sweep of the grip.
Glaedr landed hard on his side with a gasp, his own weapon dropping from his hands as he tried to catch himself, eyes going wide as the tip of Gae Bolg came to rest delicately against his throat. Fiery orange eyes met glacial grey, and Estinien could see the frustration boiling just below the surface of his stare.
"Are we done?" he asked simply, watching the Warrior grit his teeth, face flushed and sweating, as he rolled onto his back. A long pause, before he grit out;
"... No."
Estinien's heart sank a little as he lifted his lance, allowing Glaedr to haul himself up first onto his knees, then back onto shaking legs.
"We're not done."
And suddenly he was looking at himself, barely 15 summers old, freshly inducted into the Temple Knights, shaking in the Coerthan snow. He heard Aymeric's voice in his mind, pleading with him to just rest, that he'd be of no use to anyone if he passed out in the cold and was carried off by a wivre. He blinked and the scene was gone, Glaedr standing before him instead of his younger self. The hard line of his mouth softened, and he shook his head at the stubbornness, but readied his lance once more.
As it turned out, he wouldn't have to fight Glaedr again. For as he stepped forward, knees bending to launch himself forwards once more, all the breath left him in a silent gasp. His wide eyes met Estinien's again, coloured with exhaustion as fever sapped his strength, then rolled back in his head as his legs gave out completely and he collapsed before he could even think to try and catch himself.
Estinien swore and rushed forwards to catch him, just barely stopping his head from hitting the ground.
"Blasted fool." he muttered as he moved Glaedr onto his back once more, kneeling and removing his gauntlets to press a hand to the others forehead. Glaedr was feverish, burning up even against Estinien's battle warmed hands. His purple skin was far too pale, cheeks mottled with an unhealthy blush, sweating and shaking in Estinien's grip. He tutted to himself, shaking his head as he scooped up the unconscious man carefully, careful of the spines adorning both of their armor. "Not done my arse. Let's get you to bed, eh?" he said softly as he started walking home, cradling his Warrior close against his chest.
He decided against any of the more public rooms available to them. He knew Glaedr had rooms both at the annex, back in Limsa, and in Thavnair, but those would all require talking to people and taking him through public spaces, and he knew exactly how much Glaedr would despise any attention or worry from colleagues, friends or passersby. He didn't have a key to the Warrior's private residence in Empyreum either, so he took the easiest, quietest option and spirited the both away to his own residence within Ishgard. It wasn't too far from where they'd been sparring in Mor Dhona anyhow, especially compared to Thavnair, and he didn't fancy attempting to transport an unconscious man via aetheryte.
He didn't bother with the door upon arrival, instead alighting on the ledge of the upper window that he always kept unlocked. He shook the light dusting of snow from his hair and pushed the window closed with a foot behind him, and make a beeline for the bed, gently laying Glaedr down on the recently made sheets. He eyed the armor Glaedr wore with a little disdain; he knew that this particular ensemble would be an absolute pain to get undone and off. He much preferred Glaedr's usual warrior attire, the admittedly deceptively heavy coat and simple layers beneath far easier to remove than the mess of straps and latches awaiting him now. Still, he could not very well allow his partner to cook like a lobster in the thick metal armor, so he set to it, piece by piece extricating the shivering body beneath from its confines. Eventually he was left with two messy piles of discarded armor, having decided to shed his own too in the process.
Estinien chewed his lip as he looked at the shivering form in his bed, Glaedr's plain black underclothes sticking to his body from the fever sweat that gripped him, long hair messy and half out of its bindings, face a twisted mask of discomfort, stained with dirt from their ill fated spar. He'd have to bathe him, or at least give him somewhat of a wash, Estinien decided. A fresh change of clothes was in order after that, then some water and a cool rag to rest on his forehead. This was about the extent of Estinien's knowledge of what could help in this situation, so that'd simply have to do for the moment.
"Whatever am I to do with you, eh?" he grumbled affectionately to the unconscious man, tucking his hair back behind his horns.
When Glaedr next awoke, he found himself tucked warmly into thick blankets in a bed that was not his own. A cool, wet cloth was draped over his forehead, and he could feel just a thin, light layer of clothing between his skin and the sheets. He could also feel himself shivering uncontrollably, and his entire body ached like he'd been tossed about by a particularly cruel bandersnatch. He cracked open one eye with a low, uncomfortable groan, and discovered that the room had been kept blessedly dim. The Warrior took a moment to just stare at the ceiling, before reaching up and rubbing the gunk out of his eyes. He tried to sit up, and found himself weak and breathless, barely able to prop himself up on his arms.
Regardless, he persevered, and realised that he did know where he was after all.
He'd not been to Estinien's home often, but even if he hadn't, the sight of two separate piles of familiar armor propped up against one wall would've allowed him to guess who had carried him home. Glancing around the room, he spotted the man in question. Sat in a chair by the bed, arms crossed and head nodding forwards, Estinien was asleep next to him. He was wearing casual indoor wear, and his sleeves were rolled up past the elbow. Strands of white hair had escaped their ties and draped across his face like a nobleman's finery. He looked as exhausted as Glaedr felt, and he realised that the dragoon must've been looking after him for... Well, for however long he'd been out. It made his heart melt a little, even as he started to feel the guilt that always crept in when he let others look after him eat away at the back of his mind.
A soft little smile quirked the edges of his lips as he reached out to the pitcher of water he spotted on the nightstand. Glaedr winced when he could barely even lift it to pour himself a drink. His arms were like jelly and he nearly tipped the whole thing over on his first attempt. Once successful he drank quickly, making a quiet sound of relief as cool water hit his dry, sore throat. Gods, he needed to piss, he realised. Badly.
He wouldn't wake up Estinien, he decided. Surely he could make it on his own to relieve himself? He'd had far worse than whatever... flu or something this was, (finally upgrading it from just a cold in his mind,) he was certain he'd manage just fine.
Glaedr had to grip the bedside table for stability as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and then tried to get up with as if expecting to be able to walk without any issue whatsoever. There was, of course, issue, and he gasped as his legs crumpled underneath him, feeling the sting of wooden floorboards chafing against his knees.
"What- hey, whoa, just what do you think you're doing?" came a sleep-rough voice from above him, and he shuddered as warm arms hooked under his shoulders and pulled him back up onto the bed, much to his annoyance. He looked up to see Estinien still blinking sleep from his eyes, frowning with concern. Blast.
Glaedr shook his head, and grumbled;
"S-sorry... Back to sleep." and tried to wave Estinien away, back into the bedside chair.
"Certainly not, if you plan on trying your escaping act again. You're in no state to go wandering." the concern in Estinien's voice made his heart wrench. He didn't mean to cause him worry.
"Just... Need to piss." he admitted with a sheepish tone, omitting that yes, he probably would've tried to leave if his legs could carry him that far.
"Fury's grace Glaedr, you're worse than myself." Estinien groaned. "Alright, come on then. But back to bed rest after." he said in the softer, more affectionate tone Glaedr adored, as strong arms wrapped around him, letting Glaedr brace against him, ready to catch him if he fell again.
He opened his mouth to protest the help, caught the withering, icy stare levelled at him, and promptly closed his mouth again.
All too soon Glaedr found himself being pushed gently back into bed, and despite his grumbled protestations, he could already feel his eyelids drifting closed. It seemed sleep would claim him even if he fought it, so he allowed himself to be wrapped up once more with minimal resistance. He hissed softly when Estinien's cool hand rested against his burning flesh, checking his definitely still feverish temperature again, and wished he could reach up and keep it there, anchoring himself to the other. But instead it was replaced with a new cool, damp rag, and he hummed another weak apology to his partner even as exhaustion dragged him under.
He swore he felt the soft press of lips to his brow, and couldn't help but smile some as sleep claimed him once again.
Meanwhile, Estinien watched as his Warrior slipped back into restfulness with no small amount of relief. In the day or so since he'd spirited him away from the training grounds, he'd had a healer or two check up on Glaedr- just in case, of course- but they'd said the best thing was just for him to rest and let the fever run it's course. This didn't decrease his dislike of the situation, but there's no way he'd have someone else watch over him. He knew Glaedr would complain of 'being a burden' or some other such nonsense, and as far as he knew, only himself and the Scions had ever successfully had him rest or seek help, (with repeated assurances that it really was no trouble at all.)
...Just as he himself was stubbornly wont to do, he thought with a wry smile, remembering the absolute debacle of people trying to make him rest and recover after his rescue from the grip of Nidhogg's eyes. They were alike in this, as in many other ways, and Estinien understood the reluctance to rely on others, even in that other also happened to be your significant other. It was hard to accept help when you'd had to bear the burden of duty for so long and so often. But Estinien was determined as he settled back into the bedside chair, resting a hand over Glaedr's where it lay atop the covers. He'd watch over him, until he was well once more.