Chapter Text
"I'll take good care of you, honey bear"
Garrick had only meant to tease. Xaden had been brooding for hours, staring at nothing, his jaw tight, his hands flexing like he was one bad thought away from launching himself into a fight. It wasn’t unusual—Xaden carried his shadows like armor, and some nights they weighed heavier than others. Especially the last few months since the battle of Basgiath. Since he first drew from the source.
So, naturally, Garrick did what any good friend would do. He climbed onto Xaden’s bed with an exaggerated sigh and threw an arm over his shoulders.
“Alright, brooding beauty, let’s talk about it,” he drawled. “Or better yet, let’s not. Let’s pretend I’m your beloved and you can cry into my chest—”
Xaden didn’t shove him off. Didn’t even scoff. Just sat there, unnervingly still.
Garrick frowned. He squeezed Xaden’s shoulder, expecting tension, resistance—something—but his friend was unnaturally warm beneath his shirt, the heat seeping through like a furnace left too long unchecked.
“Xaden?”
Still no answer. His breathing was steady, but there was something off, something sluggish about the way he finally turned his head, shadows curling lazily at the edges of his vision. Garrick shifted, pressing the back of his hand against Xaden’s forehead.
“Shit,” he muttered. “You’re burning up.”
Xaden closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose. “Figured,” he mumbled.
Garrick blinked. “You figured? And you didn’t think to mention—” He cut himself off with a groan, rubbing his temples. “Of course you didn’t. Because you’re an idiot.”
Xaden cracked one eye open. “You climbed into my bed.”
“And thank the gods I did, because you probably would’ve sat here in silence until you actually caught fire,” Garrick shot back. “Move over, you stubborn bastard. If you’re not gonna take care of yourself, looks like I’m gonna have to.”
Xaden huffed, but to Garrick’s surprise, he actually shifted enough to let him stay. Maybe it was the fever, or maybe he was just too exhausted to fight. Garick knew deep down that Xaden hadn't drawn since his last mishap- and the pull of magic was causing him to more exhausted and closer to burn out than usual. Either way, Garrick stayed put, arm still draped over him, ready to keep watch,
Because someone had to.
Garrick sighed, shaking his head. “This is what you get for flying in the damn rain like you’re invincible. And don’t even try to deny it—I saw you. Soaked through, looking like a dramatic ass hero in some tragic war story. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard, and now look at you.” He nudged Xaden’s shoulder. “Burning up and miserable, when you could’ve just asked for help like a normal person.”
Xaden groaned, burying his face into the pillow. “Shut up.”
Garrick grinned. “Nah, I don’t think I will. Not when I’m finally right about something.”
Xaden let out a slow breath, but instead of snapping back with one of his usual razor-sharp retorts, he shifted, pressing in just a fraction closer. Garrick felt it then—the slight tremble running through him.
His teasing faded instantly. “Shit, you’re shivering.”
Xaden muttered something unintelligible, voice muffled against the pillow. Garrick rolled his eyes but tugged the blankets higher, pulling them snug around his friend’s shoulders.
“Next time,” he muttered, “try not being a stubborn idiot. Might work out better for you.”
Xaden made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a hum, then—without warning—curled in a little more, pressing against Garrick’s warmth like it was the only thing keeping him from freezing.
“…Don’t make this weird,” Xaden mumbled, voice thick with exhaustion.
Garrick huffed a laugh. “Oh, I’m the one making this weird?” But he didn’t move away. If anything, he tightened his grip. “Go to sleep, dumbass.”
Xaden didn’t argue.
The door creaked open, and Garrick barely had time to lift his head before Brennan stepped inside, Xaden had changed the wards since he and Garrick had come to Aretia from the boarder so that Brennan could enter, his brows furrowed in that particular way that meant business.
“Xaden, let’s go. Assembly meeting—” Brennan stopped mid-sentence, eyes narrowing at the sight in front of him. The perpetually brooding, too-stubborn-for-his-own-good Duke of Tyrrendor was curled up under blankets, pressed against Garrick of all people.
Garrick, for his part, just gave Brennan a deadpan look. “Before you say anything, he’s sick. Fever, chills—the whole ‘being-a-reckless-dumbass’ package.”
Brennan exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. “Of course he is.”
Xaden made a vague sound of protest but didn’t move, just huddled deeper into the blankets like acknowledging Brennan’s presence was too much effort.
Brennan stepped closer, arms crossed. “You should’ve told someone.”
Xaden, eyes still closed, muttered, “Telling someone wouldn’t have changed anything.”
Brennan couldn't help but feeling there was more to that sentence than Xaden was letting on.
Garrick scoffed. “Yeah, except maybe you wouldn’t be shaking right now.” He glanced at Brennan. “His Grace is not going anywhere.”
Brennan looked like he wanted to argue, but then his gaze softened just slightly. Xaden wasn’t faking—he could see that now.
“Fine,” Brennan said after a moment. “I’ll cover for you, but next time, don’t be a stubborn idiot.”
Garrick smirked. “Told him the same thing. He didn’t listen.”
Brennan sighed running a hand through his red hair. “He never does.”
Xaden just grumbled something unintelligible that sounded like "I'm fine" and burrowed further into the warmth, like he was already half-asleep.
Brennan shook his head, exasperated but not unamused. “Let me know if he gets worse.”
Garrick saluted lazily as Brennan left, then looked down at Xaden, whose breathing was already starting to slow.
“Guess it’s just you and me, buddy,” Garrick murmured, shifting to get comfortable. “Try not to die in your sleep, alright?”
Xaden’s only response was a faint hum, his body finally relaxing.
Garrick sighed. "Yeah, that’s what I thought."
---
Brennan lingered outside the door for a moment longer than necessary, fingers tapping against his crossed arms. Something wasn’t sitting right.
Xaden being sick was strange enough—he never let himself slow down, never admitted when he was running on fumes. But there was something else, something beneath the fever and exhaustion that didn’t add up.
He’d looked wrong. At least from what Brennan could see of him under the covers.
Not just pale or feverish, but off in a way Brennan couldn’t quite name. And the shadows—normally coiled tight around Xaden, moving with sharp intent—had been sluggish, barely reacting to Brennan’s presence.
It wasn’t just exhaustion. It wasn’t just a fever.
But if Xaden wasn’t talking, and Garrick hadn’t noticed anything beyond the obvious, there wasn’t much Brennan could do. At least not yet.
With a last glance at the closed door, he exhaled and turned down the hall.
But the nagging feeling didn’t leave him. If anything, it settled deeper.