#elmrador renata

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

Curses and Comforts

Fandom/OCs: Sorcerer ‘verse (Sick Cassius)

Follow-up to: Powers and Flowers

Words: 4075

Inspiration: @sickromancer helped me brainstorm this one big-time and had some brilliant ideas, most of which I used, so many thanks to them for essentially co-writing this with me! Also this post about a cold forcing a character to deal with their issues and this post about a feeling the fever of a touch-starved sickie.

Prompts from this prompt list from @oh-no-my-hand-slipped used: 5) Chilly Air, 7) Tender Loathing Care, 10) Herbal Tea, 12) Magical Sickness, 18) Cloak, 24) Carnival/Fair, 26) Mischievous Prank, 28) A Curse, 29) Interrupted Monologue, and 31) My Favorite trope: Lymph node feel

Author’s comments: As promised, a very sick, miserably snotty sorcerer, having been deservingly cursed with a sickness spell by his nemesis. Naturally though, it is the nemesis who has to un-curse him, making for a very interesting caretaking dynamic which was a hoot to explore. For whatever reason, I’m finding it very easy to write my sorcerer ‘verse these days, and I never thought high fantasy would be my jam. But regardless, I’m very happy with this finished product and hope some of you will give it a read!

Another fair, another sick sorcerer. The irony of this was not lost on the miserable, sniffling Cassius as he weaved his way through the throng of merrymakers. He made a bitter face and spat at the thought of Renata and his posse and the curse they had put on him with this endless cold. It had been six weeks since Elmrador had sneezed on him. Six weeks of a dripping nose, sore throat, low-grade fever and sneezing. So much sneezing. His ears started to hurt after week two. The body aches set in after week three. The sinus headache had been constant after week four. He was utterly miserable and had never been so angry at his lot in life. 

He would have loved to skip the Harvest Fair this year due to feeling so poorly, not to mention the bitter thoughts that got stirred up every time he remembered the last fair, but he was overseeing the gaming tents, so his presence was required here for the duration. Previously, he would have been thrilled to have been given such an honor, but he knew it had been given to him this year to prevent him and his cold from entering the tournaments. Now instead of being able to enjoy himself in the tents and perhaps win some money, he was forced to be here all day every day, in all the dust and dirt, unallowed to gamble and toting his miserable cold around everywhere he went. On top of that, it was unseasonably cold for this time of year, and the chilly air made his nose drip incessantly. All of this together meant that every few minutes he was forced to stop to sneeze: 

"IHHHXxchpt! HXXchht!" He made the sound as small and unobtrusive as possible from weeks of practice, crushed into his hands and handkerchief, but then of course he needed to blow and wipe his nose. This done, he wearily stuffed his handkerchief back into his pocket and started the process of reapplying the damn salve to his upper lip and nostrils. 

After the first few weeks of this misery, his lip was raw and blistered, and his septum was even worse. A soft-hearted kitchen witch in the tavern had pressed a little jar of salve into his hand upon seeing the state of his face one night, imploring him to keep the damaged skin covered with it whenever he could. It was the only thing that helped the abused area even weeks later, and he never stirred a step without it in his pocket now. He was on his third jar, and the cold showed no signs of abating. 

The worst part was, every sorcerer in the city knew about his magical sickness now, and they mocked him endlessly for it. Everyone from the king's own enchanter down to the youngest apprentice whispered about him behind their hands and tittered at him behind his back. The nicknames they gave him only added insult to injury. 

"Here comes Sorcerer Sniffles," he'd hear them say before turning away with a laugh, careful to be nowhere near him even after all this time in case he was catching. He wasn't allowed near the gaming tables anymore even in casual settings, for no one dared to use the cards or dice after he had touched them. At first they let him play billiards as long as he brought his own stick, but it was difficult to line up a good shot when one's nose was tickling and dripping incessantly. Still, he would have pressed on, desperate for any of his usual entertainments, but a cruel trick a few weeks ago had dissuaded him from returning to the billiards hall. 

He had stepped away to the lavatory for only a minute in the middle of a billiards game, accidentally leaving his salve behind on his seat. When he returned and went to pick up his pool stick, he found he could hardly grab it, for it wanted to slide right out of his hand, having been covered in some sort of slime. The men he was playing with laughed uproariously as he nearly dropped it twice within a moment.

"We thought since you're always smearing that grease on your face, you'd want it on your stick too for good luck!" one of them called. "It doesn't seem to make your cold go away, but maybe it'll improve your aim!"

Cassius reddened and laughed along, trying not to show his hurt. He wiped off the stick as best he could, but it remained slippery and sticky regardless of what he did, so his game suffered even more than it already had. He lost soundly, and went home with his metaphorical tail between his legs, stick and salve in tow, and hadn't been back since. Before the damned cold, he could beat any man at billiards on any given day, but he hadn't won a game since he'd been ill. True, perhaps he hadn't always been the most gracious winner, and perhaps he had cheated a time or two with his magic, just a little, but it was all in good fun. The teasing was cruel and harsh and unnecessary, and he quickly became bitter and hateful toward everyone. He didn't want to see people anymore. All they did was laugh at him.

These days he rarely left his home unless he had to, spending most of the day in bed sleeping if he could. Yet he never felt rested; his breathing was so poor now that he would wake up gasping if his head was at the wrong angle for too long, or else his dripping nose and raw throat would irritate him into wakefulness. He slept in small bursts of an hour or two, so after weeks of this he never fully slept and never fully woke, but went around in a sniffly, snotty haze. 

All that to say, this fair was the last place he wanted to be and yet here he was forced to stay. The only mercy was that it was nearly over. The festivities ended this evening and he would be free to nurse his misery alone in peace. 

The urge to sneeze was creeping up on him again. He reached for the handkerchief he had stowed away only moments before, but it was gone. In its place he found… a pancake?

As he pulled out the pancake, wondering if he was hallucinating, a chorus of shrill laughter erupted from behind him where a gaggle of rough youths was following at a distance. 

"Cassius the Crusty-Nosed shouldn't have a handkerchief. A pancake is better to get all the syrup off his face!" they called mockingly.

Boiling with rage, Cassius would have hexed them immediately, but his magic was useless within the fairgrounds. Before he could do more than take a step in their direction, though, the boys ran away, still laughing, dropping the handkerchief they had picked from his pocket in their wake.

Cassius watched them go, knowing he was in no shape to give chase. He defeatedly walked to his handkerchief and picked it up, wincing as his head throbbed miserably when he bent over. The square of linen was now filthy and useless, and was the last dry one he carried. He stuffed it back into his pocket to be washed with the others, angry tears that had nothing to do with his cold pricking his eyes. Only a few more hours until he could go home. 

~~~

Ariella had been watching Cassius from a distance for several days now, and she saw the mischievous prank the boys had played on him from start to finish. She sighed, biting her lip as the sick sorcerer walked away dejectedly. Everything about Cass was dull these days, from his unpolished boots to his wrinkled cloak. Even the silver tassel on his hood had lost its shine. 

Her spell had worked exactly the way she intended initially, but she certainly hadn't expected it to last this long. His cold should have cleared up weeks ago. While Cassius certainly deserved some punishment for the cruel trick he'd played during Elm's exhibition, and for the years of lying and cheating before that, this was more excessive than she'd intended. She needed to figure out how to remove the effects of her magic before he collapsed from exhaustion. 

She knew he was too proud and angry to come to her on his own, though. She began to plan how best to intervene.

~~~

Ariella was waiting for Cassius outside of his cottage that night after the festival ended. She made herself invisible and didn't make herself known to him until he was almost upon her so he wouldn't have a chance to hex her from a distance before she could talk to him. 

He jerked violently when she popped into his line of sight, and she saw his eyes fill with rage as he recognized her, the tips of his fingers beginning to glow immediately. With another quick word, she cast paralysis on him to prevent him from casting any spells of his own. The rage in his eyes heightened as he fought against her spell, but his weeks of sickness had weakened him, so she controlled him without much difficulty.

"I'm here to help you, Cass, so please don't do anything stupid. I came to take my sickness spell off of you. I never meant for it to last this long, I swear. But I need to examine you to see where I went wrong, and I need you to promise not to start flinging spells everywhere while I do. 

The anger in his eyes didn't abate in the slightest.

She frowned back at him. "You have no choice but to trust me, even though I know you don't want to. You can't keep going like this, and we both know I'm the only one who can help you. Plus, you're in no shape to duel right now, and I don't want you to get hurt. I understand you're angry, but I need you to be civil. Do you promise? Blink twice if you do.

As she spoke, the crackling glow slowly receded from his fingertips, and the rage in his gaze diminished to less frightening levels, though his eyes were still steely. After a long moment, he blinked twice.

"Good. I'm going to release you now. If you try to hex me, I might just let you keep this cold for the rest of your miserable life."

The glare intensified for a moment, but receded again. When he seemed calm, Ariella lifted the paralysis, though still mentally preparing a shield spell. Cassius crumpled forward when she did, spellcasting clearly the last thing on his mind as he erupted into a messy sneezing fit with his hands braced against his knees: 

“HUH’RIISSHH! H'ZZIIHHSH’uu! HH-! HUHYYIISSHHhue!"

"Blessings, Cass," Ariella murmured as he mopped up his face. 

He leveled a glare at her as he straightened. "Keep your damned blessings, and keep my name off your lips!" he croaked."It's because of you I'm in this state to begin with! I'll have you reported to the Order! Or the Ministers! I'll have your head for this, mark my words! You and Renata both! You think you can get away with cursing me? Think again! I'll have–!"

He interrupted his own monologue with a barking coughing fit, severe enough to force him to brace his hands on his knees again or else be knocked over. Ariella kept her distance, though with anyone else she would have gone to their side and tried to help soothe such a nasty fit. She was sure he wouldn't allow her to give him any comfort. 

"Are you quite finished?" she asked when he had quieted and straightened up again. 

He only glared, arms wrapped around himself, though he couldn't fully hide his trembling. 

"As I said, I know you're angry. But I'm here to help. So can we please go inside so I can look at you and we can talk like normal people?" 

With a sarcastic bow he gestured for her to follow him inside. 

Cassius went in search of a clean handkerchief as soon as they walked in the door, his breath hitching into another sneezing fit, so Ariella took a moment to look around. Much like the rest of him, his house was a mess. It seemed he hadn't used the kitchen or the workbench in weeks and both were in need of scouring, as was the floor. A good layer of dust was over everything, and the only signs of life were around his bed in the corner where he was clearly spending most of his time, judging by the used handkerchiefs and mugs scattered around, not to mention the abundance of blankets. 

Cassius was staring at her with his arms crossed when she finished her surveyal, heavy-eyed and flush-faced and looking very ill and peevish. 

"Like what you see?" he snapped. "I've certainly been living the high life thanks to you. I'm too sick and dizzy to clean my cottage and no one will come over to help because I'm so disgusting." His voice was nearly gone, only a shadow of what it normally was, which only served to reinforce his statement. 

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said quietly. "Would you mind sitting at the table for a bit? I need to get a good look at you, and you're already swaying on your feet."

He slumped into the nearest chair with a grunt and a sniffle, swiping at his abused nose with the fresh handkerchief before applying more salve with shaking hands. All the fight seemed to have left him already, she noted, and now he simply looked sick and tired. His exhaustion was nearly tangible, and he yawned even as she watched. He also had yet to stop shivering and was still bundled into his cloak. Ariella's heart softened even further.

"Can I make you some tea, Cass?" she asked gently. 

He started when she said his name, eying her blearily. She saw a protest coming as he tried to glare, but a particularly harsh shudder came over him just then. He dropped his eyes as he hugged himself even tighter. 

"I would appreciate that," he mumbled with a sniffle. 

In no time Ariella had scrounged up the ingredients for a soothing herbal tea and stoked the fire high. She encouraged Cassius to sit close to the blaze and warm himself as the tea steeped, which he did with little hesitation, his eyes slipping closed immediately. He looked so pathetic that her caregiver instincts kicked in in spite of herself, and she moved to his side, pressing a palm to his forehead.  

His eyelids fluttered at her touch but he didn't pull away, and in fact let the weight of his head rest more fully against her hand with a hoarse little moan. She wondered when he'd last been touched. Heaven knows everyone has been keeping their distance from him recently. 

"You're warm," she murmured, running her hands gently over the swollen lymph nodes along his neck and jawline. "Very warm, I'd even say."

"I always have a fever now, but it gets higher at night," he mumbled, not opening his eyes.

"Do you have a headache?"

"Constantly. Just absolutely throbbing. Like a hammer in my skull."

"So not just a snotty mess, then. You really are as sick as you look," she sighed. She carded her fingers once through his hair, then let her hands drop to her sides.

He reflexively groaned at the loss of her touch, then blinked several times as he registered what she said, frowning. "You thought I was just playing it up, did you?" he rasped.

"I thought it was a possibility. You're not known for your honesty, and you are known for being dramatic. But it seems I made the spell stronger than I thought."

"Evidently," he muttered darkly, propping his head up on one hand as he let his eyes slip closed again. 

The tea was brewed not long after that, and once he had the mug in hand, she began to look him over once more, murmuring a few simple divining incantations with her hands pressed against him. He was very still through this process, watching her carefully. 

She had to smile as her mark appeared near his collar bone, as clear as if she'd cast the spell only a moment prior. 

"It seems Elmrador was overzealous when he set the spell," she said. "It hasn't begun to fade at all yet. I'll take it off right away."

She spoke the words of power, and the mark began to fade instantly, until it disappeared. Cassius let out a shaky exhale, somehow looking even more tired suddenly as she pulled her hands away. 

"I felt that," he breathed. "I felt it lift. So now the symptoms will subside?" 

"In a few days they will. The magic component is gone, so you're just left with a horrid cold that has to clear up with time like any other illness."

His face crumpled, and she thought she saw his lower lip tremble. "You mean this torture isn't over yet?" A pair of tears trickled down his face, and she wasn't sure they had anything to do with his cold, though he hastily rubbed them away. 

"Not yet. But there's an end in sight now. If you rest and eat and drink well, you'll be feeling better in no time," she said cheerilly. 

Cassius’ only reply was to let his aching head fall to the table with a groan, burying his face in his arms. 

Ariella sighed, giving him a moment, then tugged on his arm gently. “Don’t lie down here at the table. You’ll feel better in bed. C’mon.”

He yanked his arm out of her grasp. “Leave off and let me be. I don’t want you here and I don’t want any more of your help,” he said, not lifting his head from his arms.

She refused to let him aggravate her. “I know you’re not feeling well, and I know I had a part in that, so I’m trying to make it right. I wish you would just let me.”

He turned his head so his eyes were visible. “I don’t need your pity. I’m fine on my own.”

“Oh yes, I can see that,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But I’m not pitying you. I only want you to be more comfortable.”

“Perhaps I don’t deserve comfort. I’m disgusting, remember?” he said bitterly. As if to prove his point, he turned his face back into his arm to catch a trio of messy sneezes:

“Hihhg’KIIHHPTTchhoo! GIHHPTTZ’chhoo! Hehh– HEHHGEHTTtchoo!” He sniffled pathetically, unable to meet her eyes as he scrubbed at his red face before letting his head fall back down with a thump.

Ariella’s face softened yet again. She knelt at his side as she would a child’s, pressing her palm to his forehead once more, since that seemed to be the best way to get through to him. He sighed in spite of himself, angling his face so she could better reach him. 

“Blessings, Cass. I’m sorry that others were making you feel that way. But you’re not disgusting. You just have a disgusting cold. You deserve comfort just as much as anyone else. So why don’t you go lie down in bed? I’ll make up a hot water bottle for you, and some more tea to help you sleep before I go.”

He hesitated, then gave a tiny nod, rising to his feet. He had only taken a few steps, though, when she said his name again. He looked at her questioningly.

“There’s something I want to give you that I think you need.” She magically increased her height so she was just slightly taller than him, then wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. He tried to pull away at first, but she refused to let him go. After a handful of breaths, he let himself lean into her bonelessly, burying his dripping nose into her shoulder, his hot forehead against her neck. Moments later she felt his shoulders shaking with silent sobs, weeks of pent up emotion now coming out all at once. The shoulder of her tunic grew damp with his tears, and she held him all the tighter, rubbing up and down his back and supporting his limp weight. 

“I know, I know,” she soothed. “Just let it out. I’ve got you.”

He did just that, and she continued to hold him as he continued to gasp and sob. 

Eventually he pulled away, in fact sooner than she would have thought, scraping his sleeves over his test teary face to hide the evidence, though his breathing and nose betrayed him. He didn’t meet her eyes as he at last pulled off his cloak and shuffled his way to bed, sniffling and coughing. Shrinking back to her normal height, Ariella busied herself getting the tea ready, an herbal draught for sleep this time, as he continued to compose himself. 

She brought the tea to him when it was ready, then lingered at his bedside to fuss around, making sure he was propped up well and tidying the sickbed area. He watched all this without comment, fidgeting with the mug. 

“I still hate you, you know,” he said suddenly. “You and Renata both. For what you did to me.”

She stopped mid-task and gave him a long look, choosing her words carefully. “Well you aren’t exactly my favorite person either, and I don’t foresee that changing anytime soon. In fact, most days I loathe you. You’re too prideful, and you care far too much about money and praise and your image. However, you are certainly not a leper, and I’m sorry you were treated like one. But I’m not sorry for my part in your current predicament. You deserve every bit of this cold. And perhaps when you’re better, you’ll go back to your old ways without a second thought. But I hope you learned a little humility these past six weeks and choose to act on that instead. Your gaming peers may not have been so quick to shun you if there weren't years of your cheating and lying and gloating between you. Meanness and selfishness will always be a two-lane road. But that’s all I'll say on the subject.”

He didn’t reply. She didn’t expect him to, but she knew he’d heard her. Once she finished speaking, he at last took a few long pulls from the mug, and his eyes grew instantly heavier. After several huge, sniffling yawns, he downed the rest of the mug, then let himself fall back against the pillows, as if any remaining strength had left him all at once. He was snoring in seconds. 

Ariella made sure he was warmly covered and placed a hot water bottle at his feet. He didn’t stir, and his congested breathing didn’t falter. She knew she’d made the tea well. He would hopefully sleep for several uninterrupted hours and feel better for it when he woke. 

She didn’t intend to be here at that time, though, and she was sure he wouldn’t want her to be. As soon as everything was tidy and secure, she let herself out his front door and began to make her way down the lane, not looking back. She had done her part and repaid anything she might have owed him. They could go back to their old animosity now, and that was just fine with her. He really was an unpleasant slimeball usually, but no one deserved to be quite that miserable and sick and alone for such a long time. She had only the faintest hope he would change for the better after all of this, but perhaps he would surprise her. 

As she went, though, she couldn’t help but smile to herself. Cassius had actually cried on her shoulder. Of course she would never tell another soul or mock him for it, but if and when he opposed her in anything ever again, it would only take a pointed look to remind him of that fact. 

It gave her no end of joy to imagine this, and she cackled to herself as she danced down the lane toward her own home, the chilly autumn air racing along with her. 

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

Sicktember #17

Prompt: Magical Remedy/Healing Potion

Fandom/OCs: Sorcerer ‘verse OCs (Elmrador Renata)

Words: 1430

Sicknario inspo: Cold in an isolated place from this post

Author’s comments/background: What other AU could I use for this prompt but my charming sorcerer ‘verse? And I’ve been waiting to use this sicknario for quite a while. This is pretty similar to my Navy Man fic in several ways, becuase I actually used the same base prompt for both as I was toying with ideas and nothing else seemed to suit either one. Still, I think there’s enough differences that no one but me would notice the similarities. Also I really love the ending of this one :)

CW: Emeto mentions, but nothing explicit, tried to keep it "off camera". Mentions of nausea and other GI symptoms. 

~~~***~~~

 Minister Dober's home was the most impressive of the ministers’ residences, and it was considered a high honor to be invited there, a fact Elmrador tried to bear in mind. The home's grandeur was stark against its spare, mountainous surroundings in the frozen wilds of the north, making it all the more imposing. The isolation (and Minister Dober's paranoia and subsequent security measures) made it an ideal location for meetings requiring the utmost secrecy, and as Head Sorcerer of Defense, Elmrador had occasion to be there fairly often. However, Elm wasn't built for the cold and avoided being cold at all costs, so visits to the minister's home were a trial for him. The two day carriage ride through the frozen mountains was arduous, and he shivered the whole way despite being wrapped in two cloaks with a stove at his feet. Yet despite any precautions he took, he would nearly always have the beginnings of a head cold by the time he arrived. 

One memorable year when he arrived sporting yet another cold, Elm found the usual ribbing from the other attendees about his shoddy immune system and weak constitution to be nigh on unbearable, and he vowed to find a way to get rid of his ailment so he could attend the meetings without sneezing his head off for once. 

The official meetings were to begin the next morning, so Elm burned the midnight oil as he researched natural, known cold remedies. Since there is no magical remedy for a cold, he knew would have to concoct his own. With some help from the kitchen staff, he acquired the ingredients for tea, incorporating every known natural decongestant including ginger, chili peppers, garlic, tumeric, and more. Then he used a bit of magic, a simple kitchen witch spell which enhanced the potency of the ingredients while minimizing strange flavors. When all seemed ready, he swallowed a tiny mouthful. The taste was… unpleasant. Yet almost immediately he felt a reaction in his sinuses. The pressure decreased and his nose flowed freely, minimizing the urge to sneeze. After a few hearty blows into his handkerchief, his nose felt markedly better. After only a mouthful, his sinuses were nearly free from congestion. He had done it! He resisted the urge to crow due to the late hour, but he danced a quiet jig in excitement. How he would laugh in their faces tomorrow when he emerged in good health!

~~~

Elmrador was wearing a smirk as he presented himself for the meeting the next morning. His tea continued to work wonderfully, and he had a flask of it stored in the pocket of his tunic. It had only taken a small mug this morning for his nose to feel better than it had in days. With the application of a little powder to hide the lingering redness, one would never guess he had been sick. 

The butler announced him as he entered the conference room, as was custom:

"Elmrador Renata, Head Sorcerer of Defense."

"--with his cold!" called Sorcerer Frahm, laughing. 

"Not today, Quil," Elm shot back, his voice free from any hint of congestion. "No more cold for me."

Quil looked dumbfounded, as did the few others in the room while Elm took his seat, looking smug. 

"How'd you do it, then?" asked Sorcerer Creach, leaning over to whisper. "You're never laid up with a cold for less than a week, and everyone knows healing potions don't work on those. What's the secret?"

"Let's just say I found a remedy that works," Elm said. "I want to experiment some more before I start telling my secrets, though."

Wilfar Creach shook his head. "Whatever you say, Elm. I just hope you know what you're doing."

The meeting started as usual, and at first everything was going swimmingly for the (formerly?) sick sorcerer. He ducked away twice in the course of the morning to take swigs of his tea and blow his nose. He noticed that he required slightly more tea each time to get the same effect, but attributed this to the fact that the brew had been made almost twelve hours prior. The last break he took just before lunch required him to take several hearty gulps before he felt any effect. After attempting to rinse the taste from his mouth he returned to the meeting room, but when he sat he couldn't help but notice a distinct discomfort in his stomach. He palmed it surreptitiously, feeling it grumbling unhappily. He tried to ignore this and focus on the remainder of the first session, hoping some food might help. 

When they broke for luncheon he made his way to the dining room with the rest, but when the plate of food was set down before him he realized the thought of swallowing anything only turned his stomach further. Nevertheless, he picked at a few bites of salad and bread and moved the rest around on his plate to make it look like he'd eaten more. The food seemed to do more harm than good, and he was feeling worse than ever as he shuffled back into the conference room for the second session. 

It was a long, miserable afternoon for poor Elmrador. His stomach churned and rolled sickeningly, gurgling and growling all the while. Soon his abdomen was noticeably bloated against his tunic, only barely concealed by his robe, and he was rubbing it almost constantly, seeking any sort of relief. He was thankful there was almost never a quiet moment in these meetings because the noises coming from his gut would have attracted everyone's attention. He was sure the people on either side of him heard some of the ruckus, but they politely ignored it. 

Had the session gone on into the evening, Elm feared he would have had to excuse himself as he was feeling more green by the minute. Luckily Minister Hart, an avid hater of overlong meetings, was up next to present, and he voted to adjourn the day’s sessions, opting to present first the next day instead. In order not to reveal the state of his stomach, Elm remained seated until everyone else had left, pretending to go over his notes, waving away any inquiries with a brusque 'I'm fine, go on'. When he was at last alone, he slowly stood, groaning low in his throat as he clutched his stomach. He shuffled his way to his room, giving the dining room and the food smells within a wide berth. 

He spent a long night holed up in his room, experiencing the gamut of gastrointestinal distress in waves until every drop of tea had been purged from his system and then some. He at last got relief in the wee hours of the morning and was able to sleep a few winks before he had to rise and prepare for the second day's sessions. A very pale and shaky Elmrador emerged that morning, and while his stomach was much better, his cold was back with a vengeance. 

In Minister Dober's home it was custom to be announced to the host each morning. Swallowing his pride, Elm presented himself to the butler once again, trying to ignore the tingle in his sinuses. 

"Elmrador Renata, Head Sorcerer of Defense," drawled the butler once more. 

Having been suppressed for almost a day, Elm's cold seemed to be out for blood with a mind of its own. As the butler was uttering the last syllable, Elm was forced to press his handkerchief to his nose to catch a salvo of messy sneezes, on display for the whole panel of Sorcerers and Ministers to see. 

"... And his cold!" laughed Quil. "Looks like that bug caught up to you again, eh mate? Knew you couldn't ignore it for long, not with a nose like yours."

Elm emerged from his handkerchief with his lip curled in a snarl, and if the Ministers hadn't been present, he would have given a rude retort about the size of Quil's nose compared to other bits of him. Sorcerer Creach intervened, though, and quietly gestured Elm over to sit beside him again. Elm sullenly made his way over. 

Wilfar stood and pulled out a chair for his companion. "Don't mind him. Here, I've saved you a seat by the fire," the gentle man said quietly. 

"Thank you, Wil," Elm replied, mollified. "Someday I hope we won't have to have our gatherings in the frozen arsehole of the world," he said, too softly for the Ministers to hear. "I've had enough of these damn colds."

Wil only laughed, clapping Elm on the shoulder and handing him a mug of coffee.

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

Powers and Flowers

Based on this post about a mage cursing someone with a cold. I don’t write a lot of high fantasy but it’s always so fun when I do, and I’m so glad I finished this so quickly! @sickromancer and @coughdontfeelwellcough requested this and I couldn’t resist. I originally introduced Elmrador here but haven’t done anything with him since, so I was glad to write about him again! This story has several elements that I had never tried before, so I hope you enjoy 2.5k words about colds, allergies, crying, some revenge, and a lot of mages! Feedback always welcome!

Cw: Intentional (if well-deserved) contagion if that's not your jam. It's described pretty minimally, but definitely there.

The road to the fairgrounds was crowded with merrymakers, dressed in their brightest finery. The king's birthday was cause for great celebration, and his annual birthday festival was the highlight of the year for many. Rich and poor, young and old were all making their way to the fairground gate, hoping to be among the initial entrants. Four young sorcerers, dressed in bright, sweeping cloaks, attracted very little attention therefore. They held a quiet conversation as they walked, with their hoods up and noses covered against the clouds of dust created by the crowd. Still, for the tallest of the four, the cloth was apparently inadequate protection. His steps paused, and he lurched forward into fit of roughly stifled sneezes, the third fit in as many minutes.

"Bless you, Elmrador. Are you sure you're well enough for an exhibition today? You are ill, and this blasted sun and dust isn't helping I'm sure."

"I'mb fide. Idt's only a cold, and a smball, private exhibition, and I'mb only usi'g spells I've done before. But idt's ndot like I have mbuch choice. Unless you're volunteeri’g to take mby place, Melfin?"

"No! No no no. Any other slot perhaps, but I'm hopeless at defense. You make those intricate warding spells look easy, but they totally escape me."

"Then I don't wandt to hear anymbore aboudt idt. Mbinister Pankhurst trusts these exhibitions to mbe to oversee, and I'mb ndot aboudt to disappoint himb." 

"Who are you disappointing now, Sorcerer Renata?"

The four turned to meet another cloaked figure, walking against the flow of the crowd and earning dirty looks from everyone who had to move around him. 

"Sorcerer Flint. To what do we owe the pleasure?" Ariella said, stepping in front of Elm and drawing herself up to her full height as she tried to look imposing, though she hardly came up to Elm's chest.

"Step aside, Sorcerer Laine. I wasn't speaking to you." 

He brushed her aside and she stared daggers at him, but was powerless to do anything else. No doubt she would have hexed him had she been able, but they were currently within the magic-free zone of the fairgrounds, which was almost certainly why Cassius Flint had accosted them here. 

"How can I helbp you, Sorcerer?" Elm said, keeping his voice as neutral as he could, despite the rasping squeak of a sore throat.

"You can help me by telling me why I was passed over to be part of the exhibition yet again. You manage to get your friends in every year, yet I've never once been selected." Cassius leaned against the fence beside them lazily, completely blocking Elm's path. The tide of people behind them began to flow around, earning them plenty more dirty looks, rude gestures and muttering. 

Elm tried to ignore this and remain calm. He glanced around at his companions. "The only person here today participati'g in the exhibition besides mbyself is Sorcerer Laine, and she was asked personally by the Mbinister of Gardens as I understand, so I had ndothi'g to do with idt. I'mb ndot sure whadt you're goi'g on aboudt, so I would ask thadt you mbove aside and ledt us pass."

"You don't sound so well, Renata. A little under the weather, I think. I don't imagine *you're* up to performing today. Let me take your place. You're doing defense, right? That's one of my specialties. I'll do it justice, never fear." 

Elm's eyes narrowed. "Oh indeed? I find thadt hard to believe since you copied off of anyone who would ledt you duri'g our school days, and also tried to take credit for those protection spells I sold to Mbinister Wentworth a few years bagck." 

Cassius sputtered for a moment while the other three sorcerers tittered. Elm took the opportunity to cough and clear his throat into his elbow before he continued: "The truth came oudt in the end, budt all the same, I don't trusdt you, Cass. And everyone knows you've had some bad lugck gambli'g recently. Unless I mbiss mby guess, you're only interested in exhibiti'g today for the mboney, and that simply won't do adt all. I'mb fine to exhibit today, and I have ndo quarrel with you, so I'll asgk once again thadt you steh- ehh.. hhhTEHHGGCHooo! HiihGEZSSHHoo! HIISSHHiuu! Ihhh… ihh-DJIISSHHHyue!!”

The force and suddenness with which he sneezed indicated that he'd been holding off the urge through the entire conversation, and he hunched into himself as if protecting the others from the blast. It was a miserable display that would elicit sympathy from the hardest of observers. A chorus of blessings rang out from his companions, but Cassius only smirked. Elm recovered as quickly as he could, standing upright again and readjusting his cloak over his nose.

"As I was sayi'g, stebp aside please and ledt us pass, Sorcerer Flint."

It was Cassius' turn to narrow his eyes. "If you insist, Sorcerer Renata. Although I really do wonder if you're well enough to exhibit today, especially for the king's birthday festival. It would be a shame if something happened to ruin the show, today of all days. I certainly hope it all goes well for you. But if you won’t change your mind, then I'll say ta-ta for now. I'm sure we'll all meet again over the course of the festivities."

With that he finally turned and swept away. The foursome also began to move, pushed along by the crowd once more. 

"You don't think that was a threat, do you?" Laurentina whispered, looking around anxiously.

"Not a chance. Cass is all talk. He's not smart enough to actually get away with anything. Everything will be fine," Ariella said with a wave of her hand. Melfin nodded in agreement. 

Elmrador only shrugged. "Ledt's hope so. Budt we really have to hurry ndow. The buffoon cost us adt least a quarter-hour and the earlier we gedt there, the better."

~~~

With fifteen minutes remaining before he was to exhibit, Elmrador stepped into his preparation tent for the final time. All was as he had left it the day before, aside from a bouquet of flowers that had been placed in the center of the table. He couldn’t smell anything through his blocked nose, but he appreciated the gesture, no doubt from Minister Pankhurst’s wife. He flitted around finalizing his preparations and listening idly to the Minister’s projected voice commenting on the sorcerer performing ahead of him, though he could not see what was happening. 

He had taken a simple tonic for his cold just before entering the tent, and initially it had seemed to work well, as the pressure in his head and sinuses had eased, and the pain in his throat had subsided. However, without warning, he was overcome with the insistent urge to sneeze.

“HehYEISHHuue! ESSHHuue! Gihh-HESHH'ooo! Hihh'IHHSH'shoo!!”

His nose was suddenly itchier than it had been all day. He had hardly recovered from this first bout of sneezing when the itch flared up again, even more demanding, and the fit that followed was even less relieving, for he wanted to start sneezing again almost immediately. Through watering eyes he looked around desperately for the cause of the irritation, as he knew his cold was not the sole source, even as he stifled more sneezes into his arm. His glance lighted on the bouquet on the table once more, and dread filled his chest as he studied it more closely. The bouquet was almost entirely made of lavender, hidden cleverly amongst more benign blooms. It was well known amongst Elm’s companions and schoolmates, and anyone who had ever worked closely with him, that he was desperately allergic to lavender, as it was a common spellcasting component, and its effect on him was impossible to ignore. There was no way this “gift” was from the minister’s wife.

Elm quickly chucked the vase out the door, but in the process the pollen was stirred up, flooding his face and overwhelming him like it never had before, and the sneezes barrelled out of him at alarming speed and volume, scraping his throat raw and giving him a splitting headache. He bent over at the waist, sneezing again and again and again, feeling as if he would never stop. He could hardly draw a breath, couldn’t see through streaming eyes, and his nose was running freely down his chin and onto his robes, with nowhere else to go and no sign of the flood ceasing. 

He desperately clutched his talisman and gasped out a simple incantation to try to clear his face and nose. It worked only partly, but he dare not try anything more powerful for fear of what would happen if it went awry. He managed to take a few frantic breaths as he pinched his nose, using all his willpower to keep from sneezing even for a few moments. The chime for his five minute warning sounded, and panic rose in his chest. 

He spent the remaining time trying desperately to get himself under control, with minimal success. Yet when the one minute chime sounded, he knew he would have to go on with the show, or else embarrass the king, as well as himself. He cleaned himself up with a final muttered incantation, then stepped out the door of the tent with a forceful sniffle. His effort was for naught, as the bright sunlight immediately made him sneeze, a painfully stifled pair. Still, he raised his arms and tried to smile as the crowd began to cheer, even as the irritation in his nose flared up yet again. He took a few steps forward, and with a deep breath he began his exhibition.

~~~

Elmrador’s nose and eyes were streaming once more, but this time it was due to his desperate sobbing as he sat on the ground behind the tents later that evening, surrounded by his friends who were attempting to comfort him. He gasped and hiccupped as he tried to speak, but his rage was tangible, and the mana in the air was crackling.

“H-he s-sabotaged mbe! The dirty r-rat t-tried to ruin mby show!” he cried, his face buried in his knees as he dug his nails into his palms. 

“Shh, Elm, just try to breathe. You performed brilliantly considering the circumstances. You have nothing to be ashamed of,” Laurentina soothed, rubbing his sweaty back. 

“Yeah mate, they were clapping and cheering like anything. That was one of your best shows ever,” Melfin agreed. 

“I d-don’t c-care! It was h-humiliati’g! I sndeezed the whole t-time! N-none of m-mby spells w-worked the w-way they were s-supposed to!” he sobbed. 

“A lot of them worked better, to be fair,” Melfin said honestly, earning him a punch in the arm from the sick sorcerer. “But what does it matter? The king loved it.”

“Thadt’s n-ndot the poindt! He r-ruined everythi’g! I– I’mb going to kill himb!”

The other three froze, while Elm had to give over to a sickly coughing fit from the all exertion. His friends gave each other worried looks over his head. Death threats from sorcerers were not taken lightly in their kingdom.

“Don’t say that, Elm,” Laurentina whispered, looking around with fearful eyes as his coughing quieted. “Someone may hear you! You don’t mean that.” She pressed her hand to his forehead, as if to confirm he wasn’t delirious.

“Mbaybe I do!” Elm said, albeit in a lower tone, scrubbing miserably at his nose and pushing away his friend’s hand. “I could have hurdt someone! Or mbyself! Ndo one can control their mbana properly when they’re sndeezing. He’s a fool and a villain.”

“That may be, but don’t say such things lightly,” Melfin cautioned slowly, his eyes also darting around. “If you kill him, you’ll get a scar, and be banished from the Order of Royal Sorcerers. You don’t joke about that, Elm.”

“I’mb ndot joki’g,” Elm muttered, dropping his gaze as he sniffled pathetically, fiddling with the grass at his feet. “I won’t do idt. I’mb ndot stupid. Budt I really wish I could.”

“Killing him might be a bit too far. But he needs to be punished, I agree. Have you considered other options?” Ariella whispered in a conspiratorial tone.

“Ndo,” Elm admitted with a shrug. “I haven’t thought aboudt anythi’g except how angry I amb.” He let his head fall back onto his knees with a tired yawn and a slushy sniffle. “You’re the mbastermind, Ella. Whadt do you thingk I should do?”

“As it turns out, I think I have just the thing. There’s a spell I’ve been wanting to test out, and I think Cassius Flint is the perfect target," she said with a wicked glint in her eye.

~~~

A few days later, Cassius was startled to find Elmrador waiting for him outside his lodgings. Elm saw a flicker of fear cross the shorter man's face, but Cass quickly smoothed his features into a sardonic smile. 

"Sorcerer Renata. What a pleasant surprise," he said, leaning casually against his gate.

"Good day, Sorcerer Flint. I wanted to drop by to thank you. With your help, I gave one of my most successful exhibitions at the king's birthday festival. He absolutely loved my sneezing routine, as did his guests, and paid me handsomely for it. They're requesting a similar show in a fortnight. I haven't given my answer yet, since my cold is much better now. However, you've given me a very effective method of inducing a sneezing fit, so perhaps I'll consider it."

Elmrador stared unblinkingly at the other man, daring him to reply. Cassius' Adam's apple bobbed anxiously.

"I… have no idea what you're on about. I had no part in the exhibition and no idea what you mean about a sneezing routine."

"Oh indeed? Perhaps I can jog your memory."

Before Cassius could react, Elmrador moved so they were inches apart, grasped his talisman and pressed his nose into his boutonniere, which was a large sprig of lavender. With a desperate gasp, Elm immediately exploded into a wet sneezing fit right into Cassius' face. 

“HehgESZZSH'shoo!! hehDIISSHHuue!! Gihh'HHIIHH'shoo!!”

Of course Cassius jumped back immediately, but not before being covered by the first of the spraying sneezes.

"Gods, what was that?!" Cassius yelled, scrubbing at his face. "You're disgusting!"

"That I am, and soon you will be too. I hope you don't mind, but I've been working on this projection spell, and I wanted to try it out on you to thank you for all your help. Within the hour I imagine you'll feel the effects. Oh, and good luck in your dice tournament tonight. I think you'll need it, with the nasty cold you're going to have and all. Hopefully it doesn't turn feverish. I wonder if they'll even let you play with how much you'll be sneezing."

Elmrador turned and began to stride away with a smirk. 

"Wait! Take it off, I beg you! I've done nothing to deserve this!" Cassius called frantically.

"No, I don't think I will," Elm replied, not turning. "Your cold will run its course in time, though it might last a few weeks longer than usual, or so Ariella says. If you want it taken off before then, you'll just have to talk to her. It's her spell."

"Elmrador, have mercy! You can't do this!"

"It seems I already have. Ta-ta for now, Cass. I'm sure we'll meet again in the course of time."

With that the tall sorcerer was gone, leaving a furious Cassius in his wake, scrubbing at his already dripping nose.

(Let me know if there’s any interest in a follow-up fic with sick Cassius. It would have totally changed the tone of this piece and added a lot of length, but I’ll write a separate thing if others want to see it! After all, I’ve yet to write a sick, miserable villain :)  Thanks for reading!)