Of all the menial tasks Senya had expected to perform at this post, preparing hot tea somehow never crossed her mind – and yet here she was, steeping a blend of herbs in water heated to boiling, her elven armor discarded in favor of a leather jerkin.
She recognized the scents wafting up from the concoction, from the tart smell of comberries to the sweet mellow aroma of honeysuckle. It was an imported product, like most of the consumables her Commander preferred. Her eyes wandered to the stash of sugar crystals from Elsweyr and the strong Nibenay tobacco and she emitted a small sigh as she closed the pantry.
Wouldn’t do for anyone to report the Commander for his small indulgences. Especially when they were some of the only comforts available to him now.
After the tea finished brewing she ascended the stairs, moving carefully to avoid spilling the contents of the porcelain cup in her hands. Another imported bauble, supposedly an antique crafted using the same methods the ancient Akaviri used. The Commander owned an entire set. Normally she would have selected a less conspicuous vessel for simple tea, but she wanted to lift his spirits. She could hear the gentle patter of raindrops on the roof overhead as she made her way down the hall leading to his room.
The sound of wet coughing reached her ears before she was even ten paces from the doorway. Her gait quickened; she pushed open the ajar door and it creaked to announce her presence. Despite her mission to help she felt as if she was intruding somehow, a feeling made more potent by the sight of the Commander sitting on the edge of his bed, hacking violently into a closed fist while his face reddened from the strain.
It was still hard to think of him as “Arthion” and not “the Commander.” Even like this, out of uniform and bedraggled by illness. Senya hurried over and set the tea down on his nightstand before crouching in front of him with her forehead crinkled in worry.
“Are you all right?” she asked, though she already knew the real answer and that he would lie to avoid upsetting her.
“I… yes. Just a bit. Ah. Choked up.” He was desperately trying to get in a good deep breath, as if doing more than short and shallow ones was too great an effort. His shoulders were slumped, his posture defeated, but still he managed to halfway smile before coughing again.
Senya remembered what the healers had said about his heart, about what would likely happen before the end, and felt her throat tighten.
“I made you something,” she told him, reaching for the tea. “It should be soothing.”
Arthion took the teacup with hands that seemed dishearteningly shaky. Still breathing too fast, still glassy-eyed. It hurt to see him like this, barely able to even feed himself because of how his heart’s slow, steady failure was weakening him. When he nearly dropped the cup, Senya reached out and gently tipped it up so he could take a sip unimpeded.
“S'good,” he informed her, and might have taken another sip had not a rattling wheeze forced him to hunch over.
Senya set the tea aside and stood, then sat beside him on the edge of the bed and began to softly pat between his shoulder blades. She doubted it would do any good but it was something she associated with care and concern, and gradually the patting turned to a slow massaging motion. Arthion’s breathing eventually calmed and slowed a bit, deeper pants instead of the small, fervent gasps, and he looked over at her wearily but fondly.
“Got word from the Legion today,” he rasped. “They’re losing ground. Falkreath… hm, Falkreath will be under Ulfric’s banner soon. The Thalmor will be long gone by then. But I’m staying.”
“Staying?!” Senya couldn’t hide the shock. “But you can’t! Nobody knows what you’ve done, they’ll kill you if they find you here–”
“I’m in no shape to travel,” Arthion said quietly. “Look at me. My heart’s about finished. I want to stay here where it’s warm and bright and green… I’ll be dead soon either way.” A humorless laugh escaped him, followed by a cough. “I did what I set out to do, though. I endured to the end.”
“I’m not leaving you here to die,” Senya warned.
“Bah, of course you are. That’s an order. You’re still young, you’ve your whole life ahead–”
The coughing returned with a vengeance, and Senya tried her best to give him some relief but none of her efforts seemed to really help. He had always been on the larger side but now his torso was heavy with fluid backed up due to his condition, chest rising and falling quickly as the excess attempted to suffocate him. Maybe once upon a time Senya might have viewed such a state as disgusting, turned up her nose and left such a messy affair to a healer, but now things were different. Now…
… Now she felt only pity.
“I won’t leave,” she asserted once more. “And you can’t make me.”
He tried to argue with her but the words got lost in more coughing, until finally Senya had to help him lay down and pull the blankets over him to alleviate his shivering. She brushed his hair back from his face with her fingers and adjusted the collar of his nightshirt until there was no danger of it tightening around his neck. She then placed her hand over his heart, feeling it beat at a slower, weaker pace than her own, and she caught him blinking sleepily when she looked at his face again.
“You need to rest,” she admonished.
