Wow this is late and I apologize. My week has been,,, hectic to say the least and I'm still very sleep-deprived so this probably isn't very good but whatever!
For the prompts "illness" and "scarf", with a little... twist of my own
They’re minding their own business when the elves attack.
Callum thinks he should’ve been expecting it, honestly. Rayla had warned him that they were pretty close to a town, and that they would both have to stay quiet lest the elves in the town heard. He’s done his best to be quiet, and yet, here they are, cornered by a group of angry earthblood elves.
As soon as they step onto the worn trail, Rayla bristles, her fists clenching at her sides. Callum, who is holding Zym, tugs the dragon closer to his chest, attempting to free a hand to use for magic purposes(not that he knows very many spells).
“A human,” the leader sneers. There’s only three of them, thankfully.
“Leave us be,” Rayla all but growls. Callum’s never seen her look so tense - it’s like she’s about to attack, her stance shifting so that she’s leaning on the balls of her feet.
“Humans do not belong in Xadia,” the second elf says callously, taking a step towards them, “and neither do traitorous elves.”
The added comment sends flares of heat to Callum’s cheeks, because he’s used to the idea that elves are going to hate him but that they would turn on their own kind angers him.
He’s about to snap but then Rayla turns and looks at him, her eyes flickering from his own to the trail behind him. Run, she seems to say, and Callum spares a second to glance behind him as well.
“I said let us be,” Rayla says again, turning back to look at the three earthblood elves even as she pulls her swords out, “I don’t want to fight you.”
“Too late,” the leader sneers, and she lunges forward.
As quick as lightning, Rayla has the blades of her swords out and they meet each other, metal clanging against metal. Callum takes a step back, watching as the other two earthblood elves merely watch, snickering all the while.
I should help her, he thinks, finger already out, shifting a whining Zym so he can better outstretch his arm…
But Rayla and the earthblood elf are skirting around each other like a deadly dance, twisting and stepping faster than Callum can keep up with and he hesitates.
It is a miniscule hesitation, but in that time, the glistening blade of the earthblood elf nicks Rayla’s arm, and Rayla retaliates with a hard hit of her hilt across the elf’s face.
The elf stumbles back, glaring daggers, while Rayla adjusts her own stance, twirling her blades around.
“I told you, I don’t want to kill you,” she says, her tone dark and menacing and it almost makes Callum shiver, “but I will, so go.”
The elf, still glaring, narrows her eyes before turning her head, flicking her ears, and walking away. The other two elves, still snickering, follow.
Rayla’s shoulders slump as soon as the elves are out of sight, and she turns, her expression grim, “well that was interesting. Are you alright?”
“Fine,” he says, because he is, he hadn’t been touched at all, “what about you?”
“No harm done,” and she gives him a small grin, flicking her blades away and tucking the hilts into her belt.
Callum watches her, and then focuses his glance towards the tiny tear in her clothing, “are you sure?”
She laughs, “it’s only a scratch, Callum. Don’t worry so much.”
He glances at it a bit closely, and sure enough, there’s only a shallow scrape on her skin - the faintest dot of blood marring the otherwise smooth surface.
“Okay,” he concedes, releasing Zym so that the dragonling can walk around freely, obviously uncomfortable from the tight position, “well, we should probably keep moving, right?”
“Right,” Rayla affirms, and she turns around to take the lead once more.
It’s mid-afternoon before Callum notices anything wrong.
With the skirmish this morning being almost laughably easy, he had expected for the rest of the day to follow much the same.
However, he starts noticing things. Little things. Things like Rayla’s pace slowing and slowing until she’s walking right next to him, her face betraying nothing. In fact, her face shows little - she almost looks tired, although she never looks tired.
“...Ray? Are you… alright?” He asks hesitantly, stopping so that he can look at her closer.
“Fine,” she mumbles, but she doesn’t sound fine and she doesn’t really look it either. The more he stares at her, the more her skin seems to be paling, her pace slowing further until he reaches out to lightly take her arm and stop her.
Rayla gives him a confused look, but even that’s weirdly weak and there’s something else in her eyes that makes Callum feel vaguely concerned.
“You’re not fine,” he decides, taking her other arm in concern. She looks at him weirdly.
“We need to get going,” she says, and tugs one of her arms free.
Callum refuses to release her other arm, though, and so when she tries to yank it free, he tightens his grasp, his hand closing over her upper arm. She hisses in pain.
Callum looks closer at the arm he has firmly in his grasp, eyes scanning the cloth of her outfit until he finds what he’s looking for - the small cut on her forearm. A scratch, Rayla had call it, and yet…
The skin around the tiny mark is tinged the faintest of green, even as it has swollen up minisculely. The green coloring stretches throughout her entire arm - veins almost glowing against the dark of her skin, spreading upwards.
“Poison,” Callum breathes, because he’s never seen anything else like this and what else could cause that sickly green?
“You’re delusional,” Rayla tells him, and he looks up to see her annoyed expression barely visible from the pain behind her eyes. “I’m fine, and we need to go.”
“You’re not fine!” He protests, “no wonder the elves left so quickly - they knew that damage was done.”
“I’m-” and then she stumbles forward, his body leaning to catch her subconsciously. Green streaks spread into her neck and face, and he almost gapes at how quickly this mysterious substance is working.
She groans in response, her hand reaching to brush her neck with a grimace. Almost all of her weight is on Callum at this point, her knees trembling as she attempts to shift weight back to her feet.
It’s only mid-afternoon and they have a long ways to go and yet Callum scans the surrounding forest for anything that could work as a shelter. His detailed eye catches sight of a partially hidden clearing, covered with branches and leaves and roofed by canopies.
“I’m going to start walking, and we’re going to go sit down,” he says in as stern of a voice as he can muster. He’s never taken care of a sick person before - if you could call this sickness - and the only thing he has to go off of is the faint memory of his stepfather taking care of him when he was younger.
Rayla’s hands shove at his shoulders as she forces herself up, her legs trembling at the gesture. Exhaustion drips off of her like a melting candle, the substance he had called poison becoming more and more prominent as her skin pales.
She isn’t going to be standing for much longer, he thinks, so he takes her by the hand to lead her to the clearing.
They make it over there, but barely, and Callum’s all but dragging Rayla by the time they reach the hidden alcove in-between the trees. The ground is littered with dead leaves and soft dirt, and Callum tugs his jacket off to place on the ground so that Rayla can lay there without fear of getting forest in her hair.
She all but collapses onto the ground once he releases her hand, curling up even as she presses a hand against her forehead.
Callum sits down next to her, worried hands fluttering over her skin in an effort to do something. “How are you feeling?” He asks, because what else can he do?
“Cold,” she mumbles in response, despite the fact that her skin is burning hot when Callum brushes his hand against her forehead and cheeks.
He bites his lip before sighing. Out here, there isn’t much he can do for her - sit, wait it out, hope that whatever is in her system will leave it soon enough - but he can do something to try and make her more comfortable.
So he unwraps his scarf from his neck carefully, almost wincing as the forest air brushes his now-bare neck, before lightly tucking it against her. She can’t sit up enough for him to wrap it fully, so he just spreads the folds of fabric, brushing her hair out of her face in the process.
Rayla’s completely out of it by now, but she still snuggles into the scarf in a gesture that would be adorable had she not have been sick. “Warm,” she mumbles, and Callum’s cheeks flush red despite himself.
He spends what feels like hours tending to her side, combing white hair out of her face as she lays feverish on her side. It’s a good thing that they never stopped to eat or anything, because while her stomach contracts and she dry-heaves, there’s nothing in her system.
Zym watches them worriedly, having followed them into the clearing. A couple of times, he whines, but he never moves closer to Rayla. Callum wonders if the little sky dragon can sense the poison in Rayla’s veins, if he knows that it isn’t anything healthy.
The sky darkens as Callum’s worry grows. It’s late, and she isn’t getting any better. Curled up as she is, his scarf the only thing giving her any warmth as the night cools, he keeps expecting her fever to dissipate, for the poison to run its course and yet it doesn’t.
“Rayla,” he whispers, sliding down on the ground so that he can gaze down at her more easily. Despite the sickness, and the way her brow is scrunched and her eyes are closed, she looks… well, pretty. Pretty, but pale, with green streaks marring her skin and sweat drenching her hair and a flush caused by fever.
Callum’s tired, and it’s been a long day, and he knows he needs to get some rest if he’s to be any help tomorrow. He casts a look at Zym - who is already asleep - and sighs, shifting down further so he can rest his head on the ground, not minding the dirt and leaves sure to come of it.
With a moment’s hesitation, he presses his lips against Rayla’s forehead, feeling the heat of her fever.
“Good night,” he whispers, resting his head and trying not to let the worry settle in his stomach like a sinking rock.
Callum groans as he wakes slowly, blinking his eyes open at the sound of his name.
Rayla’s sitting up, peering over him. His scarf is still wrapped around her shoulders, the red of it contrasting with her white hair. The green is gone, he notes in his sleepy state, and when he glances into her eyes, he doesn’t see any of the feverish exhaustion as he had before.
“You’re awake,” he mumbles, sitting up as well and rubbing at his eyes.
Rayla crosses her arms, “how long was I out?”
“Just a night,” he explains, “you fell asleep yesterday afternoon.”
Something must be bothering her, though, for she frowns and stands, stretching her arms a little before unraveling his scarf, “this is yours?”
Something flickers in her eyes - an emotion he cannot interpret, and Rayla tosses him the scarf, her gaze steely again. “Well come on, we need to get moving,” she says, picking Zym up as well and turning away from Callum entirely.
Callum stands, and he reaches for her shoulder in confusion, “Rayla, what’s wrong?”
“Rayla,” and then he steps forward so he can look at her face to face, the rock sinking into his stomach once again.
“It’s nothing,” she insists, and her skin is still cold from the poison when he reaches for her hand, “Callum, please - we have to go.”
“No,” he says, because she’s not normally this… this stubborn, and his heart is pounding in his chest and he doesn’t know why, “Rayla, we need to talk about this!”
“You almost died!” And he’s yelling now, releasing her hand to press against his chest and maybe calm his breathing for a bit, “it was so fast and you were so pale and I thought… I thought…”
Rayla’s gaze softens then, her shoulders dropping down and she reaches to place her hand on his shoulder. The contact sends shivers down his spine and he doesn’t know why.
“I’m sorry,” she says, and Callum blinks at the sudden softness to her voice, “I didn’t realize…”
“That you were dying?” He snorts, a dry sort of laughter that comes out more hysterical than he intended, “Rayla, I thought I was going to lose you.” His voice cracks, and he winces internally at how… needy he sounds.
“You won’t lose me,” she steps closer to him, her eyes searching for something. Her hand on his shoulder curls, her free hand tugging the scarf off of her shoulders to gently wrap it around his neck. Callum just watches her, frozen.
Once she’s adjusted the scarf enough, there’s a pause, and then he’s staring into her lavender eyes, watching the way she leans a little on her toes, and he’s all-too aware of the proximity between them. His hands curl up at his sides, and he’s so close to closing the distance between them-
And then Rayla steps back, her hands flying to her sides as she laughs. It’s a nervous laugh - one that he’s familiar with even if he doesn’t know the cause.
“I’ll take it easy,” she promises, her voice leaking forced happiness, “now come along, dumb prince, we all need some food.” Zym chirps in agreement.
“Okay,” he reluctantly complies, and together they fall into step.
That awkwardness between them though… it doesn’t go away.
(much later, when they’re sitting together, he wraps his scarf around her neck once again, if only to lightly tug her into a kiss).
