the way you kiss me will work each time // Chryseis

[Rhaegor]

and I could easily lose my mind; the way you kiss me will work each time
calling me to come back to bed, singing Georgia on my mind

Rhae? To the fever-ridden boy, her voice sounds as if it comes from another dimension, its single syllable breaking through a multitude of portals just to find its way to his unhearing ears. As his own words fall, he wonders what they mean; they sound pretty enough, though the woman before him claims that title through and through. A crooked smile stretches his lips at the thought. Chryseis, his darling Chryseis; he reaches for her, but only stumbles again.

Luckily, the blue roan catches him, and in the process, finds his forehead with her lips. She says something about being hot, to which Rhaegor quietly groans; a splitting pain grows between his ears, further lessening his conscious awareness. Though the contagion has progressively worsened his state, this episode marks by far the worst of his illnesses yet; he swings unsteadily in the wake of Chryseis stepping away, not understanding the words she spoke, nor truly caring.

As the fever takes hold, he thinks about a number of things.

First, of Sviko and Warlight. Their baby faces make their way into his field of vision, dancing about gaily and making mention of the lake. As if on command, that very body of water appears hazily before him; he imagines himself blasting it with his light, but only a thread of blue escapes the center of his chest. Not enough to even kill a fly. He smiles at the memory of that night, wanting now more than ever to be with the two people who know him best; but the vision changes, and he forgets his desperate need.

Mothers, now, are beside him. Solace with her downy wings and Kagerus with her towering spires of bone. He blinks softly towards both of them, remembering how gently they treated him and how loving a home he'd had to grow up in; a pang of guilt runs through the mad boy. His mothers deserve a son who will serve them as well as they served him, and he knew that if any of their children were to do so, it would be himself. Or at least, that is what he thinks now, as death and madness flirts with what remains of his consciousness.

Cold.

The word is a command from elsewhere more than it is a thought.

Obedient, Rhae steps closer to Chryseis. As he does so, his vision clears, and he beholds the loveliest figure of them all: his Chryseis. Frost swirls around the blue mustang as she stands, eyes wide with earnest worry; Rhae wonders why she looks as frightened as she does. Though clarity of one kind washes over the young stallion, much of his understanding of reality remains compromised. All he truly knows is that he loves her, and that the closer he is to her, the better he feels.

"Lay down with me, Chryseis." He beckons to her, head tossing weakly as a smile strains against the sickness coating his lips. "Coat me in your sweet frost and kiss me." Another step toward her, and then a throw of his head across her withers such that she might not escape him. "Lady Winter, my Angel Frost." As his fever lessens and his ardor strengthens, Rhae waxes poetic, a skill he inherited and learned from his mother Kagerus.

Lurching, Rhae is suddenly on his knees before the girl before he slowly rolls on to his hip and then his shoulder. With the last of his energy, he cranes his neck up towards her, straining as if to look at her might bring her and her cool air towards him.

"I love you, Chryseis."

Rhaegor

@[Chryseis]