Loyal Servant (Crossmare) (Rewrite)

Between-Arc Oneshot: The Rift Trailer

"I don't understand," Cross growled, staring Zoie down. The rabbit had her ears swerved back in her own display of frustration, though it wasn't aimed at him. "What happened? One moment he's walking with me, barking orders at our servants as per usual, and then the next..." He trailed off, slowly looking Nightmare up and down.

He lay on a cot before Zoie, the healer placing a fresh damp cloth across his forehead. He hardly reacted to the touch with anything more than a light shudder, his one still eye screwed shut. Every breath he took sounded unnaturally labored and wheezy. He apparently lacked the energy to so much as summon a couple tendrils. He hadn't spoken to either of them since the start of this strange episode, only muttering nonsense under his breath. Cross frowned further. I noticed how tired he looked in the morning, but he still collapsed so suddenly.

Zoie sighed and gave a small shake of her head. "Well, I've taken both his vitals and his behavior into account. It seems to me that this is a visceral reaction to extreme exhaustion," She answered, her gaze never leaving the king.

"He's exhausted?" Cross repeated in irritated surprise. He let out a growl and began to pace before Nightmare's sickly form. "How can that be? Our routine is purposefully constructed to avoid anyone being flooded with enough work to drop them like this," He said with a nod to his adored partner. "Even if we're ignoring that little detail, I've been watching him like a hawk. I know he hasn't been pushing himself to the damned breaking point," He insisted, struggling to keep his fear in line so he wouldn't straight up snap at Zoie.

"I don't think it has anything to do with work, or sleep even," Zoie told him. He brought his pacing to a stop, awaiting an explanation. Zoie stepped off to the side and carefully carried over the herbal tea she had been letting brew. She wouldn't drink it herself. Odds are it was another one of her near magical remedies. "I believe this is about his magic. When a monster has something so vital to their being zapped from them as suddenly as his was, it can lead to a variety of dangerous side effects-"

"But it's already been so long since his return to the throne," Cross objected.

"-Yes, I know," Zoie patiently let his interruption slide without a complaint. "Stress can keep a monster going for a long time, but with everything returning to normal and his previously consistent adrenaline now fading away, all that exhaustion has finally caught up to him," Zoie better explained, though it still had Cross scrambling to fully understand. He was doomed to end up like? Cross glanced back as his trio of friends finally came hurrying into the room. The entire castle probably knows by now. "I'm afraid that magic isn't something anyone can heal so easily. He has to win this fight on his own if he's to recover."

Killer stepped up to Nightmare's side, appearing nearly as worried as Cross felt. Dust was quick to place a comforting hand to Killer, though he didn't try the same for Cross. That was probably a smart call, since his panic was starting to make him buzz with hostility. "you have nothing? Not a single thing in this entire realm can help him now?" He questioned, his previously steady voice finally starting to drip with emotion.

Zoie didn't seem the least bit taken aback by his anger, merely giving her head a small shake. She managed to carefully pour the tea into Nightmare's mouth in a way that had him instinctively swallowing it down before he potentially choked on the liquid. "I'm already doing the best I can to give him strength," She said softly, sounding quite patient with his increasingly short temper. Cross nearly snarled out a harsh response, but swiftly thought better of it. It's not her fault. If anyone's to blame, it's Dream for shooting a whole arrow through his chest.

Exasperated and at a loss, Cross turned and stalked out from the room. Horror attempted to say something as he passed by, but he was too riddled with anxiety and stress to even process his words. He stopped once he stood in the dark and quiet hall, taking a much needed deep breath. Think, Cross. He urged himself with a narrow of his eyes. There must be some way to fix-