LOKI IMAGINES

A Ballad of Reluctant Affections

Kind of a continuation of "A Ballad of Vicious Mockery"!!

This is set during the first week of travelling with the gang, just before the development with Loki :>>

Also, as Dungeons and Dragons rules go, Elves don't sleep, they meditate.

With that,

Enjoy!!

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Were the trees growing in size? Was the wind whispering their secrets to you? Was the soil always this mushy? Why was your head so heavy? Were your limbs always this limp? Did your knees and back suddenly age 200?

Now, why was the world spinning? And, why do you feel like you're drowing in your own mucus?

You weren't even half-way through the Neverwinter Wood when you caught that damned cold from gods' know where. Perhaps, your body wasn't used to such strain. Your immune system had trouble keeping up with the subpar sleep and exhaustion throughout the days of your travel.

You didn't want to make your little illness be obvious though. You wouldn't want the others to think you were incapable of withstanding a few weeks of travel along the continent. Besides, it was just a cold. Nothing too serious... right?

You sniffled as you hammered the last stake of your tent into the firm soil, finishing your set up for the night. Immediately, you slumped in your bedroll, feeling the day's travel in your aching muscles. Your head felt heavy and light at the same time, as you nursed a thunderous headache with nothing but a cup of water.

You grumbled in annoyance once you noticed a dirt stain on your bedroll when you forgot to take your boots off before plopping down in exhaustion.

You only hope that Volstagg cooks something warm and something with soup.

You hear Loki vaguely call out your name from outside your tent. You don't respond.

"I apologize in advance if I see something untoward but— Oh, hells. You look like shit." He opened your tent's flap without permission and was met by a half-dead, half-conscious, and half-functioning bard face first into a bedroll.

"I'm fine," you mumble into your pillow.

Loki raised a doubtful brow. "Are you though?"

You nod face first into your pillow. Loki fought the amused grin that began to grow on his face.

"It's just a cold. I'll be fine." You speak a little louder, still into your pillow, so it comes out muffled.

You feel Loki crouch down to your level. Slowly, he raises a hand and places the back of his hand just on the side of your neck, checking for your temperature.

"You're running hot." He says flatly.

You turn to him, all pale and red-nosed, with a teasing smirk on your face. "Did you call me hot?"

Loki draws back and crosses his arm over his chest. Clearly, he wasn't entertaining any of your jests while you're in this sickly state.

"Sorry," you mumble just loud enough for him to hear your sincerity. You adjust your pillow and try to sit up to have a proper conversation with him.

"Have you tried healing potions?" Loki asked, rummaging around your stuff unprompted. You would've scolded him if you had any energy left in you.

"Have I tried healing potions?" You mocked petulantly, which garnered a pointed and unamused look from Loki. You sighed. "I drank one vial. Don't think it did much."