The Enchanted Bond: A Howl's Moving Castle Fanfiction ft His Imaginary Son

Chapter 7: A Subtle Shift

Eira's morning began like any other—her hands moving in rhythm with the grinding of herbs in the old wooden mortar. The soft thud, thud, thud was a comforting sound that lulled the shop into a peaceful routine. But the calm shattered with a frantic knock at the door.

"Eira! Door!" Galena's voice called out from the back room.

Setting the mortar aside, Eira opened the door to find Howl Pendragon standing there, drenched from the rain, his usual composed elegance replaced by worry. The sight was so startling she just blinked.

"Lord Pendragon?" Her brow furrowed as she took in his disheveled appearance. "What happened?"

Howl stepped in, accepting a towel from Galena with a brief nod. "It's Ardain," he said, his voice strained. "He's... not well. His fever spiked overnight, and it's more than I can handle."

Eira's concern sharpened, the morning's casual air vanishing. "A fever? Has it lasted long?"

Galena, already gathering medical supplies, glanced at Eira. "You should go with him."

Without hesitation, Eira grabbed her bag and cloak. "Let's go."

When they arrived at the Pendragon estate, the imposing house loomed above, but the grandeur felt heavy, oppressive under the circumstances. Howl led her swiftly through the halls to Ardain's room, where Sophie was pacing by the bedside, her worry etched in every line of her face.

"Thank the stars you're here, Eira," Sophie whispered, her voice tight. "He's been delirious all night."

"I'll do what I can," Eira said calmly. "Give us some time."

Sophie hesitated but eventually nodded, leaving with Howl. Alone with Ardain, Eira approached the bed and sat beside him. His usual vibrancy had dimmed, and his skin was pale and clammy. He seemed fragile—so unlike the teasing, confident noble she was accustomed to.

"You always find new ways to keep me on my toes, don't you?" she murmured, dipping a cloth into cool water to place on his burning forehead.

A weak chuckle escaped him. "You didn't have to come," he mumbled, voice hoarse. "I'm sure it's nothing. Just a... fever."

Eira shook her head, pouring out herbal tea to steep beside him. "You and your 'nothing.' I've never known anyone to act so cavalier while half-dead from fever."

His smile faltered, revealing something deeper beneath his usual bravado. "I thought I could handle it. But... sometimes it's just... hard."

Eira blinked, her hand momentarily freezing mid-movement. This wasn't the Ardain she knew—the one who always seemed in control, never allowing a moment of weakness. His vulnerability caught her off guard, and despite herself, she felt a pang of concern far deeper than she expected.

"You don't always have to handle everything on your own, you know," she said softly, surprising herself at the tenderness in her voice.

He exhaled, the weight in his words cutting through her. "What's so hard about being you?" she asked gently, her fingers deftly mixing herbs.

He stared at the ceiling, his voice barely a whisper. "Everyone sees me as... this image. Strong. Capable. But... what if I'm not? What if I can't live up to it?"

Her heart ached at his admission. It was the first time she'd seen him stripped of his usual charm and confidence, and the rawness in his voice was disarming. She hesitated, then let her hand rest lightly over his. "You don't have to live up to anyone's image. You're allowed to just... be."

His gaze shifted to hers, clouded with doubt. "And who am I, then? If not Howl Pendragon's son... what's left?"

"You're Ardain," she replied quietly. "The one who teases me endlessly, who pretends like nothing matters but secretly cares too much. And the one who's too stubborn to admit when he's in over his head."