Corners of the Multiverse (Scomiche Oneshot Compilation)

Of Monsters and Magic (And Bread) (Fantasy 'Verse Pt. 2)

A/N: Wow, I am so, so sorry this took so long. Finals happened, then life happened, then this grew a lot of legs and got a little plotty. I hope you enjoy it. As always, please point out any grammatical/spelling mistakes.

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"How did this happen?" Mitch asks in a shaky voice, pressing a damp rag to his father's forehead to cool him. Mike is barely conscious, his face deathly pale and his breathing labored. He's laid out in one of the cots in the healer's chambers, and Mitch can barely think straight he's so terrified.

"He was tending to Sir Kevin's young cousin," Kirstin explains, fetching a new rag for Mitch. "Just a little thing, she's been suffering from creeping cough for a few days now, but is in recovery. He was giving her a final dose of medicine when he collapsed." Her face crumples at the memory, clearly trying to hold back tears.

"Creeping cough?" Mitch repeats, dread coiling icily in his stomach. "You're sure?"

"Healer Grassi diagnosed it himself, Mitch."

Mitch curses, standing up from beside the cot. "Creeping cough is rare in adults, it usually only infects children. We don't know why, but it's considerably more dangerous in older patients." Mitch swallows, his throat clicking dryly. "It can be...fatal."

Kirstin's face turns as white as a sheet, her hands flying to her mouth. "There's got to be a cure," she pleads, voice trembling.

Mitch feels light-headed with pure dread. "There is," he says, barely registering the words coming out of his own mouth. "But it's different from the children's remedy and it's...difficult to create. It requires the petals and roots of a Dew of the Moon flower, and those are only found..." Mitch trails off, swallowing a lump in his throat.

"On the Eastern Mountain," Kirstin finishes, her voice weak with hopelessness.

"On the Eastern Mountain," Mitch confirms, standing from his crouch beside the cot and feeling a sense of determination settle in his gut. He has already gathered his cloak and the dagger Scott gifted him, and is just beginning to tuck provisions into a rucksack when Kirstin catches on.

"Mitch, no" she says, grasping the sleeve of his tunic.

He pulls away gently, adding a few healing herbs and bandages to the bag. "I have to, Kirstin. He's my father. I'll be fine, Scott will come with me," he adds, no doubt in his mind that Scott would drop everything to help him.

"Mitch...he can't. Don't you remember? The squires are training in Beverly Town right now. They're not due back until tomorrow."

He does remember. Scott had galloped away, waving and grinning sunnily after kissing the daylights out of Mitch and bidding him a hug-filled farewell.

If possible, the dread pooling coldly in Mitch's stomach worsens, causing his chest to nearly seize with panic. "I can't wait until tomorrow, my father has a week at most, the mountain is a two day ride away. I have to leave right now." He's buckling the rucksack closed with trembling hands, his voice thin in his throat. "It's only midday, I can get a few good hours of riding in before nightfall."

He can't help the feeling of bitter disappointment that wells in his chest. Obviously, there was no way for Scott to have predicted that Mike would fall ill, and Mitch is certain that the blond man would rather take an arrow to the chest than abandon Mitch in a time of need, but the sensation lingers regardless.

"Mitch, please," Kirstin pleads, though most of the fight has left her voice.

Mitch pulls on his cloak, cinching it tight around his neck. "Please, take care of my father while I'm gone. And tell Scott what has happened."