Viggo's Terrible, No Good, Very Bad Days

Part 13-Food Poisoning

Viggo frowned over a map, trying to focus on where his ships were among all of the geographical markers of the map. The task was made much harder by the cramping in his stomach. Ryker hadn't been feeling well that day either, and now that Viggo thought about it, most of the crew had seemed tetchy that day too.

Ryker sat in the opposite corner, one hand straying to his stomach every so often. "Hey, have you been sick today? Half the crew is laid up and I haven't been feeling so good. Maybe it was that fish we had yesterday, it smelled a bit off."

About to deny any sickness, Viggo changed his mind and leaned over his wastebasket instead, retching. "Perhaps I have been a bit ill. I can still work perfectly well though."

"If you're feeling anything like me and the crew, I would say no to that. Just rest- you can't do much with the crew being sick anyway." Viggo shrugged, but didn't protest, so Ryker went back to his own cabin to try and sleep off his aching stomach.

Naturally, the most relaxing thing Viggo could think of was not sleeping, not reading a book, but putting one of his terrible terrors through training exercises. Ryker came in two hours later to find his brother curled up in the corner, asleep, with two of his dragons licking his face and looking as though they were considering eating the sleeping viking.

Instead of waking Viggo, Ryker decided to try carrying him back to his bunk. The younger grimborn was far too hot for his liking, and when Ryker picked him up there was no resistance. Thankfully by this point the crew had been ordered to their quarters, so nobody saw their fearsome leader being carried bridal style to his room.

Ryker laid Viggo his bed and found a pitcher of water in the corner, with a rag for spills. Ryker dipped the rag into the water and wrung it out before placing it on his brother's forehead, frowning.

Viggo's eyes opened, but they were glassy with fever and he didn't speak, seemingly confused with finding himself back in bed. When he did open his mouth, Ryker barely got a basin in front of him in time. The retching brought up nothing, but Ryker was glad that he had recovered enough to care for his much sicker sibling.

"Too... too hot. Stop. Hot."

Viggo sluggishly kicked his blankets off sometime later, and Ryker replaced them with wet cloths. The one on his forehead hadn't done anything so Ryker had tried to make him sweat it out, but that had seemed to make it worse. Ryker was now resorting to using damp rags all over Viggo's body, which seemed to help a little bit more. Viggo still wasn't coherent, which was worrying, but their personal healer was sick as well. She had promised to come as soon as she could, and Ryker was doing his best not to be impatient.

"I like... dragons."

"Yes, you do. We hunt them, remember?"

"Hmm. I wanna fly."

"Let's do that when you're feeling better, alright?"

"Heh, fly. Not flies, dragons."

"Yes."

Fever-loopy Viggo was proving to be rather fun, but Ryker would be relieved when he was better and talking sense again. The only thing that he was getting right now was that Viggo really, really liked dragons. Endearing as it was, Ryker needed him. So he waited for the healer, and continued replacing the rags.

"Ryker?"

"Yes?"

"I like... dragons."