The Chronicle of the Worthy Son

Thoughts of Obligation

"Yeah." Lark roused unreadily. ...was there more than nettle and lemongrass in that concoction?

"Come on, I'll help you up the stairs." Able stood and added "I insist," when Lark tried but failed to level a glare at him.

"Go on, dear." Hatling smiled. "I'll save some dinner for you when you wake, never fear."

Suitably ganged up on, Lark surrendered his arm to Able, who rejected it in favor of his left one while hoping it wasn't too obvious—

"I can hold onto the banister, at least," Lark muttered, taking it back. Right. So Able settled for walking behind Lark to be sure he didn't fall, but he didn't even falter despite swaying twice. He followed Lark into his room and helped him remove his jacket. Surprisingly, Lark made no objection.

"Would you like me to hang it up?" Able looked about the room. The closet was open and completely lined with clothes, and more clothes lay spread or folded over every available surface. But none were on the floor.

"Over the screen is fine." Lark vaguely gestured and eased onto his bed.

Able turned to the floral painted paper dressing screen near the door and stretched the jacked over the top of it. He turned back to see Lark sitting on his bed contemplating his boots. He'd never come into the house before without taking off his shoes first.

"Look," Able tried another tack, "I don't mean any disrespect, only practical kindness when I say please let me take your boots off and return them to the tray at the door for you."

"Okay." Lark's mouth twisted into a sardonic smile and he chuckled low in his belly. He looked out the window while Able freed his feet. "I don't know what I was thinking, putting them on." That was awfully close to admitting he couldn't bend over.

Able glanced up from the laces to see Lark's eyes looked glazed over. Hatling had definitely drugged him. Did she know it was a broken rib and not a cold? Intent on still pretending it was the latter, Able silently took the shoes to the door then glanced back to watch Lark's progress. He was easing himself into the bed already and having a time of getting himself comfortable. Able set the boots down and went to the basin where he found a stack of cloths and wet one. He brought it back to the bedside where Lark was still trying to settle but had stopped to give him a dubious look.

"You said it smudges and gets in your eyes, so..." Able held out the washcloth.

Lark went through a number of thoughts at that, none of them clear, but he ended looking at the vanity and heaving a shallow sigh.

So Able tried, "Is there a hand mirror? Or, I could just do it."

Lark blushed but only briefly. Blood just couldn't seem to stay in his face for long today. "If that's not too weird, thanks," he replied weakly and dropped his head back onto the pillow.

Not without trepidation, Able sat on the bed beside Lark and cautiously wiped off the smears and smudges around his eyes. Fortunately, only this caring urge was stirring and nothing baser as he traced the contours of this lovely face. He got the smears off, but there was still a fair amount of black up at the eye line. "So...do I just...maybe just the corners?"

"I can..." Lark trailed, for Able just went for it, very gently, before Lark had any thoughts of getting back up. "It's gonna need a little more effort than that." Lark smiled—his amused, enjoying smile, peeking through the shroud of pain and medicine.

Able was so glad to see it he smiled himself. "Okay." He wound the cloth around his forefinger for a finer point and repeatedly traced these gorgeous eyes. The black came away. When all four corners were done, he admired at his handiwork and brushed Lark's hair back from his face. "There you are."