Work Text:
"Now will you give me a bite of the fruit?"
Erik hadn't known it was possible for Dirk Blackpool to look bad. Even in the dim light of the cave, his pallor was evident, his light-brown hair plastered to his forehead as if they'd been fighting hard for hours and not merely wrestling in the dirt like children. In fact, Erik was suddenly hard-pressed to keep the memories of their childhood at bay, even as he flatly responded, "Not a chance, Dirk."
Blackpool’s eyes narrowed, but the bitter rejoinder that Erik expected never materialized. Their fight seemed to sap him of the strength he used to get here; he still seemed to struggle for breath, even lying sprawled out on the ground.
"You look terrible," Erik commented.
"And I feel rather worse than that. Now quit playing around and hand it over."
"I would have shared it with you. But now…" Erik rattled the chain between them for emphasis, "now we're going to bring the fruit to my father. And once we know it's enough to save him, then you can have some."
"What a stupid plan.” Blackpool raised his hands. Even his palms were discolored from the rash. “If I collapse, Erik, it is you who will suffer the consequences. You won't get through these caverns, not chained to me."
It was the truth. They would have to work together if they had any hope of surviving, as galling as the thought might be.
That might actually be more difficult than anything the Caverns have in store for us.
"If you collapse, I'll deal with that then. Now get up. I'd rather not suffer your company any longer than I have to."
"At least we're in agreement there," Blackpool said haughtily, but he accepted Erik's offered hand and rose to his feet.
***
Dirk tended to believe that regret was a useless emotion, something only experienced by those too weak to win. But the smallest voice in the back of his mind thought perhaps attacking Erik over the fruit had…not been the best decision. It felt like they had been wandering the tunnels for hours. When he expressed that observation, Erik informed him that they had been walking for about thirty minutes, tops.
"Ah. Must be the fever," Dirk commented pleasantly. "Probably best to give me that fruit before I become entirely delirious. Who knows what I might do then?"
"Maybe you should stop talking and save your strength."
In different circumstances, he would have enjoyed how thoroughly irritated Erik was already. In present circumstances, however, he was too focused on matching the southern prince's punishing pace through the winding caverns to enjoy much of anything. He was so focused on putting on foot in front of the other that he didn't notice the beam of light until it struck the monocle and the world went from blinding light to absolute dark.
He came to hazily, his arm aching as Erik dragged him through the dirt. But what —Dirk sat up, and the following painful frisson of light was answer enough.
This time, when he opened his eyes, he made sure to look up at the deathlights before he moved. After carefully judging the distance between them and the height of his cloak’s collar, he rolled onto his stomach and started crawling alongside Erik.
"You could have spared me that last bit," Dirk said. "What if those lights had killed me?"
Erik mumbled a response that while inaudible, was still clearly not an apology.
"You do realize that dragging my corpse behind you would be unpleasant?"
"Oh, I don't know, Dirk. The silence might be worth it."
"Not filled with much heroic sentiment today, are we?" he muttered. Apparently Erik wasn’t filled with much social sentiment either, as they had reached the end of the dirty floor in complete silence. When Dirk was at last able to climb to his feet, the world went spotty around the edges. Still, he managed to stay standing out of sheer stubbornness. The idea of fainting in front of anyone was a horrible enough scenario: if he fainted in front of Erik Greystone, he would be hearing about it for at least the next decade.
But something caused Erik to pause before they left the first cavern. "How are you feeling?"
"Oh. Doing quite well, obviously," Dirk sneered. "What an entirely asinine question. Clearly I'm feeling poorly: I'm already ill and I was just hit twice by the deathlights. Now will you just give me some of that damn fruit already?"
"I already told you my terms. Let's just try and get out of here before something worse shows up."
***
Erik never thought he'd be grateful for Dirk fighting dirty until the Grok lay blessedly dead on the ground in front of them with Blackpool's hidden dagger buried in its neck.
"You were the one who said 'something worse,' ” Dirk muttered. “You practically invited the fates–”
"This is not my fault. If you hadn't been so…so stupidly you , we'd both be leagues away from here!"
With apparent effort, Dirk didn’t continue their argument. Instead, he sighed, and the look he gave Erik was nearly cordial. "Do you have anything to drink with you? If you won't give me the fruit, you could at least share some water."
"You didn't bring any supplies?"
"Left them with my horse. Now do you have anything or not?"
"...Left them with my horse," Erik admitted. Maybe this was the downside to optimism that Marko was always warning him about. Dehydration was a problem that his sword couldn’t solve.
“Ah.” Blackpool ran his tongue across his lip absently. “We may both need the fruit then, by the time this place is done with us.”
"Once we're out of here,” Erik promised again, and Blackpool’s mouth twisted into something ugly, although whatever words he was biting down on stayed with himself.
Later, watching Dirk stumble like a man from a tavern, Erik wondered if he shouldn’t just give him a piece of the fruit. Trust him at least with that…
Trust Dirk Blackpool? Erik snorted. Maybe the dehydration was getting to him as well. Blackpool had found the strength to kill one of Aperans’ most fearful monsters—which surely proved that he was exaggerating the crimson fever's symptoms, trying to lure Erik yet again into feeling enough sympathy to fall into his trap.
Not today, Dirk, Erik promised himself. And when Blackpool was wracked by a sudden coughing fit that was too dramatic to be real, Erik made sure to not halt their pace, tugging on the chain every time the other prince attempted to stop.
***
"I need to sit down," Dirk announced, right before his knees buckled.
He wasn't sure how long he was unconscious for, only that when he opened his eyes, Erik's face was wavering in front of his own. His tongue felt dry and swollen in his mouth. It was difficult to steady his thoughts, let alone form them into words. “Thought…would have left me,” he croaked.
Erik regarded him with an expression that Dirk was unable to decipher. “What would I cut your arm off with? My teeth?”
Dirk laughed, even though it made his chest ache. Doubtless he had bruised a rib, whether from coughing or the fall. “Were our positions reversed, I would have found a way.”
“Of course.” Erik shook his head. “But seeing as I'm not you, here we both remain. Alive.”
For the moment. Maybe he spoke aloud, maybe he just thought his response. The sand felt cool underneath his face and he let his eyes close. For the moment…
“Hey, you need to stay awake.” Greystone was tugging at his arm. Dirk tried to push him away, but he was forced into a sitting position. “We should keep moving.”
"You'll have to carry me out." He giggled and the mental image was too hilarious for him to stop, Greystone carrying him out like he was some helpless damsel. “Letting me die isn’t very heroic of you.” The hand that was on his shoulder disappeared, only to return against his forehead. He leaned against it. Not as cold as the sand, but still soothing. He gave himself over to the cool and the dark without so much as a whimper of protest.
***
Erik couldn't rouse him a second time.
When Blackpool had collapsed, they were walking side-by-side through a wider passage. The sudden movement had dragged Erik to the ground as well and suspecting a foul trick, Erik pinned the other man to the ground before he realized that Dirk was thoroughly unconscious. He had shouted and shook him until Dirk had finally opened his eyes, but those tactics failed to keep him awake.
Letting me die isn’t very heroic of you.
It would have to be the Astrid fruit. Erik sighed, and removed the fruit from his pocket. If he had a knife, he could have cut paper thin slivers, safe enough to feed to the other prince, but he would have to make do. The fruit gave way under his thumb with little resistance and Erik scooped out a thumbnail-sized piece of the flesh. A fat droplet of juice ran down his wrist.
"Come on. Please wake up.” He placed the piece of fruit in his mouth but Dirk didn't respond. Fearing the other man would choke, Erik plucked it out of his mouth and wiped it clean on his tunic.
If only he had something to crush it with. Maybe a rock? No–knowing their luck, even the rocks here were dangerous. Erik groaned as the safest solution dawned on him.
“You gotta wake up, Dirk. Or believe me, you're not going to like this.”
But Blackpool remained unmoving.
Erik sighed. He stared at the piece of fruit in his hand, and then at the ground for a long moment until he finally popped the piece of fruit into his own mouth and chewed. It was another long moment before he leaned down.
Of course Blackpool would pick that moment to wake up.
“Trust me,” Erik tried to say around the mouthful of too-sweet mush.
“Wha—” Dirk croaked and then Erik’s mouth was against his for a brief, unpleasant moment, pushing the paste against his tongue like a mother lightning hawk feeding her young. Erik pulled away before Dirk decided to bite him and immediately clamped his hand over his mouth.
"Swallow, damn it." Dirk was still struggling beneath his hand. With his other hand, Erik waved the bitten fruit in explanation. "It's the Astrid fruit! I'm trying to save your life!"
The other prince immediately stilled; his eyes traveled from the fruit to Erik’s face as his confused horror gave way to understanding. And then, with rather more eye contact than was necessary, he swallowed.
Something about the sight made Erik feel simultaneously too hot and too cold. It was probably just embarrassment, he decided. “You couldn’t have woken up a minute earlier?”
“You couldn’t have given me the fruit during any of the past hundreds of minutes?” Blackpool hissed. “I trust we will never speak of this again,” he added.
“You have my word,” Erik replied. He studied Dirk’s face for any hint that the cure had done its work. Tranquil hadn't mentioned how long it would take the fruit to counteract the crimson fever. By waiting so long to give him that first taste, would he require more? And if he did, would there be enough left for his father? “Any idea how long this stuff takes to work?”
Dirk pulled off his leather gloves and stared down at his hands. The rash was still red and angry, clearly visible even in the dim light of the cave. “No. Do you—do you think it was too late?”
“You’re not going to die, Dirk.” Erik leaned over and patted his shoulder awkwardly. "Let's give it a little time to kick in."
“Shouldn’t I feel some improvement?”
It was his hollow look that stopped Erik’s argument. Easier sometimes to think of him as just a villain, something evil and soulless like the Grok. But there was enough of plain fear in the other man’s eyes to remind Erik that despite his many, many, many, many faults, Dirk Blackpool was still human enough to be frightened. Even if it was only for his own sake.
Erik sighed. “Here.” He held out the astrid fruit. “See if another bite helps.”
Dirk lifted it from his hand like he was picking up something vile. He didn’t hesitate before he took an over-large bite, chewing delicately before placing the remainder back in Erik’s hand.
His quiet “thank you” surprised them both.
“Let’s rest here a bit,” Erik offered. “Remember when we went to that sleep-away camp over in Tearn? At least we’re not soaked through.”
“The rain didn’t stop that entire week. We were freezing—”
“You were wearing that ridiculous silk tunic with the fur trim—”
“It was the height of Karteian fashion—” Dirk stopped, and something in his face shifted. “We are not friends, Greystone. Don’t operate under the misapprehension that our little misadventure has changed anything.”
“We were friends once,” Erik pointed out. “We could be friends again.”
Dirk rolled his eyes, and turned over theatrically to face the rock wall without comment. But within five minutes, he rolled onto his back.
"I can’t sleep; I’m freezing."
Once, at the Royal School sleep-away camp, two boys were caught out in the rain. They found shelter in an abandoned animal den, huddled together for warmth. It had been, as they explained to their teachers the next day, a grand adventure. Erik thought of those two boys as he unclasped his cloak and spread it over them both.
“Height of Karteian fashion or not, leather-on-leather can’t be that warm.”
“I was warmer in that fur-trimmed tunic,” Dirk admitted.
None of their teachers would have been surprised to have seen them as they were fifteen minutes later, curled like two snails in a single shell and blissfully asleep. They would have marked them down in points; however, first for failing to set a watch, and second for Erik failing to notice that Dirk had transferred the rest of the fruit into his own pocket.