Chapter Text
Jornir looked up from the warm and worn wooden cup he kept clasped tightly in his too large palm. The goblin man before him looked frankly awful, burdened even. He flicked his eye over him through a bushy crimson red brow.
Hm.
He was bundled tightly in the warm fur pelts queenie had carefully crafted just a week or so before, yet through the thick pelt he was visibly shaking. Nothing too out of the ‘ordinary’ for such a cold and barren land but they were as ‘inside’ as they could manage. Neatly tucked away into a small cave on the rocky side of a small mountain, large coats, pelts and tarps crafted a makeshift door across the gapping hole leading to nothing but rock and snow. However, after the many long and tiresome weeks they had spent in drakar this place seemed warm in comparison, skrimm should certainly not be shaking with such a vigor, placed so close to the shallow crackling fire the ends of his ears had turned a deep greenish flush.
Now that he was searching for it, it was clear the deep flush across the goblins face was not just from the fire.
His incessant shivering, dark flush, harsh eye bags, sniffing and occasional involuntary twitch of his long curved ears all clearly pointed towards the obvious. Skrimm was sick.
He looked away, bringing the rough teacup to his lips steadily with long heavy sip.
This did not concern him. They had all fallen ill with small fevers, colds and illnesses plenty of times during their time in the ice ridden lands. It was practically unavoidable with the way the cold crept into their bones and their stomachs often sat hollow and wanting.
The thing that concerned him however was the raven haired man’s silence.
Skrimm was a lot of things but he was certainly not quiet.
Even since jornir had met him, Skrimm’s voice practically bounced off the wall with every word, whether that was from pure panicked paranoia or an enraged rant was simply up to the moment.
Yet here he sat, with drooping tired eyes almost completely silent bar the sneezes that wracked his small frame far too regularly.
He placed the cup down on the bumpy cave floor with a little too much force, causing a small concerned look from a familiar Dragonborn who had just woken a feet or two away.
Ah. Another thing, it was early dawn. Early dawn.
He himself had chosen to take the very last watch tonight but when he had been awoken by queenie he noticed Skrimm already awake tending gently to the fire in the centre of the cave. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time, still shaking drowsiness from his head but now with the fog in his mind beginning to clear he realised that the goblin took every chance to sleep he could, more often then not he remembered barnabos sending a crew member of the moreabound up to the crows nest to wake Skrimm and allow him to come down from the ‘bucket’. Something had clearly woken him, and if jornir was correct in his illness assumption then the reason was not a mystery.
The other members of the party were beginning to wake now, first Barnabos who immediately got himself busy with preparing a small meal with shallow leftovers then queenie who took a brief step outside for fresh air after jokenly chiding Skrimm for waking her with a particularly aggressive sneeze.
He sent another sneaking glance over in skrimms direction as he stared at the meager contents in the bowl barnabos had just handed him
“Skrimm? You feelin alright?” A familiar country voice rang out as soft rabbit feet pattered back to sit around the now dwindling fire.
“…what?” Skrimm looked up clearly startled “-uh yeah yeah..” he offered out weakly with a cracking broken voice.
Since the last time jornir had looked at him Skrimm somehow looked worse, hunched over dramatically and a tight grip on his pelt. He had a disgusted scowl on his face as he held a spoonful of brothy soup a few inches from his face, recoiling every so often and bringing it back down into the bowl. His eyes were somewhat open now, if concealed by his furrowed brow.
“Are you sure lad? You look alittle green- well, greener then usual” barnabos offered taking his pipe up to his mouth between bites of soup and spoken words.
“ oh no! You’re not sick are you?” The golden scaled Dragonborn archerd forwards in concern, face twisted in worry
“Im fine don’t get your tail in a twist” skrimm bit out, voice cracking once again as he practically forced the words out his mouth with a large scowl.
For the first time that morning jornir decided to speak up,
“Skrimm, if you are unwell you should not hide it, all you will do is drag us down” perhaps not the right choice of words but in his defence jornir was growing increasingly worried.
Skimms silence? Alarming but not unwelcomed,
Skrimms silence and insistence that he was fine? Not good.
They hadn’t known eachother very long, especially in comparison to the firebolgs long, long lifespan but he already felt a kind of connection to the members of the crew that sat before him. Skrimm was loud about everything that didn’t count , small greivences were the end of the world in his eyes and he was always one wrong turn from catastropising over every little thing. But when pressed for details of his past or connection to his patron he stayed silent, switching the topic or trailing off something non specific and well, jornir knew how serious that particular topic was now.
So watching him brush off the others concerns with a shaky wave and embarassed blush was distantly alarming.
No, there was much more important things to worry about right now then a small sickness. Skrimm would be alright so he needn’t worry. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye on the sluggish man now would it?