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He was exhausted. His body ached at any slight movement, and his skin burned whenever his clothes moved against him. Sweat collected under his mop of hair from the fever he refused to address. He would not give this moment of weakness any acknowledgment. He would ignore it until it fizzled out like a dying flame because he would be fine, he would survive like he always did. He was no longer some weak, sniveling brat that could be tossed aside for a meager sack of coins.
No, he was to be feared and respected now. He was Lord- no, Archduke Enver Gortash, and he would be damned if he let some pesky little sniffles get the better of him.
He grumbled unintelligibly as the doors to his rooms closed behind him. He couldn't remember how he had gotten up here on such wobbly legs or how he had managed to navigate the halls as the floors and walls seemed to spin and melt around him. Not that it mattered. He had made it because he was strong. He was deserving. He would be fine.
The sun was setting, and the last slivers of the evening sun filtered through the windows as he dropped heavily into the chair at his desk. A trembling breath escaped him as he used the desk to steady himself in his seat. There were a few letters and correspondence he needed to go through, but the moment he grabbed the first letter and attempted to read, the writing seemed to bleed together into a wet mess. It felt like ages before he finally threw the paper down with a growl of frustration.
He was fine. He just needed to concentrate.
A sudden knock at the door startled him from his sorry attempt to focus. He didn't recall inviting anyone, but before he could bark at whoever it was to go away, the door opened, and he watched as the massive form of his new ally strode through.
As opposed to having a guest as he had been, he felt his tension and annoyance eased away as Raz swiveled his horned head forward to look at him as the door closed. His fiery golden eyes cut through the haze his fever-addled mind had created and caused a warmth to bloom in his chest.
Raz strolled lazily towards him, Gortash would have described it as lumbering if he didn't know better. The Dragonborn may have been large, even among his kin, but thanks to his scrying eyes he knew that when he wanted to, Raz could move swiftly and nimbly. Deadly when he wanted to be. But he didn’t seem to want to be very often.
Raz stopped on the other side of his desk, his horned head tilted with concern flickering in his eyes.
“You look ill,” he said simply, his deep, rumbling voice soothed any irritation Gortash might have had at being seen as weak and vulnerable. Though that didn’t keep him from at least giving a show of it.
“Then perhaps this was a poor time to drop in on me,” the bite in his tone didn’t seem to faze Raz, who instead only seemed to grow even more concerned.
“You asked me to come.” He did? He hesitated. Raz wouldn’t lie. In the short time he had been around the Dragonborn, Gortash had quickly realized that he was exceedingly honest. Morally upstanding. Truly and sickeningly good. A true hero. Not like him or his former allies. Everything he had wanted to be. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his temple. This damn fever was messing with his head. He was fine.
"Enver," hearing his name in that deep velvet voice sent a shiver down his spine, or was that the fever? "Do you not remember?"
He huffed indignantly. The idea that he was so sick that he couldn’t even remember that he had invited his new favorite ally made him feel far weaker and more pathetic than he had ever wanted to be.
“Of course I do,” he snapped, feeling his face flush at the lie. Why had he invited him? It must have been important if Raz had come this late. Or had the Lord made up some elaborate reason so that he would have an excuse to get the warm and gentle adventurer who had relentlessly been picking apart his brilliant plot, to visit him, to be close to him? It wasn't like he hadn't done it before. “But I no longer require your presence, you may go.” The last words were difficult to get out when he didn’t mean them. Gods, wouldn't it be wonderful to have the mountain of a Dragonborn there to comfort him. To soothe and ground him and make all these spinning rooms stay still for a damn second. But no matter how badly he wanted it, Enver still couldn't bring himself to swallow his pride long enough to ask for such a thing. He couldn't show his new ally, no matter how understanding and kind, that he was weak and pathetic not when he needed to be strong and resilient. He needed to prove that he was worthy. That he was someone to be feared and not pitied and coddled like some wretched little runt.
But Raz didn’t leave, instead, he peered down his blue snout from where he towered over him. And Enver suddenly felt very small, like he was some sort of disobedient child throwing a temper tantrum.
Sweat trickled down his temple from under his persistently tousled hair as he obstinately stared back up at him. Daring him to defy him, and to his surprise, and a little relief, he did. Raz moved to circle the desk, and in a delirious moment of what seemed like a good idea, he leapt from his chair to meet him.
The moment he was on his feet, he knew it had been a foolish and impulsive move. A wave of nausea and lightheadedness overwhelmed him, and the room suddenly spun and blurred around him. His legs buckled, and he dropped. He expected to hit the hard stone. He expected it to hurt. But he never did, instead massive arms caught him. They wrapped around him and easily lifted him until his feet no longer touched the ground. He clung to Raz’s arms as he was shifted and handled as if he weighed no more than a sack of potatoes. And to the massive Dragonborn, he probably didn't.
Once he was settled, cradled in his arms, Enver pressed his burning face into the soft purple velvet of Raz’s robes, and his nausea seemed to subside. He should have been humiliated to be held like this, if it wasn’t so comforting.
“Put me down,” he muttered, half-heartedly, and partially muffled by the soft robe, “I’m fine.” Raz chuckled and hummed softly as he carried him away from his desk and to the washroom.
Enver fought the disappointment twisting in his chest at the loss of contact when he was gently laid on a soft cushion to wait and watch as Raz began to fill the ornate tub, still humming and tail swishing side to side.
An involuntary chill suddenly ran through him, his aching body protesting at the sudden tremor, and any strength he might have had seemed to evaporate as he slumped against the cushion and waited. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to let the gentle and kind-natured Sorcerer take care of him.
“A hot bath doesn’t sound very nice,” he muttered, his skin already feeling like it was on fire, “maybe drop some ice in there.” Raz looked back at him and smiled, how he managed to look so soft with prominent ridges and a pair of teeth that stuck out from under his lips, was a mystery to him.
“Lukewarm is the best for a fever,” Raz continued to smile before turning his attention back to the tub, and Enver snorted in distaste but said nothing else.
Raz leaned down and ran his clawed fingers through the water of the filled tub, testing the temperature and seeming satisfied before turning to Enver again.
“Come now, let’s get you in.”
“No,” he snapped, scooting further into the cushion, “I’m already miserable, I don’t want a lukewarm bath.”
“It’ll help lower your fever,” Raz spoke gently and patiently, “and wouldn’t it be nice to get all that sweat off of you, make you feel nice and clean.”
“I’m not sick.” He sneered, followed by an ill-timed shiver and cough. Raz knelt in front of him, so tall that he still looked down at Enver, he reached out a massive hand to gently cup his face, while the other brushed away his sweat-slicked hair and felt his forehead. He was too weak to restrain himself and leaned into his hands, relishing in the gentle touch.
“You’re burning up,” Raz pulled his hands back and softly smiled when a disappointed groan escaped him at the loss of contact. Nothing was said after that, and Raz ran his hands down to the trappings of the duke's clothing and began to carefully unbuckle, unthread, and pull off his clothing.
Eventually, all that was left were his trousers. Raz gently ushered Enver to stand, who did as he was told and leaned heavily on the Dragonborn's broad shoulders as they were untied and tugged down. If he hadn’t already been burning up from a fever, then he was certain he would have burning up from a blush as he found himself standing bare in front of the fully clothed Raz. He didn’t know why he suddenly felt bashful, he had never been before. Had never been nervous that his body would disappoint. Had never cared if it did because if he was lacking he knew how to make up for it in other, more creative ways.
Thankfully, Raz didn’t say anything that made him feel inadequate and was soon helping him into the tub. He grabbed a small washcloth that he soaked and began to dab and carefully scrub his neck and face clean. Raz was right, it did feel nice to have the grime and sweat washed off. The lukewarm water wasn't as bad as he had thought it would be, either. But the best part was the attention and care Enver was receiving. Had he not been miserably sick, it would have felt like he was being pampered, and perhaps when he felt well enough, he could convince the Dragonborn to help him with a bath again.
It took him a moment before he realized Raz had stopped his ministrations. For the first time that night, he seemed to be hesitating. He had scrubbed the upper half of the sickly Duke but had stopped short of going too low. Of being too intimate.
“Would you like to wash the rest of yourself?” Self-doubt suddenly reared its ugly head again, and he wondered if he repulsed him. Anyone else would have just done it if they wanted to. Did he not want to touch him? Had his generosity reached its limit? “Or I can, if you’re comfortable with it?” The nagging doubts suddenly slip away. Of course, that was why he asked. Kind, thoughtful Raz was simply making sure he wasn’t crossing a line, and he realized he quite liked it when someone asked and didn’t just take.
“Please,” he rasped and then quickly added, “if you don’t mind.” He could be thoughtful, too. It was the most intimate they had been. If one could call it that. He doubted Raz even realized the uncharacteristic softness that Gortash had shown him or how he found excuses for their hands to brush. As far as he was aware, Raz was oblivious to his crush. The word sounded childish, but unfortunately, it felt the most painfully accurate. Raz smiled and nodded before taking a moment to remove his bracers and roll up his sleeves before continuing his gentle washing.
When possible, he would lean his feverish head against his cool scaled arm, and at one point, Enver was sure that Raz was intentionally leaving his arm close, even if it seemed to make his job a bit harder and cumbersome. Sweet, considerate Raz, who had no reason to be so kind and caring towards him. He found himself hoping that it was all genuine and that the Sorcerer's kindness was something he could trust. Because Raz wasn't like him. He wasn't like them. He wasn't like anyone.
He squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head to bury his flushed and heated face in the crook of the big blue arm and listened to the tune of Raz’s gentle humming that seemed to vibrate through his arms and hands as he continued his scrubbing. He didn't shy away from Enver's more private areas, and as the rag slid between his legs, he fought and failed to keep in a weak moan as it brushed sensitive skin. Raz didn't comment on it, and the gentle cleaning didn't stop or even slow. The only sign Raz had heard anything was a gentle nuzzle on the top of his head with his snout.
His weakened body and exhaustion were winning the battle of his struggle to stay awake. Raz's gentle attentiveness that soothed his aching body wasn’t helping. He thought of sitting up or saying something to wake himself, but he was too tired, too weak, and before he knew it, sleep claimed him.
----
He woke up in a dark room, no longer in the bath but feeling hot and soaked in the worst way. Sheets stuck to him, and his aches and pains had returned full force. He whimpered pathetically at the discomfort and misery, too weary and feverish to berate himself for the show of weakness. A sudden panic gripped his chest as he realized Raz must have left, and there was no one to witness his pathetic display. He must have tucked him in and hoped for the best, if even that. He felt hot tears collect in his eyes at the thought that he was alone again. Forsaken and forgotten like all the other times little Enver had begged for his parent's comfort that never came. Or when he had cried and whimpered when hunger had gnawed at his stomach, and he had only been met with a fist or worse, silence and indifference.
How stupid of him to believe that this would have been different. How dare he entertain the thought that he would be wanted and cared for by someone like Raz when he was someone like him.
He must have been making quite a bit of noise because a gentle shushing pulled him from his misery to crack his blurry eyes open, not even realizing he had closed them when his shameful tears had come. He winced at a new dim light that flickered above him, illuminating his bed and the hulking form of his dear Sorcerer sitting diligently by his bed. Raz was busy preparing something in his hands before reaching out and laying a cool, damp rag against his forehead.
“You’re still here?” He rasped in slight disbelief, a nagging fear that the blue and gold Dragonborn was just a sweet and taunting hallucination brought on by his fever-addled brain that was desperate for comfort.
“I’m here,” came the rumbling reply as Raz slid a large hand behind his head and propped him up to put a glass to his lips. He was sure he would have burst into a flurry of tears of relief, but the cool, refreshing water flooded his dry mouth and soothed his burning throat. “Try to rest, I'm not going anywhere.” Such a simple promise, but one that seemed to do wonders on his anxiety. He relaxed into the pillows as the hand stroked his hair, claws lightly grazing his scalp soothingly until his heavy eyes drifted close. He was safe, he would be fine.