A Failing Grace (Graceling series, Katsa/Po)

[Akaashi]

Hello! It might seem like I’m new here, but I’ve actually looooong been a lurker (maybe almost 10 years???), and I thought it was high time I actually share some of my writing. For this fic in particular, I just wanted to give a little bit of background about it and the fandom it’s for. 

    I actually think I started writing this fic way back in 2016—about six years ago. I was a sophomore in high school then, and I’m just now finishing this after graduating college lol. Although, to be fair, I didn’t work on it continuously. I had actually mostly finished it, stopped for a year or two, and then finally decided it needed one more round of editing this year. 

    This fic is for the Graceling series, and is set sometime after the first book, Graceling (so spoilers for that book, obviously). It’s set in more or less your typical fantasy world, with seven different kingdoms ruled by royal families. Kingdoms of note include the Middluns, which is in the middle of four other kingdoms, and Lienid and Monsea, which are more geologically isolated. 

    There are some people, known as Gracelings, who have superhuman abilities called Graces—but most people don’t. Some of the Graces mentioned in the series (if not Graceling itself) include the ability to turn one’s face inside out (quite disturbing), knowing exactly what a person wants to eat from sniffing them (plain weird), and being an exceptional archer (much more mundane). All Gracelings have heterochromia, two different colored eyes, and they tend to be treated as social outcasts because most people are uncomfortable around them. 

 

Characters:

    Katsa (F): Short dark brown curly hair, one green and one blue eye. Graced with survival (aka she’s very hardy), though people originally thought her Grace was killing. Excellent fighter, hunter, etc. Not good with friends or emotions. From the Middluns. 

    Po (Greening Grandemalion) (M): Dark brown hair, tanned skin, one silver and one gold eye. Now actually blind, compensates with his Grace, the ability to sense his surroundings and people’s intentions (and thoughts, if they’re about him). However, people think his Grace is fighting. Good with emotions and willing to admit when he’s wrong. Seventh prince of Lienid. 

    Raffin (M): Tall and lanky, blonde hair, blue eyes. Ungraced, but a skilled medicine maker and Prince of the Middluns (also Katsa’s cousin). One of Katsa’s only friends as a child. 

    Bann (M): Described as large and kind (from the wiki). I’ve always pictured him with brown hair and brown eyes. Friends with Raffin from a young age. Medical assistant for Raffin and also his lover (though I don’t really have them as such here). Also from the Middluns, social standing unknown. 

    Laureli (F): [Not canon] One of Po’s female servants, brown hair and gray eyes like most Lienid. 

 

Synopsis (spoilers, obviously): 

    Katsa is essentially a thug for her uncle, King Randa of the Middluns, but she also has created a cross-kingdom organization called the Council dedicated to justice. She rescues an old man from one of the king’s dungeons and fights Po, knocking him out. Later, she officially meets him when he travels to the Middluns, and is unsettled by his eyes. They become friends and train with each other, but their relationship falls apart when Katsa realizes Po lied about his Grace. Katsa eventually learns to trust him again and they become lovers while traveling to Monsea to investigate the strange rumors Po’s heard about his aunt, Queen Ashen. 

    They meet the king of Monsea, Leck, and discover that he must be a Graceling who can control people with his voice. It doesn’t work on Po, but does on Katsa, and she hesitates when Po tells her to kill him even though they just saw him murder his wife. They find the princess, a young girl named Bitterblue, and plan another assassination attempt, but it fails and Po winds up injured. He decides to hide in Monsea while Katsa takes Bitterblue to Lienid where she’ll be safe, giving her one of his rings. The two travel through Grella’s Pass, an impenetrable, snowy break in the mountains; Katsa is attacked and injured by a mountain lion but manages to kill it. They gain passage to Lienid on a ship, and Katsa discovers that, by giving her his ring, Po has passed his title and property to her. They arrive at Po’s castle and discover King Leck already there with Po’s brothers. Although she’s been brainwashed by Leck, Katsa hurls her dagger at him and kills him before he can reveal Po’s true Grace. After explaining to Po’s family, she hurries back to Monsea and learns that Po is now blind. She helps him cope and conceal it better, and decides to start teaching girls to fight in all the kingdoms. 

Note: The short italicized portion in part 1 is an excerpt taken from the book. The actual scene is a bit longer, though. 

    Also, there’s no sneezing or anything in this first part; it’s pretty much all exposition. I’ll probably update the next part pretty quickly. 

Part 1: Confusion and Nightmaring

    Katsa rolled over, hands gripping the sheets, muttering against her dream. She stood before Po’s castle, Bitterblue’s tiny hand nestled in her own. Suddenly, abruptly, the two found themselves in Po’s throne room, his family spread before her. Face buried in her torn clothing, the child was incessantly crying, “he’s lying, he’s lying.” Lying about what, she wondered, staring at Leck’s compassionate face. Po’s mother was talking, and his brothers, too, in turn, but the only sound in her head was King Leck’s warm, kind voice. And this time, she couldn’t think straight, didn’t hear her instincts screaming that she couldn’t trust Leck. 

    “He’s a strong man, our Po,” he said. “Strong and brave. A credit to his family. But he’s not without his secrets, is he?”

    Katsa felt, suddenly, her nerves jangling to the tips of her fingers.

    “I believe your Po has been hiding a secret from you,” Leck continued. “Tell me if I’m right, Lady Katsa, that Prince Po is actually—”

    King Leck’s voice swept over her, spilling the secret of Po’s Grace, louder and louder in her ears. Heard, ever distantly, the shocked gasps of his brothers, of the King. In that instant, she knew, even with Leck’s voice lingering in her mind that he could be trusted. Something terrible had happened to Po. She had let something terrible happen to Po. She had been his friend, and she had betrayed his trust. He had given her his secrets, and she had tossed them aside. Po’s mother, the Queen, was on her feet, shouting in her regal voice, banishing her, condemning her. The words cut into her, bruised her, drowned her under their weight, and she stumbled, fell. Tears streamed down her face as she looked into Leck’s steel-grey eye, at his laughing, gloating face, her world crumbling before her. 

    Katsa bolted upright, gasping, all but flinging the sheets from her body. Her heart thudded in her chest as she took in the quiet, empty room. Tried to let the stillness of the air soothe her racing mind. She was fine. Po was fine. Po—

    He burst into her room, panting raggedly, eyes unfocused and wild. 

    “Po?” Katsa gasped, alarmed. She scrambled out of bed, shaking away the memories of what had woken her. “What’s wrong? Are you alright?” 

    “Am I alright? Are you alright? What’s going on?” He sounded worried, frantic in a way she’d rarely seen. 

    She cocked her head, stilling. “I—I’m fine. Just—nothing. Po, what’s wrong?”

    “You’re okay?” He questioned slowly. 

    “Yes, Po, I’m fine.” Not entirely true, but he didn’t need to know that. “What’s happening?” 

    This time, Po didn’t respond, only gave her a blank, helpless look. 

    His lack of communication scared her. She was the one who never knew how to speak her thoughts. Po was—was supposed to know what to say. “Po,” she said again, pitching her voice low to mask her growing worry. “Po, what’s wrong? Are—are you ill?” He didn’t look it, from what she could tell, but what other explanations were there? Katsa put a tentative hand on his arm, trying to guide him towards the bed. 

    Po pulled away, rubbing his face with his hands. “You called me, through my Grace,” he began. “Woke me up, even. You sounded—panicked. Scared.” He stopped, biting his lip at the last part. 

    “Po,” Katsa said slowly, “I didn’t call you. I was sleeping, and then I woke and you were here. Are you sure you’re alright?” 

    A hesitant nod. “I’m fine. I just—I don’t know. I heard you, and you sounded so panicked.” He rubbed his hands over his face once more. “It must have been a dream, or something.” 

    “I dreamt about you,” Katsa said quietly, sounding almost embarrassed. 

    Po blinked. “You did? I thought you said you don’t dream?” 

    She shrugged, staring at the floor. “I didn’t. But after everything that’s happened….” She trailed off, unable to finish the thought. Memories and dreams swirled together in her mind, and it was all she could do to stifle back a sob. 

He pulled her into a hug. “I think you’ve been having nightmares, Katsa. Terror dreams. Are you alright?” 

    She took a hesitant breath. “I’m fine.” 

    “I… I think you must have called me in your sleep, subconsciously. You were calling out. You’re sure you’re okay?”

    Though she knew Po wouldn’t judge her, wouldn’t be anything other than sympathetic, she couldn’t bring herself to admit the truth. Even admitting this much had her on the edge of a precipice. “I’m okay. I’ll be fine, really. You should go back to sleep. There’s still a few more hours until morning.”

    He knew she wasn’t fine, could see it in her eyes. But he just kissed her hair lightly before releasing her, a gentle “good night” his parting words. 

    The moment he was gone, Katsa felt the fear she’d held at bay engulf her. Images from her dream—her nightmare—rose unbidden in her mind, try as she might to dispel them. She hadn’t told Po the worst of it. That she dreamt of him dying, dreamt of her failures, dreamt of Leck laughing, gloating, his single eye cold as steel. That she dreaded having to sleep, their horrors chasing her into the morning. 

    Suddenly frantic, desperate, she bolted towards the balcony doors. Throwing them open, she tumbled out into the cool night air. Her breath came in gasps, chest heaving as she choked back sobs. It was a long while before she was calm enough to return inside. 

 

    The next night, Katsa woke in another blind panic. She angrily scrubbed away her tears as the remnants of her dream flashed in her mind. She’d stood before straw-stuffed dummies in Po’s castle, the training room identical to the one from her childhood. Leck leered at her from the sidelines, critiquing her form as she threw. And when she stopped, the dummies stood, unscathed, before her, despite the scattered and embedded knives she’d clearly thrown. Helplessness washed over her—mingled with the nearly-forgotten frustrated anger of her childhood—and she threw another knife, determined that this time, she would hit her mark. And she screamed as Po slumped forward, blood trickling down from the wound in his chest. Her eyes flew open.

    Po rushed into her room, this time less alarmed and more worried. He hurried to her side, pulling her into his arms. The sound of her sobs echoed off the walls of her room as she buried her face into his shoulder. Po stayed with Katsa until she calmed, running fingers through her short curls. 

    “Thank you,” she whispered in a broken voice.

    Po pressed a kiss into her hair in response. “Of course.”

    “You should try to get some sleep.”

    When Po disappeared back into his room, Katsa heaved a sigh. Po was a comfort, for sure, but she just wanted to be alone. She didn’t want to have to hide how much those nightmares scared her, how much they made her fear the night. And so she stayed up, standing by the window, watching the curtains flutter in the breeze. 

. . . . . . . . . . 

    It was two sleepless nights before Katsa convinced herself her need for sleep outweighed her fear of dreaming. She was drained yet functional, but even she knew that, Grace or no, she couldn’t last forever. She couldn’t rely on her Grace alone to fuel herself. 

    She dreamt again that night. Of Po, falling from the horse, smashing face-first into the water below. She practically flew down to the water, cradling Po’s broken form in her arms. And next to her, his grey eye glinting, stood Leck, laughing at her. Laughing as she cried over Po’s dead body.

    And when she woke up, once more, miraculously, there was Po, comforting and warm and very much alive. Hugging her, soothing her. Despite her fears, she found herself relaxing in Po’s arms. She felt mentally drained, a bone-deep tiredness beyond even her lack of sleep. Just as surely as they impeded any sort of rest, her nightmares did little to soothe her mental exhaustion. 

    She heard it when Po drifted back to sleep, felt his breathing slow, heard the steady inhale-exhale that was almost but not quite snoring. She waited five, ten, fifteen minutes, before carefully extricating herself from Po’s warm arms. He curled in on himself in her absence, young and vulnerable without the weight of the world in his eyes, and Katsa longed to nuzzle against him and sleep. But try as she might, though she knew it was entirely in her head, she couldn’t will herself back to sleep. She couldn’t face those nightmares twice in one night, nor the guilt of waking Po any more than she already did. 

    She knew it couldn’t be easy for him, either, being awoken in the middle of the night, soothing her terrified mind. He looked tired. Exhausted, even, no doubt driven by her uneasy nights. So she pretended. Pretended her nightmares only plagued her on occasion. Pretended to fall back asleep, once they ended. Pretended they didn’t terrify her. 

    Shooting one last glance at Po, she nudged open the balcony doors and stepped into the chilly night air. She stood there for hours, letting the night, the stars, the wind, soothe her burdened mind. It wasn’t until the sun began to lighten the horizon that Katsa slipped back inside, curling up against Po and feigning sleep. 

. . . . . . . . . . . 

    As time passed, Katsa modified her sleep schedule, the less to worry Po. Though she attempted to sleep only every few nights, she catnapped during the day when she could—or when she was too exhausted to stay awake. The nightmares inevitably followed her, but Po never failed to appear, soothing her tears and assuaging her fears. Though she could never convince herself to fall asleep once more post-nightmare, she kept up the charade, if only for Po’s sake. Often, Po would drift off to sleep beside Katsa, arms wrapped comfortingly around her. 

    Though she’d never had much interest before in reading—training and missions and more active pastimes had filled most of her days—she spent a good portion of her newfound time doing just that. Reading was quiet, she didn’t need to sneak around, and it wasn’t physically draining. Though Po surely noticed the books that had crept upon her bedside table, he made no mention of them, nor of the fact that she rarely read during the day. 

    She read nearly every genre—sans modern history. After being stifled in one court, confined to a gilded cage, the obsequious flattery of the historians wounded her. Besides, the history she’d lived through provided more than enough content for even her restless mind. 

    But even so, Leck’s “history” still wormed its way into the works she read. She saw him in the biographies she read, no matter how far from Monsea, and she saw him in her works of fiction, in similar characters or storylines or even general feelings. 

    He’s not a hero, he’s not a hero, he’s not a hero. The words echoed in her mind, again and again, mingling with the memory-and-dream of Bitterblue’s own mantra. He’s lying he’s not a hero, he’s lying he’s not a hero. 

    One night, spurred by sheer desperation to escape the endless presence of Leck in her literature, Katsa took up the opposite end of the cycle—writing—instead. What began as letters—to Hilda, now caring for Bitterblue; to Raffin and Bann, their experiments as odd as always—eventually morphed into her own story. She took pleasure in her writing, slow and awkward as it was, for it allowed her a voice she’d never known before. And though Leck appeared in her own writing, inevitably, too, she found that he held less power here. For this was a Leck made of truths, a Leck she had met, a Leck who was real. She held nothing back, not her fear, or anger, or resentment, for she was determined to pen it all down the way it had been. 

    And so she wrote. 

[Akaashi]

Hi! 

    I thought I might as well put part 2 up already, just for the fun of it. So here that is! Also, I completely forgot to explain the basic premise of this, so I’ll just go ahead and do that now (sorry). In Graceling, there are a couple scenes that, at least in my interpretation, indicate that Katsa has never gotten sick before. I wanted to capitalize on this and ask, what if she did? 
 

Part 2: I’m (Not) Fine

    Katsa sighed, surveying the moonlit sky with weary, sleep-deprived eyes. She knew she shouldn’t have stayed up for so many nights in a row. It probably wasn’t even a smart idea to follow her current sleep schedule, let alone pushing it an extra day or two, catnaps or no. But her nightmares had not abated, and, worse, she knew they worried Po. So she did what she could, ignoring the small voice whispering that this was only a stop-gap, not a solution. 

    Sleep deprivation blended the days together into an exhausted monotony. Pretend to sleep, pretend to rise. Pretend she wasn’t tired as she stretched further from her last actual rest, pretend her catnaps weren’t some of the only things keeping her going. 

    She sat up with a sigh, feeling the bone-deep weariness sinking in—and then some. This time, she could tell, she wasn’t just tired. If Katsa was honest with herself about it—which, at least lately, she rarely wanted to be—she was exhausted. A newfound tiredness tugged at her limbs, and she wanted little more than to curl up in bed, accursed dreams or no. Not that she could, of course. She had a reputation to keep and a Po to save from worrying. She had more to worry about than this tiredness in her limbs. 

    She sighed, blinking the bleariness out of her eyes and swallowing hard. Which brought Katsa to her next problem. Her throat hurt. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a sore throat, and certainly not one as persistent as the one currently plaguing her. She opted to ignore it, in lieu of not being able to remember what one was supposed to do about it, but another thought stopped her. Was she—no. Of course not. 

    Catching a chill. Falling ill. Being under the weather. She couldn’t think of a single time she’d fallen ill, a single time she’d felt like this, even if others were disinclined to believe her. Raffin and Bann, with their comprehensive medical knowledge, had been the most skeptical, but even Po hadn’t entirely believed that she’d never gotten sick before. 

    But even without personal experience—they might doubt, but she knew what she knew—she’d seen Raffin and Bann under the weather enough to have a fair sense of what it entailed. Katsa scowled at the thought, recalling Raffin and Bann in bed, stuffed up, occasionally feverish. None of which particularly encouraged her. 

    Because, perhaps even worse than falling ill in the first place, was the fact that she didn’t know what to do about it. If she really wanted advice, Katsa supposed, she’d have to ask Raffin and Bann. Which, admittedly, was less difficult than it sounded, since they too—as of the previous evening—were also visiting Po. Except that she couldn’t do that, not really. She couldn’t stand the thought of their sympathetic mother-henning. Or she could go to a medic, she supposed, though she was even less likely to turn to a complete stranger, however helpful they might end up. Maybe—maybe this weird sore throat didn’t necessarily mean she was falling ill. After all, she was Katsa! Illnesses simply weren’t in her repertoire. But the more she thought about it, the less she could convince herself otherwise. 

    And then, unprompted, her nose began to itch. She wrinkled her nose once, then again, a bit dismayed when the tickle refused to abate. Barring that method, she took to pawing at her nose, sniffling hard. To her relief, the feeling faded, until the moment she stopped her ministrations, and the itch returned with surprising fury. Katsa began rubbing her nose again, disliking this illness and fervently praying that it was not what she thought it was. When the itch finally faded, apparently scrubbed into submission, Katsa breathed a sigh of relief, hand dropping down to her side with an exhausted carelessness. 

    Turning to her usual routine, she dressed quickly, wolfing down a piece of toast that did her throat no favors but was needed to keep up what remained of her strength. And with one last longing glance at her bed, she headed down to the sole training area of Po’s castle. 

    To her surprise, Po was already there, shooting arrows at the grain-filled dummies nearly identical to the ones she’d made as a child. Thankfully, these were produced by others; Katsa never had taken to sewing. 

    Po nodded in Katsa’s direction, glancing at her with his now-sightless eyes. He’d lost his sight months ago slamming face-first into a lake, but with his Grace—a sixth sense of sorts—managed to conceal it from all but a handful of confidants. He’d actually hidden his Grace for years, because the world as a whole didn’t take kindly to Gracelings, let alone those Graced with mind-reading—or abilities like his. He could sense the world around him (sans colors) and even read others’ thoughts about himself. But society at large was convinced his Grace was fighting, a ruse he kept up using his true Grace and a natural propensity for combat. With the Lienid people’s love of strong fighters, what could have been fear was instead something akin to adoration. 

    Katsa gave a tiny nod as she headed to the weapons rack, finding the prospect of talking with a sore throat highly unappealing. She snatched up a quiver and bow, refusing to touch the array of various throwing knives. She’d barely practiced with them since arriving at Po’s castle, though her aim remained as sharp as ever. They reminded her far too much of her never-ending nightmares, those dreams that followed her into waking hours. 

    Not that she ever told Po that. They never went into the details of Katsa’s nightmares; she never volunteered any information, and he never pried. But he was always there to comfort her, to give her a shoulder to cry on. 

    It was exhausting them both, though, she knew. There was no question that she was exhausted, not having had a proper night’s sleep in far longer than she cared to admit. But even Po, while he slept, was emotionally drained; watching his friend fall apart every few days set him endlessly on edge. It unnerved Po, the way she could come so undone at the seams. 

    Katsa took up her weapons, mimicking Po’s motions and speed. She felt tired and sluggish, but this, at least, she could do. Although, even at a slower pace, it was more exhausting than she cared to admit. But perhaps it would also conceal that bone-deep weariness she felt inside. Or it would have, were it not for Po’s Grace. 

    They shot several rounds, Katsa occasionally pausing to observe Po. While this was sometimes a brief respite, she was also genuinely monitoring Po’s progress. Losing his sight—on top of being injured and alone—had dealt him a serious blow. But slowly, Po was recovering. And, Katsa thought with a wry grin, perhaps even surpassing his previous limits. 

    She thought about that, sometimes, in the endless blank space of the evening. Whether Po would have embraced the full breadth of his Grace if he hadn’t had a genuine need to. Whether he would have come so close to beating her when sparring—as he had, on occasion—otherwise. Certainly he never would have discovered the beauty of darkness, of caves, of hidden things, though the cost was the colors that ordinarily painted the world. 

    Po, too, was watching Katsa. Noting the slump of her shoulders, the way they fell when she thought he wasn’t looking, wasn’t paying attention. Noting the way she concealed her exahustion so well—to everyone but him. 

    Perhaps she would have been more successful if Po wasn’t, well, Po. Or if he didn’t know her from head to toe. With his Grace that heightened his perception of nearly everything, there was very little Katsa could hide from him. She couldn’t hide her exhaustion—Po felt it suffusing her whole being—just as she couldn’t hide the tiredness in her eyes. With his Grace, she was an open book, though she tried to hide it anyway. 

    Po was genuinely worried. She’d been tired from the moment she set foot in Po’s castle—though she’d concealed it with her usual vibrance and energy—but this was a true and total exhaustion. He was sure this, like most things, related to her nightmares, but she never spoke about it and he didn’t ask. But if she was this exhausted…. He shook himself to more productive avenues. She needed to rest, take it easy, he thought. Which, of course, was nigh on impossible, because she was Katsa and she was never still.

    Except… now she was. Somewhat. She hadn’t said anything—he would have been flabbergasted had she said something—but she was clearly running on fumes. 

    Katsa herself was growing increasingly irritated. Tiredness aside, her nose itched, fading minimally with her scant ministrations but always reappearing. An annoying, endlessly dissatisfying cycle. She pulled her bow back, unhappily surprised when the itch returned anew. She sniffled, wrinkling her nose as the feeling spiked, more insistently this time. Shoving the feeling away, she took aim, for she refused to miss, strange illness be damned. More frustrated than she would ever have admitted, Katsa released her arrow and immediately lowered her bow, jerking forward slightly and sneezing uncovered towards the ground. “Hehh… isshew!” She ignored the thunk of her arrow—still perfectly aimed, despite the distraction. 

    “Bless you!” Po called out, surprise coloring his voice. 

    Katsa’s face beheld a mixture of mild surprise and annoyance—though annoyance at Po’s acknowledgement or her sneeze itself, he didn’t know. “Thanks,” she muttered sullenly, refusing to look at Po. “Been a long time since I’ve done that.” 

    “I can tell,” Po teased. “Didn’t you ever learn to use a handkerchief?” 

    Katsa shrugged, a bit self-conscious. “I dunno.” 

    Okay, not in the mood to talk. “Well, it’s typically polite to use a handkerchief,” he suggested helpfully. 

    “I don’t have one,” Katsa muttered, turning her body ever so slightly away. 

    “Here,” Po said gently, extracting his own from his pocket. 

    She shook her head. “I’m fine.” And then, “I think I’ve had enough for now. I’m gonna go back to my room.” 

    As though that isn’t a red flag in and of itself, Po thought. Trying to conceal his worry—not that he’d ever been very good at that—he said, “I’ll come too. It’s more fun with some competition, anyway.” 

    Katsa only nodded. 

    Are you alright? Po wanted to ask, though he was sure the question would only be met with hostility. Are you coming down with something? Can you come down with something? 

    The two wound their way across the training area, then the courtyard, the cliffside wind cooling their flushed and sweaty bodies. They walked in companionable silence, Katsa in no mood to talk and Po willing to oblige. Until Katsa began coughing, muffling the fit into her fist.    

    Their footsteps halted. “You alright?” Po asked, concerned. 

    “Fine,” she said icily, an all-too-obvious Don’t. Ask. hanging in the air. 

    Katsa found herself immensely grateful when it seemed Po decided to do just that. Though she said nothing of it, the fit had torn at her already-sore throat, and she was sure some semblance of that would become apparent the moment she spoke. Her nose, too, was becoming increasingly problematic, and she found herself sniffling repeatedly in compensation. 

    Willing her body not to betray her further, Katsa subtly picked up the pace. She wanted her bed. She wanted to sleep, nightmares or no. She wanted to be alone, to hide away until she once again felt like herself. 

    Walking down the last hall to their rooms, they halted once more as Katsa began coughing again. She turned to Po with guilt in her eyes, as though waiting to be declared caught in the act. 

    But all he said, casually, was, “You okay now?”

    “Yeah,” she managed through her raw throat, giving a sniffle for good measure. 

    Po nodded. “And, oh—I assume you’re going to bathe now, but give my door a knock when you’re done. Raffin and Bann arrived late last night, I don’t know if you heard, and I haven’t had a chance to properly greet them yet. I’m sure they’d like to see you, too.” 

    “Okay,” she murmured, trying not to feel like she was being forced along against her will. Her door closed with a quiet click. 

    Po sighed as he walked the few feet to his own quarters. Katsa could be irritatingly stubborn. And this, he knew, was one area she was unlikely to cave. She’d listened to him in the past, yes, but over emotional and social matters then—hardly her area of expertise. She was so very physical, the way she walked and moved and even spoke. So for this… Katsa would never. Though Po certainly had more expertise in being under the weather, Katsa was always, if not the strongest, then at least sturdy. And she was unlikely to willingly admit to being anything but. 

    The thought that she wasn’t worried him. Katsa’s Grace was survival—she was as hardy as they came. If she could drag both herself and Bitterblue through Grella’s Pass, surely she could succumb to nothing. But if so, what was this, then? How could she fall ill now, when she’d been so insistent—on multiple occasions—that she’d never, and hadn’t even in one of the coldest, harshest places? The thought filled him with newfound dread. 

    Katsa’s burgeoning illness was also on her own mind, though for entirely different reasons. Though she was, at heart, worried, she was more irritated than anything else. The sniffles, and coughing, and sneezing—each was wrenched out of her against her will. She hated beyond reason the feeling of helplessness that swept over her. She hated the ache in her throat, the itch in her nose. She hated all of it. 

    She was still wallowing in her annoyance when the maid reappeared, Katsa having given her instructions to prepare the bath for her. 

    “E-excuse me, My Lady. Your bath is ready.” Her voice was meek, soft, but her shoulders were tight with fear. 

    Tiredly wondering whether all the maids feared her, Katsa attempted to reel back her irritation. Besides, she wasn’t mad at this maid, this slip of a girl who was just trying to do her job. “Thank you.” 

    She stood, truly looking at the maid for the first time since entering her rooms. The girl wore a simple but well-made uniform of the castle staff, prim but practical. Her dark brown hair and grey eyes so common to the Lienid people simultaneously marked her as an average Lienid and drew Katsa in. 

    It wasn’t until she was soaking in the steamy water, the maid lathering soap into Katsa’s short curls—today, at least, she didn’t mind such things—that she recognized the girl. 

    “Thank you—Laureli.” 

    Katsa closed her eyes, mildly embarrassed it had taken her so long to remember the girl’s name. She showed up every week without fail for an informal self-defense class of Katsa’s own devising, occasionally bringing a friend, but most often just there alone. 

    “Oh! You’re welcome, Lady Katsa,” the girl managed. 

    Katsa settled back into the steaming water, imagining it leeching away all the tired achiness in her limbs. The warmth was quite nice, though the steam—slightly less so. It toyed with her nose, bringing back that irritating tickle Katsa so wished she could forget. She raised one water-drenched hand to scrub at the offending appendage. But her ministrations seemed to have the opposite effect. The itch multiplied, and she jerked forward with a sneeze, “Ihh… hepTChuh!” that quickly blossomed into muffled coughing. 

    “Bless you!” Laureli exclaimed, a sympathetic, knowing look on her face. “Are you coming down with something, My Lady?”

    “I’m fine,” Katsa growled with more fierceness than the polite inquiry merited. First Po and now this maid. Why couldn’t they just leave her be?

    “O-of course, My Lady,” she was quick to respond, stammering ever so slightly. “I shouldn’t have assumed.” 

    Katsa said nothing, biting her tongue. It wasn’t the girl’s fault, she knew, but it didn’t stop the irritation and frustration welling up inside her. 

    The maid worked in silence, apparently wary of Katsa’s temper. 

    “Hehh…” 

    The sound of a hitching breath had Laureli quickly withdrawing her hands from Katsa’s still-soapy hair. 

    “Ipshuhh!” 

    “Bless you,” Laureli murmured. 

    Katsa eyed the maid warily, stiffly, as though expecting to be interrogated about her health, only to sink slowly back into the tub. 

    “W-whenever one of the maids falls ill,” Laureli began, voice uncertain but beginning to take on the lightness of idle chatter, “the head maid always leaves water, hot tea, and medicine on her bedside table. Truth be told, I don’t know how she manages to figure it out so quickly, it’s uncanny. And—” 

    “Why are we talking about this?” Katsa’s voice was sharp, shoulders tense. 

    Hesitating slightly, Laureli said with false nonchalance, “Just idle chatter, My Lady. Many nobles seem to prefer it over silence. But I shall stop, if you wish.” 

    Katsa shook her head. “It’s fine. I don’t care.” Her shoulders relaxed slightly. 

    They continued in such a manner for the duration of Katsa’s bath, a subtle truce between the two. Laureli made no direct comments about Katsa’s intermittent coughs and sneezes, save blessing the latter. In turn, Katsa let her chatter on about others maids being under the weather, even if she was not about to admit to being anything other than right as rain. 

    She was listening, though. She was fine, of course she was—but knowing how to treat an illness certainly couldn’t hurt, surely. Tea—with honey and lemon. Medicine. Water. Rest. Soup, apparently. 

    When her hair was clean and she was done soaking, Katsa stepped out of the tub and toweled herself dry, feeling laid bare but better than she had before. 

As she left the bathroom, Laureli said, “I’ll have a pot of tea ready for you, My Lady.” 

    Katsa scowled, but she couldn’t deny that the gesture was oddly touching. And maybe it didn’t sound like such a bad idea. 

    Alone in her bedroom, Katsa took a moment to reorient her thoughts. Nothing had happened. She was fine—was still fine, was right as rain. She had most certainly not admitted, however minimally, to the fact that she might be coming down with something. She was fine. Doing her best to banish all hints of doubt, Katsa pushed open her door and stepped into the hallway. 

    Po, leaning lazily against the wall—apparently having emerged more quickly—straightened as she approached. She scowled at the realization that physical barriers—save a very great distance—would not conceal her actions from Po. He’d certainly felt her coughs and sneezes, if nothing more from her interaction with Laureli. Like a band-aid over a bullet wound, Katsa quickly blurted, “I’m fine.”

    Even though he hadn’t said anything, Po merely nodded. 

    They walked in leisurely silence to the guest room where Raffin and Bann were staying. Po’s castle wasn’t a huge, sprawling affair like those of his brothers’, so the nearest guest rooms—where Raffin and Bann were—were just a hall away. They had two rooms, not adjoined but adjacent to each other, which suited them just fine. 

    At Po’s gentle knock—on Raffin’s door, since he knew full well where they were—Bann pulled the door open, mild confusion (hadn’t the last of the books already arrived?) replaced with a broad smile. “Katsa! Po! So good to see you!” He exclaimed, throwing the door open and slinging an arm around each of them. “It’s been so long!” 

    “It’s good to see you too,” Po smiled. Katsa’s quiet echo repeated the phrase a half-second off. 

    “How have you been? Have you recovered fully?” In addition to being some of the few individuals privy to Po’s true Grace, Raffin and Bann were also aware that Po had been blinded while in Monsea. Bann’s eyes scanned Po’s body, as though searching for external signs of anything amiss. 

    “Not quite 100%,” Po admitted, “but getting there. It’s a process. Katsa’s been a great help, too.” 

    “Oh?” Bann’s voice turned teasing. “I didn’t know Katsa was a good caretaker. Never struck me as the sympathetic type.” 

    Po winked. “Well, her help did come in the form of regularly fighting me and beating me up.” 

    “Ah, so on-brand for her, then.” 

    “Something like that.” 

    Katsa said nothing, tired enough to let the conversation merely wash over her, even with their friendly ribbing. 

    “Can we come in? Raffin came with you, too, didn’t he?” Po asked. 

    “Oh, of course, come in!” Bann swung the doors open further, stepping out of the doorway. “Sorry, it’s a bit of a mess. I suppose we should have asked before combing through your library, but your servants were more than willing to let us peruse.” 

    Sure enough, piles of pillaged books lay scattered around the room. They littered the entertaining-table-turned-desk and crowded the chairs; a couple were even sprawled about the bed, where an engrossed Raffin lay, mumbling to himself and taking notes in a notebook, completely oblivious to the three pairs of eyes watching him. 

    “Raff,” Bann called, looking at his friend with mock-annoyance. “Katsa and Po are here.”

    “Mm,” the blonde muttered, not looking up. 

    “Raffin,” he tried again, more slowly. “Our friends are here.” 

    “Mm-hmm, got it.” 

    “How a prince could be so clueless, I haven’t the foggiest.” Bann rolled his eyes, smirking at Katsa and Po. In a louder voice, he tried, “Raff, your hair is on fire.”

    “Yes,” Raffin said, giving Bann a thumbs up. 

    They chuckled at that, shaking their heads at their friend. 

    Pulling away from the others—she might not have had the best manners, but she did have some standards—Katsa twisted away with a tired sneeze. “Hih—itschew!” 

    “Bless you!” three voices chorused. Katsa scowled. 

    “Was that Katsa’s sneeze?!” Raffin exclaimed, taking note of Katsa and Po for the first time. 

    “Yes,” said Po, ignoring the glare Katsa shot him. 

    “I can’t even remember the last time I’ve heard you sneeze. Are you alright, Kat?” Raffin asked, his tone one of gentle concern.

    She scowled. “I’m. Fine.” The words perhaps a bit more irritable than the polite query merited. 

    “Okay,” he said simply, knowing that pressing the issue would only irritate her further. 

    “Really now,” Po said, glancing around the room and the veritable piles of books, “You said you borrowed some books, but are there any left?”

    Raffin sniffed. “Quite a pathetic library if this is your whole collection.” He cast a surreptitious glance at Katsa, apparently still a bit concerned. But before he could say anything, Po shook his head very, very subtly—as though Raffin didn’t already know how to not antagonize one of his best friends. 

    “So, anyway, tell me, what exactly are you researching with all these books?” Po questioned, and the two immediately began discussing their most recent projects—a salve that had made Raffin’s hands turn green (though it did reduce swelling), their ongoing struggle to create a good headache remedy. Research blended into news from the Middluns—King Randa’s latest banquet, the building of a new bridge—of which Katsa was a bit lacking, being in Lienid.

    Since the guest room’s small entertaining area—really just a couch and a table—was already functioning as a makeshift desk, the four settled on the overly-large bed instead. The few books that had infiltrated even there were shoved out of the way, stacked on the floor or pushed to the bedside tables. They sat in the center of the bed, loosely facing each other. Katsa was next to Po, her head resting tiredly against his shoulder as they listened to their friends speak. She was unusually quiet, speaking in monosyllabic little murmurs and only moving to cough or sneeze. 

    Her breath hitched, and she quickly pulled out of Po’s warm embrace. “Hehh… isshew! Hep’tchuh!” 

    She scowled as three voices blessed her, would have preferred if they’d ignored it, pretended nothing had happened. 

    She shivered, sniffling, in the aftermath. Despite the patches of midday sunlight filtering through the window, the room was surprisingly cold. Or perhaps it was she who was cold, she was having difficulty telling. 

    Katsa settled back against Po, relieved when his arms embraced her once more. Though he wasn’t quite warm, to her scale, he was at least warmer than the room. She shivered again, more violently this time, and Po frowned, pulling her closer against him. 

    Katsa sighed, eyes sliding shut in exhaustion. She lay down, resting her head in Po’s lap, releasing a little sigh of relief as Po’s hands gently rubbed her shoulders. She had long ago lost track of the conversation, content to sniffle through whatever was left of it without really listening. 

    The next sneeze came without warning, muffled into her hands, the force of it jostling her half out of Po’s lap. Though she’d tried to keep her symptoms to herself—pulling away from Po as much as possible—she now found herself too exhausted to care. She just wanted to sleep. Her body, however, had other ideas, shaking as she coughed harshly, thickly. Po winced in sympathy, that cough alone erasing all doubt about her illness. 

    There was, suddenly, a handkerchief before her face. She turned slightly towards Po, glancing up in a silent question. 

    “Here, Katsa,” Po said gently. 

    She sniffled as she reluctantly accepted the proffered square of fabric, the thought of refusing more effort than it was worth. She peered dazedly at the handkerchief, turning it over in her hands. It was deep green, carefully embroidered with the initials “G.G.”, one silver and the other gold to match Po’s eyes. Greening Grandemalion, his real name, though everyone, of course, called him Po. 

    When it seemed Katsa was content to stare at the handkerchief, Po gently took it from her unresisting hands. She blinked in surprise as he pressed it to her face. “Blow, wildcat.” 

    She pulled back, surprised. She’d seen—albeit from afar—the disgust and scorn of the nobility when someone was under the weather. But there was neither on Po’s face—only kindness and worry. 

    She took the handkerchief back, complying slowly, hesitantly. Po nodded in approval.

    “Better, Katsa?”
    A small, noncommittal shrug. 

    She did, she supposed, feel a little better. Not quite so stuffed up, each breath a little less foreign in her lungs. But the easing of one symptom only made her more aware of the others currently plaguing her. 

    Clearing her throat with a small wince, Katsa gave into the thought that she was miserable. She was cold, her throat hurt, her nose was simultaneously itchy and stuffed up and runny, and she wanted nothing more than to curl up somewhere and sleep until everything else disappeared. 

And suddenly, feeling the concerned, reassuring squeeze of Po’s hands on her shoulders, Katsa figured she had it in herself to tell him. Though she was loath to admit to being under the weather—to being so physically weak, when her Grace was survival—surely she owed Po as much.

    “Po?” Her quiet voice was hoarse, gravelly. 

    “Are you alright, wildcat?” 

    She closed her eyes at Po’s closeness, at the concern and worry clearly dancing in his voice. Slowly, she shook her head. “I—I don’t feel well, Po.” The words were soft, hesitant, spoken nearly under her breath. Her voice cracked, quiet as it was, and she smothered a cough into her newly-gifted handkerchief. 

    Po blinked, then blinked again. Katsa, admitting that she was under the weather (well, admitting she wasn’t well, but surely that was close enough). He’d expected resistance, had even been prepared to physically force Katsa into bed to rest. The fact that he didn’t have to left him stunned. Surely this was as much a miracle as her falling ill in the first place was. His hands rubbed her arms more vigorously, generating heat from the friction. “I know, Katsa, I know. You’re ill, and possibly—” he could feel the heat coming off her, “definitely have a fever.” 

    “ ‘m sorry, Po,” she murmured. 

    “Shh, wildcat. You’re alright.” He looked over at Raffin and Bann, who were studying Katsa sympathetically. “Sorry to cut our little reunion short. But, uh—” 

    Raffin waved off his friend’s apology. “Yes. We’ll let Katsa get some rest.” He and Bann shared a look. “You can stay here, if you’d like. Since Katsa’s already half-asleep, anyway.” 

    “No, I—it’s fine. I’ll rest in my room.” She slowly sat up, looking as though she wished to disappear into herself. 

    “Alright,” Raffin said, his voice gentle. “Bann and I’ll come by in a little while with some medicine.”

    “Get some rest, Kat,” Bann murmured quietly, watching his friend with those caring brown eyes. 

    In spite of her fever and general misery, Katsa made it back to her room without incident. Her footsteps were surprisingly sure, Po noted, though he kept an arm around her shoulders just in case. 

    He tucked her into bed, pulling the comforter around her shoulders. A brown-haired maid came in, swiftly and silently, to deposit a pot of tea and pitcher of water; Katsa murmured a quiet thank you as the girl left. 

    He was heading towards the servants’ passageway for a cool cloth when Katsa let out a shriek. “Po! Please… come back. Don’t go.” 

She began coughing in the aftermath, finally managing to subdue the fit as he approached. Po sighed sympathetically, pouring her a glass of water. “Here, Katsa. Drink.” 

    Accepting the cup, Katsa took a tentative sip before pushing it away. 

    “You should drink a bit more. You need fluids when you’re ill, and you’re probably dehydrated from this morning.” 

    She shook her head, snuggling deeper into the blankets, smothering a couple of rogue coughs. “Don’t want,” she whispered.

    “Katsa, I’m trying to help you feel better. Please?”

    “Alright,” she said, voice small, as she pushed herself into a sitting position. She managed half the glass before starting to cough again, Po rubbing her back soothingly. 

    “Thank you, wildcat,” he said, offering to take the cup. 

    Katsa shook her head, determined to finish the glass, vaguely recalling Laureli’s chatter. 

    Po kissed her forehead when it was empty, refilling it from a jug and setting it down. 

    Not two minutes later, Raffin and Bann appeared in the doorway, the former toting a small medicine bag. 

    “Okay. This—” Raffin indicated some small white pills in a glass jar, “is for her fever. And this—” It was a brown bottle this time, filled with a sticky, amber-colored syrup, “should help with her cough and possibly some of her other symptoms. They should be taken every five hours or so.”
    Po nodded. Turning to Katsa, he said gently, “Wildcat, Raffin and Bann have some medicine for you, okay?”
    “Mm-mnhh.” 

    “Why not, Katsa?”
    “Dod’t wadt,” she muttered congestedly. “Throat hurts.”

    Po gave Katsa a gentle smile. “It should help with that, too. Once it kicks in it’ll make you feel better.” 

    Raffin nodded affirmatively, slipping his hand under her damp bangs with a frown. She was burning up, though she protested when he tried to pull back her blanket. 

    “Okay,” she whispered, propping herself up slightly. When she’d taken both doses—followed by several sips of water—she settled back against the pillows with a slight cough.

    “We wanna take your temperature too, if that’s okay, Katsa,” Bann said, stepping closer with a thin glass thermometer in his hand. 

    “Mm-kay,” she murmured, voice tired and thick.

    Bann handed her the glass rod, relieved that she didn’t seem to be protesting. “Just put the end under your tongue for a bit.”

    She complied, eyes falling shut exhaustedly. Bann’s voice brought her from her stupor, and she numbly handed him the device before closing her eyes once more.

    “101.6,” Bann frowned. 

    Raffin turned to Po. “How long has she been ill?” 

    The prince rubbed the back of his neck. “Just today, I think. I’m pretty sure I would have felt it otherwise.” 

    “Poor thing. She seems pretty out of it.” 

    Bann turned to press his own hand to Katsa’s forehead. 

    “Yes. I am a bit worried about her fever, though—” 

    Po broke away from the other two to tuck Katsa in. “Here, wildcat, lay down, alright? You’ll be more comfortable that way.” 

    She snuggled deeper into the blankets, curling up on her side. “Po, will you stay? Please?” 

    “Of course, Katsa. I’ll be right here.” 

    “Mm… thank you.” 

    Raffin and Bann took that as their cue to leave, their only request that Po keep them updated. Po settled down next to his feverish charge, placing the cool, damp cloth across her forehead, a forgotten book sitting in his lap. Eventually, drained and warm, Po drifted off into an impromptu nap, a cool hand pressed against her too-warm cheek.

[Oolia]

Oh my goodness 😍

I don't know why you haven't gotten any comments on this masterpiece yet, but WOW! You are so incredibly talented at writing. It's so rich and well-described, I feel like I'm right there! I must admit, I don't know anything about Graceling, but I still fell in love with Katsa and Po. Her denying so strongly that anything is wrong only to let go when her fever rises was so adorable, and I LOVED how gentle and caring Po, Raffin and Bann are.

I would love to read more parts of this if you feel like writing more 🥰

[Akaashi]

Hey guys! 

Oolia, thank you so much for the kind words! Believe it or not, I actually really like your writing too, so your praise means a lot to me! 

Anyway, here’s the next part!

Part 3: A Bit of Chicken Soup

Po woke to the sound of muffled sneezes beside his ear, congested and heavy, and he curled away from the sound in irritation. A muffled coughing fit followed, along with the—mildly surprising—sound of Katsa blowing her nose. 

    “Hey,” he muttered, voice thick and sleep-heavy, sitting up to look at her. 

    “Hey,” she echoed, her own voice hoarse. It hurt to swallow, hurt to speak. She was miserable enough to almost wish she was back asleep, where at least she didn’t have to feel anything.

    “How’re you feeling?”

    She pushed down, in that instant, the urge to stubbornly say fine until Po left her alone. He was just trying to help, she reminded herself. “No worse than before,” she said with a wince, ignoring the crackling protests of her vocal cords. 

    “Sore throat?” he asked sympathetically.

    She nodded, whispering a yes. 

    “That’s normal,” he reassured her. “I’ll have the maid bring you some tea with honey.”

    “Okay.”

    Po smiled gently. “Shh, don’t talk, it’s alright. Save your voice. You don’t want to lose it.”
    Despite his warning, her voice rose anxiously. “You can lose your voice?!” She turned away, muffling another painful fit. 

    “What did I just say?” Po grumbled, though he sounded sympathetic. “But yes, you can lose your voice. It’s happened to me a good few times.”

    “Why?” Her voice was little more than a croak. She cleared her throat with a wince, then again, but to no avail. 

    “Hey—hey. Stop, Katsa. You’re only gonna make it worse,” he cautioned. 

    “Sorry,” she whispered, sighing. 

    Po waved off the apology. “Just rest your voice for a bit, alright?” 

    She nodded—then sneezed tiredly. “Hep’shuh! Ittschiew! Hehh…” Her breath hitched, but the last one eluded her. 

    “Bless you,” a voice chimed from the doorway. Raffin, alone this time. 

    “Mph’tschew!” 

    “Finished?” Po asked with a slight smirk. 

    “Don’t laugh at me,” she grumbled with her rapidly-fading voice. 

    “Where’s Bann?” Po asked, turning his attention to the lanky blonde in the doorway.

    Raffin frowned. “He wasn’t feeling well, so he went to take a nap.” Seeing the concerned look on Po’s face, he quickly added, “It’s not Katsa’s illness, don’t worry. He’s been complaining about a headache since we got here, but I think it’s just from being in the mountains. I told him he should sleep it off.”

    “He’s okay, though?” Katsa asked, concerned.

    “Don’t worry, he’s fine. I’m sure he’ll be right as rain in a couple hours. It’s you, Kat, I’m a bit more worried about. How are you feeling?”
    “Fine,” she whispered, a little shy and embarrassed. 

    “Mm-hmm,” he said dryly, clearly not impressed. “You were pretty feverish and out of it just a couple hours ago; I know you’re not ‘fine’.” 

    “Sorry,” she mumbled, but made no attempt to say anything else. 

“Katsa,” Raffin sighed, sympathetic but mildly exasperated. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me things. What are your symptoms?”

    She swallowed thickly but cleared her throat with a wince, preparing for the discomfort of talking with her protesting vocal cords. 

    But she could say anything, Po quickly cut in, “She’s got a sore throat, Raff. I suggested she try not to talk too much. I don’t want her to lose her voice.” 

    “Okay,” Raffin said after a moment, switching tactics. “Katsa, I’ll ask you some questions, and you just nod or shake your head, okay?” 

    A nod. 

    “Perfect.” 

    “If it’s easier,” Po cut in before Raffin could begin, “I can tell you what symptoms I’ve noticed? Might be quicker?” 

    “Sure, sure. That’s fine.” 

    “Okay.” His face didn’t change, but he was clearly concentrating. “Um, she’s been coughing and sneezing. And she has a sore throat, obviously. Plus a fever.” 

    Raffin nodded, then plowed through some queries of his own. “Runny nose?” A small nod. “Chills?” A shrug. “Congestion?” Katsa shook her head, paused, and shrugged. “Headache? Nausea? Tiredness?” 

    Katsa shrugged at the last—at the same instant Po let out a resounding “Yes.” 

    “I’m fine, Po. I’m not tired.” 

    “You need rest.”

    “I’m fine,” she insisted stubbornly. 

    When Po opened his mouth to protest further, Raffin swiftly intervened. “Okay, I’ll take that as a maybe, then.” 

Both parties nodded, though Katsa gave a petulant little huff. 

    Raffin continued his inquiries, which grew more serious—but at least elicited more head shakes than nods. As he listed “tightness in your chest?”, Po interrupted. 

    “Raff, is it really necessary to ask all of these? It’s just a mild illness, isn’t it?”

    “It’s nothing serious now, but we don’t want it to develop into something worse. I just wanted to have a complete picture, is all.” 

    “Raff,” Katsa said with a slight cough. “I’m fi—okay. I’m okay, really.” 

    The medicine maker held up his hands in surrender. “Alright alright, message received. If I can bother you for one last thing, though—I would like to take your temperature again.” 

    Katsa nodded. 

    “101.7,” he read off with a frown. “About the same as before. Actually a little higher.” 

    Po felt Katsa’s forehead with the back of his hand. “Can she take any more medicine yet?” 

    Raffin shook his head. “It’s only been a couple hours, and doses should be taken about five apart. You can use cool cloths for Katsa’s fever in the interim. I’ll leave you some throat lozenges, too, and other than that, just make sure she drinks lots of fluids. Tea with honey should help as well, and I can see if we have any medicinal ones, too.” 

    Another taciturn nod, Katsa curling up more tightly under the comforter as Po vocalized their understanding. She lost the thread of the conversation then, letting their voices sweep over her without paying attention to the words. Though she wouldn’t admit it aloud, her current state of “fine” bordered on “predominantly miserable”, to her dismay. 

    Katsa also found herself rather disappointed that Raffin’s medicines weren’t an instant fix—though Po assured her that wasn’t how medicine worked. She was disappointed that she still felt exhausted, disappointed that her voice was gone, disappointed that she was apparently still feverish.

    Though she was still wallowing in her own self-pity, curled up under the blankets and looking oddly vulnerable, she turned to Raffin as he started to leave. “Wait, Raff—you’re sure Bann’s fine?” 

    He laughed. “I’m sure, Kat. You just worry about getting better.”

    Though she scowled instinctively at the mention of her illness, relief washed over her. She hadn’t even considered that she might—or even could—get someone else sick. 

    Raffin disappeared not long after that, apparently still worried about Bann and not wanting to leave him alone. Po was quick to assure him they’d be fine. 

    “Here you go,” Po said, a cup in his hand. “Tea.”

    She took the cup hesitantly, relieved when the tea warmed her hands. “Thanks.”

    “Of course. Tell me if you want anything else. More honey?”
    “I’m fine.” 

    Katsa sat sipping her tea, watching Po with her still-fever-bright eyes. Joining her a moment later, Po grabbed his own cup, maneuvering himself beside her. “Cheers,” he said. 

    She smirked in response, moving her cup in a lazy mimicry of a toast. 

    “Have you tried any of the throat lozenges yet?” Po asked, noting the look of mild relief that swept over Katsa as she sipped her tea. 

    She shook her head.

    “You should. They really do help.” 

    “Okay,” she whispered. 

    “I always get a sore throat when I start to get sick,” Po explained, “and they really are amazing. It usually gets better after a couple days, don’t worry. 

    Katsa only sniffled in response, marveling mildly over Po’s easy admission. He was always so much better than her at this. He readily admitted when he needed help, when he was out of his element—when he was under the weather. Not like her mangled admissions and closed-off replies. She shrank further into the pillows, wishing she’d never had to acknowledge this particular weakness. 

    When the tea was gone, Po gently suggested she get more rest. 

    “I am resting,” she said, gesturing towards her general state of repose. 

    “Er, no, Katsa, I mean you need sleep.” 

    “I’m fine,” she told him, the words for once not laced with anger or irritation. “I’m not tired.” 

    Po sighed. “You only slept for a couple of hours. Just try to nap, okay?” 

“Let me stay up a little bit?” she managed before turning away to muffle a couple of sneezes into what Po recognized as the same monogrammed handkerchief—now rather more crumpled than it had been—from before. He made a mental note to fetch a few more. 

    He sighed. “Really, you should rest. Trust me, you’ll feel a lot better.”

    “Alright,” she mumbled, laying down and pressing a cough into the comforter. Her way—however small—of admitting she was out of her element. Taking Po’s advice, doing her best to put aside her fear that she might dream. 

    “Why don’t you want to sleep?”

    “I’ll sleep,” came the hoarse whisper. Something in her voice, or perhaps her posture, or maybe even some subconscious sign picked up by his Grace told Po that the subject wasn’t open to debate. 

    “Feel better, wildcat,” Po murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair. The bed shifted as he stood.

    “Wait—Po!” Katsa called. “Will you stay, for a bit?” 

    “Sure, Katsa, of course.” 

    Katsa settled back as Po took up residence beside her, reclining against the pillows and rubbing her back. She lay there, tired but not yet asleep, unwilling to simply force herself to nap. But eventually, with Po’s comforting hand on her back and a soft melody humming in her ears—when had Po started doing that?—she finally drifted off. 

. . . . . . . . . . . 

    Katsa woke in the late evening, the sky outside her balcony a deep blue. Her internal clock told her she’d slept perhaps six hours—the most sleep she’d gotten in a long, long while. 

    The next thing she realized was that Po was no longer next to her. Nor was he anywhere in the room. “Po?” She called out, tamping down the irrational wave of panic that swept over her. She was fine, she was fine. “Po?” 

    “Oh, Katsa, you’re up,” Po said, reentering through the side door that led to his own bedroom. “That’s perfect, actually. You’re just in time for dinner.” 

    “ ‘m not really hungry,” she mumbled thickly. 

    “You should still try to eat something. You slept right through lunch. Knowing you, I’m surprised you aren’t famished, even if you aren’t well.” 

    Frowning slightly at the mention of her illness, Katsa changed the subject. “Where’d you go?” 

    “Just to my chambers for a moment. Raffin and Bann came to see if we wanted to have dinner together, but I told them I’d eat with you later. They’re in my lounge right now” 

    “Ah,” Katsa said before twisting away to cough. 

    “How’re you feeling, anyway?” Po asked after the fit had subsided. 

    “I’m fine.” 

    “You were pretty miserable earlier. Are you sure—” 

    “Po.” Her eyes turned pleading. “I’m fine.” Though she wasn’t quite sure what she was pouring into those words, Po seemed to understand. 

    “Alright.” He studied her for a moment before standing. “I’ll go see if Raffin and Bann have space for us at the table. Just come whenever you’re ready.” 

    She nodded, slumping back against the pillows as he left. 

    After a moment, she slipped out of bed, shivering slightly as her bare feet touched the cold floor. Half-groggily wondering whether it was impolite to bring a blanket before deciding she didn’t care, she slung one of the spares—Po must have brought some while she napped—around her shoulders before heading towards Po’s chambers. 

    “The sleeping princess finally awakes,” Raffin teased as she stepped into the room. 

    Po’s chambers, though large, consisted of just a bedroom, an adjoining bathroom, a study, and a balcony. Po’s massive bed—the size of which he frequently complained about—sat at the center of one wall. Plush couches surrounded a fireplace, and a multi-purpose but primarily dining table was sequestered into another corner. 

    It was in this last spot that the other three were seated, platters of steaming food set before them. There was the usual assortment of roasted fowl, freshly-baked bread, and vegetables—and a large pot of some kind of soup. 

    “What’s in there?” Katsa asked hoarsely as she took a seat. 

    “Chicken soup. My mother always had the cooks make it when I wasn’t feeling well,” Po explained. 

    “Same here,” Raffin agreed. 

    “Why?” Katsa asked with a cough. Her blanket slipped from her shoulders, pooling in her lap. 

    Raffin shrugged. “Tradition, mostly, now. I don’t know if it was ever considered medicinal, but people did use to believe it was a cure for most illnesses. It’s more of a comfort food than anything else, though.” 

    Katsa nodded, tentatively ladling some into her bowl. She eyed the rest of the food, but only selected a small piece of bread. 

    “You’re really not hungry?” Po asked, noting how little she had taken. 

    She shook her head. 

    “Do you feel nauseous?” Raffin asked, clearly trying to troubleshoot. 

    Another shake of her head. “Just not hungry.” Though she was, admittedly, downplaying some of her symptoms, this, at least, was not a lie. Though her appetite usually appeared in the presence of food, she simply didn’t want anything. 

    “How are you feeling, anyway?” Raffin asked gently. 

    Katsa shrugged, frowning at her soup. Even knowing Raffin was only trying to help, she couldn’t stop herself from balking slightly at the mention of her illness. “I’ve been better,” she muttered. Not really an answer, but surely better than “fine”. 

    Raffin was not to be deterred. “How’s your throat?” 

    “Sore.” 

    “Any better from before?” 

    “Don’t know,” she muttered, staring at her soup. 

    After a couple more questions, Raffin dropped the subject, Katsa’s answers yielding little. “I’ll take your temperature and give you more medicine after dinner, okay?” 

    “Okay.” Relief swept over her as the conversation shifted to other, less invasive topics. 

    Bann yawned behind his hand, and Katsa’s attention shifted to him. He seemed quieter than usual, making only half-hearted attempts to nudge along the conversation. She thought sluggishly of what Raffin had said earlier. 

    “Hey, Bann?” 

    “I—yeah?” he blinked, a bit startled by the quiet hesitancy in her voice. 

“Um, are you feeling better now?” Katsa asked softly, a childlike anxiousness surrounding her. 

    “Hmm?” Bann blinked, shaking himself marginally more present. “I’m fine.”
    “Raff said you weren’t feeling well earlier.”

    “It’s nothing, Kat. Just a headache.” 

    “But you’re okay now?”

    He nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine, don’t worry. Being so high up always makes me a bit out of sorts at first.” 

    “I’m glad.”
    “Thank you for asking, though.” 

    She busied herself with spooning soup into her mouth, not quite sure how to respond. Thankfully—perhaps cottoning on to the embarrassment flooding Katsa’s system—Bann said no more about it.  

    Katsa’s thoughts drifted away from the conversation, eating her soup already an exercise in concentration. 

“Hey, Po? You know how you said people like comfort food when they aren’t well?” Katsa abruptly asked, derailing the conversation. 

    “Yes,” he said slowly, wondering what she was getting at. 

    “Can we have stew next time? I like stew.”

    Po laughed. “I don’t see why not, especially if you’ll eat it.” 

    When dinner ended, Raffin jumped at the chance to ply Katsa with more medicine. Still at the table, he measured the doses while Bann found the thermometer. Her fever had come down some, to her friends’ relief, though it was still hovering around 101. 

    “You should get some rest, Katsa,” Raffin said gently after Katsa had downed the cough syrup. “You look tired still.” 

    “I’m fine,” she murmured, though her mind was slowly fogging over. She didn’t want to sleep, not when she nightmared, not when she’d spent most of the day sleeping, but the tiredness in her limbs was difficult to ignore. So, too, was the knowledge that sleep eased her symptoms—or at least rendered her unaware of them. 

    “Sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.” 

    After the two medicine makers had left, Po wrangled a semi-resistant Katsa into bed. 

    “I’m not tired,” she insisted, muffling a coughing fit. Po’s handkerchief was still clutched in one hand.

    “Here, Katsa,” he said, a fresh square of fabric in his outstretched hand. If she wouldn’t sleep, then at least he would take the opportunity to remedy other things. And then force her to rest. 

    “You already gave me one.” 

    Po laughed. “It’s generally useful to have a few.” He pointed to the stack on her bedside table.

    “I like this one,” she muttered.

    “They do need to be washed sometimes, you know. Just take another and I’ll have it washed for you.”

    She reluctantly accepted the new handkerchief, setting the other gently down beside her glass of water. She eyed the stack of colorful cloths somewhat resentfully. 

    Noting her apparent fondness, Po asked, “Why do you like that handkerchief so much?” 

    A shrug. “It’s nice.” And then, more quietly, “... and you gave it to me.” 

    Po laughed gently. “I’ve given you these ones, too, you know.” 

    “I guess.” And then, perhaps to christen it, Katsa brought her new handkerchief to her nose for a slightly-squelchy nose rub. 

    At Po’s insistence, the ailing Graceling agreed to sleep—or at least to try. She found her eyes falling shut of their own accord. Even the thought of dreaming seemed less worrisome. Or perhaps that was the exhaustion talking, dragging her down deeper in the evening. 

    But even half-asleep, she longed for Po. “Po? Will you stay?” she asked quietly. 

    “Of course, wildcat,” he said gently. That was a given.

    “Thank you,” she whispered. 

    “No thanks necessary.” Po pressed a soft kiss into her hair before settling down beside her. 

[sprinkles287]

I loved these books. Thanks for sharing!

[Oolia]

On 6/24/2022 at 12:38 AM, Akaashi said:

Oolia, thank you so much for the kind words! Believe it or not, I actually really like your writing too, so your praise means a lot to me! 

Aww thank you so much!!

I was SO glad to see you've posted another part! Just as amazing as the other two ❤️ The atmosphere is so cozy and warm, and the gentle care-taking just hits all my buttons. Thank you so much for writing this masterpiece!

[Akaashi]

Hey all! 

Sorry it’s been a bit since I last posted anything. This part’s pretty short, so I’ll probably put the next parts up soon too. Thanks for all your support!

Part 4: (Almost) Back to Normal 

    The next couple of days merged into a monotonous sort of routine. Po was always there beside her, most often still asleep at whatever too-early hour her sleep-deprived body decided to wake. Perhaps she really had gone too long without adequate sleep, she thought, for her body seemed reluctant to resume her once-normal circadian rhythm. 

    Her initial fear of dreaming had faded to worry, and even that was slowly ebbing. She hadn’t woken up sobbing once despite the copious amount of sleep she’d been getting. More sleep than in the past couple of weeks combined, she thought. There was always at least a little anxiety about dreaming welling up inside her, but Po was always there, reassuring her, staying through the night with her, and that was enough. 

    And when she was asleep, though she never remembered it, Po chased away fever dreams and nightmares alike. She didn’t know how her dreams faded away at his touch, how her breathing stilled and her heartbeat calmed. All she knew was that Po was comforting, and warm, and kind, and she liked having him near her.

    Waking turned to breakfast, something supposedly light to the stomach (though she’d never found anything in particular that didn’t sit well with her). There was also, inevitably, tea, which was often Raffin’s questionable-tasting medicinal blends. She wasn’t quite sure whether any of them did what they were intended to, but the copious amounts of honey the tea required did soothe much of the ache in her throat. Although it hadn’t gone away entirely—despite Po’s assurance—it had faded enough to make her feel a bit more vocal about her grievances. 

    And now that she was clearly on the mend, her fever having gone down, she had a good few grievances to utter. She didn’t care about the medicines, or the questionable teas, but she wasn’t sure how much more “bed rest” she could take. She’d napped (she didn’t care for that either), and read, and lounged about like a noble with nothing better to do, and she was tired of it. She slipped out on occasion, making her way to some temporary haven until she was inevitably found. 

    She liked the balconies, though Po (and Raffin, and Bann) worried about the chill the mountain air brought. She liked the stables, when she could manage to sneak away from Po’s watchful eyes (or watchful Grace). But mostly she simply stayed in bed, or at least in her chambers, constantly watched by someone or another. 

    Even after just a few days, and despite the fever that had heralded her illness, most of her symptoms had dwindled to next to nothing. Only her cough lingered, to everyone’s dismay. 

    Katsa hated it. Po worried, Raffin and Bann forced more tea and medicine into her, and it generally kept her miserable enough to feel mildly lethargic. But it also prevented her from pretending that this strange illness never occurred. She just wanted it to all go away, to disappear and fade away like some (fever) dream all but forgotten. 

 

    Katsa woke with a slight start after three days of bed rest, mildly surprised to have woken at a decent hour for once. 

    It took her groggy brain a moment to process why she might need to wake at such a time, but the realization had her quickly slipping out of bed, shooting a half-fearful glance at Po. 

    She needn’t have worried, though, for the prince was still asleep, covers pulled up and body curled around the spot Katsa once lay. His features were softer when he slept, she noted, lending him a youthful innocence he had long ago lost in protecting his Grace, and she had an odd desire to ruffle his hair. Instead, she settled for a gentle kiss, pulling away quickly and slipping out of her rooms with an armful of clothes. 

    Dressed in a tunic and trousers, Katsa slipped off towards the training area, where a host of other women waited for her. 

    Once a week—and more frequently when she wasn’t busy with Council business (or plagued by strange illnesses)—she taught a self-defense class. Originally inspired by her knife lessons with Bitterblue, but heavily reconfigured for more practical lessons (most women did not, in fact, carry large butcher’s knives with them), she taught women how to protect themselves. She taught them what to do, how to fight, how to use an opponent’s strengths against him. 

    She taught them what she’d always thought women should be taught, but for some reason never were. She taught them that they were strong enough to fight for themselves, that they were beautiful and powerful.  

    She was almost halfway through her class (voice possibly starting to fade, though she was pushing through) when Po appeared. Swallowing her guilt—she hadn’t left a note, and she knew neither he nor Raffin or Bann would approve—she nodded nonchalantly and adjusted another woman’s position. 

    Unfortunately, he seemed determined to talk to her, making a beeline for her lithe form. 

    “Might I have a word with you, Lady Katsa?” he asked, stopping before her. 

    “Yes, Prince Po,” she ground out, her tone polite but edged. Motioning for her pupils to continue, she reluctantly followed Po. 

    He turned on her the moment they were out of earshot. “What are you doing, Katsa? You’re ill, you shouldn’t be out here! Are you trying to make yourself worse? You need rest.” 

    “Po,” Katsa returned, voice cold. “I am fine. I’m not feverish; I’m barely ill.” She glared spectacularly at Po in compensation as her voice cracked on the last word.

    “Katsa,” Po tried again, clearly irritated. “Illnesses can be unpredictable. You really should be resting until you’ve chased this thing away for good.”

    “I’m. Fine.” She ground out, turning away. 

    Po’s arm snaked out, grabbing her wrist, and she stilled in surprise. “I know that you’re tired of resting, that you want to do something,” he said in a softer voice. “but it really is important that you take it easy.” He hesitated slightly. “We aren’t even sure what you have, given your Grace.” 

    This, at least, gave Katsa pause. Turning back to him, she asked, very hesitantly, “I’ll be okay, though, right?” 

    Mild relief, then a vague guilt, flickered over Po’s readable face. “Yes, wildcat, don’t worry, you should be fine. But we want you to take it easy, to make sure this illness doesn’t linger.” 

    She sighed. “I—I’m sorry I worried you all. I’ll rest, I promise.” 

    Po’s eyes narrowed at the unspoken but at the end of her sentence. “But not right now.” 

    “I’m in the middle of my class!” Katsa exclaimed in exasperation, both at Po’s ability to read her and at the current inadequacies of her body. “I can’t exactly cancel!” 

    “You could end early?” Po offered mildly. 

    Katsa scowled. “I will not,” she hissed, suppressing a cough. 

    Po appraised her carefully. Stepping closer, he pressed a hand against Katsa’s forehead, though she tried to dodge it. “I think you have a slight fever, wildcat,” he sighed. “You really should be resting.” 

    “After my class.” Her voice turned softer as she continued. “I promise I’ll take it easy, alright?” 

    Another long, careful stare from Po. Giving a reluctant nod, he swiftly removed his jacket and slung it over Katsa’s shoulders. “Only if you wear this. You’re shivering,” he said in explanation. 

    Katsa opened her mouth to protest, but quickly turned away with a hastily muffled sneeze. Noting the look of concern that flickered across Po’s face, she quickly returned to her class, deciding not to argue with Po after all. 

 

    Po leaned casually against a wooden post, settled down to watch, and shivered. In hindsight, he shouldn’t have given away his jacket. In hindsight, he should have sent someone to fetch him another jacket, or perhaps to fetch one of Katsa’s own for his stubborn-headed Graceling. 

    But he hadn’t been able to help himself. She’d been shivering, he’d been worried. It had been the most natural thing in the world to do, if not the most intelligent. 

    Because, in truth, Katsa wasn’t the only one under the weather. 

    Po had woken to an empty bed—covers casually thrown aside—and a myriad of smaller symptoms that, put together, meant a burgeoning illness for the Lienid Graceling. He’d barely even noticed at first, more worried about Katsa and her general absence. 

    And then the symptoms had trickled into his consciousness. A sore throat, the type that heralded nothing else. A headache, its dull throbbing making it difficult to focus his Grace. A faint itch in his nose, leaving him rather sniffly. A bout of shivering, which had begun not long after he’d so chivalrously given up his jacket. And, all over, a kind of cotton-stuffed sluggishness, making him long for the comfort of his bed. 

    He nearly wilted in relief when Katsa’s class ended. She ambled over slowly, coughing slightly into yet another of Po’s gifted handkerchiefs. 

    “Okay,” she said, glancing up meekly. “Class is over. Shall we go back to our rooms?” 

    Po nodded, trying not to let his weariness show. “How are you feeling, wildcat?” he asked gently. 

    “Exhausted,” she admitted after a beat. “But otherwise alright.” 

    “Mm,” he murmured, focusing on Katsa despite his headache. “Your fever is worse. And your cough doesn’t sound good, either.” 

    Katsa scowled. “I’m fine. Just—just tired.” A small admission, but an admission nonetheless. 

    “Let’s get you to bed, then,” Po said with a patience Katsa didn’t feel she deserved. “And some medicine. And tea.” 

    They did all three, in rapid succession. Katsa’s exhaustion had turned to a kind of acquiescent meekness, a willingness to follow Po’s suggestions unquestioningly. 

    She fell asleep while the two of them were drinking tea. Easing the cup from Katsa’s unresisting fingers, Po settled her in more comfortably—and then fell asleep himself. 

 

    Which was how Raffin found them, perhaps an hour later, Katsa tucked in, Po haphazardly under the covers. He frowned at the faint flush of color painting Katsa’s cheeks, the sign of a fever he’d thought she’d chased away. Po was snoring faintly, and he frowned at that too, worrying about his friends, the two of them snuggled together, one feverish and the other soon to be. 

    They had stew for dinner that night, as they’d had far too often as of late. But for all that Raffin and Bann kept up their usual lively chatter, dinner was a rather low-energy affair. Katsa, annoyed at her friends’ lecturing (Raffin, more than Bann, had given her a piece of his mind) and just a little bit miserable, kept to herself as she scarfed down food. Her appetite had, mercifully, returned after a couple of days, a sign to her, at least, that she was clearly on the mend. 

    Po himself was slowly growing more miserable as the evening passed. He’d taken a dose of medicine before Katsa had woken, which did manage, at least, to stave off the worst of his symptoms. Nonetheless, the pounding in his head made it difficult to concentrate, and he found it was all he could do to nod along and make the appropriate exclamatory noises while nibbling at his own plate. 

    Therefore, it came as a relief when Raffin, still complaining about Katsa’s irresponsibility, wrangled the semi-resistant Graceling into bed. Plying her with more medicine and imperiously commanding her to stay in bed until she was better, Raffin and Bann were determined that Katsa rest. 

    In fact, it was Po who fell asleep first, almost the moment his head hit the pillow, soft snores emanating from his slightly open mouth. 

 

[Akaashi]

Aaaand… next part! This is basically the end, but I do also have a little epilogue scene after this too
 

Part 5: Trade-Offs and Discoveries

    Po woke around midnight and subsequently found himself unable to fall back asleep. Instead, he wound up reclining against some pillows, breathing stuffily through his mouth, one hand instinctively rubbing Katsa’s back, smoothing her soft curls from her forehead, chasing away fever dreams. Giving her the rest she so desperately needed, even while sleep eluded him. 

    And then, suddenly, he was muffling a harsh coughing fit into the crook of his elbow, chest heaving as he attempted to suppress the fit. He slid out of the bed with a gentleness at odds with the urgency he felt, smoothing Katsa’s hair one last time before escaping towards the balcony. 

    He was almost at the doors when he began coughing again, the fit too powerful to be repressed. He would have groaned, were it not likely to make him cough more. 

    Still fighting the last vestiges of the fit, Po stepped out onto the balcony and shut the doors quietly behind him. Perhaps a bit of a wasted effort, as Katsa hadn’t so much as stirred, but at least he could find peace in the cool, quiet air. And the next fit—which was not so much of an if as a when—would not have the power to disturb Katsa, who needed her rest so desperately. 

    He stifled, suddenly, one—no, two—sneezes, suppressing them into little more than the breathy inhale that followed. One hand flew half-heartedly to his temple, which throbbed dully in the aftermath. His sneezes were always disorienting, now, with his expanded Grace and lack of vision—they always threw him off balance, for a moment—but stifling came with a price as well. 

    Sighing, Po glanced back toward the room where Katsa rested. A gentle breeze had him shivering slightly, and he knew he ought to go back inside. Try to sleep. Or, even better, find Raffin and Bann. Though he doubted they’d have any more medicines to prescribe than the ones they were already plying Katsa with—save, perhaps, one for his headache—they understood illnesses and medicine, and he figured they deserved, at least, to know. 

    In truth, Po found himself mildly disappointed to have caught Katsa’s illness at all. Perhaps, he mused, he’d hoped this strange affliction of Katsa’s might only affect her. Because surely that made more sense than the thought that her Grace had faltered, that something had slipped past her infallible Grace. 

    Po turned, hand on the cool metal doorknob, before freezing, muffling another fit. It burned his already-raw throat terribly, and he knew he really ought to go inside, before the wind and chill made him worse. Raffin and Bann. He would go to Raffin and Bann, though he didn’t want to. Surely they had to have something or another that could lessen his symptoms, hide them and make them less worrisome to his wildcat who had enough on her plate worrying about herself. 

    He slipped out of the room, sliding the door closed as quietly as possible. When a knock on his Raffin’s door was met with silence, Po sighed. Perhaps they were, for once, asleep, as he ought to be. 

    But that wasn’t right; Raffin and Bann were easily within range of his Grace, tired and off as it was. And while Bann was curled up under the comforter, asleep, the way any sane human being ought to be at whatever godforsaken hour it was, Raffin’s tall, lanky form was hunched over a table, presumably poring over yet more books. Well, at least Raffin was up, probably, assuming he hadn’t fallen asleep at his makeshift desk. 

    Po slipped in quietly, heading for Raffin, who looked up, startled. “Seas, Po, don’t sneak up on people like that.” And then, moderate curiosity tinging his voice, “What are you doing here, anyway?” 

    A shrug. “I couldn’t fall back asleep, and I thought you might be up, too. Do you always stay up this late?” 

    Now it was Raffin’s turn to shrug, the action more dramatic on his slender frame. “Depends on what I’m researching.” He tipped his head in his friend’s direction. “Bann goes to sleep at more reasonable times.” 

    “What are you currently working on?” Po asked before quickly turning away, stifling a quiet—and surprisingly explanatory—sneeze between two fingers. He rubbed his temple, wincing slightly.

    “Oh,” Raffin said in understanding. “You caught Katsa’s illness.” 

    He wrinkled his nose. “Unfortunately.” 

    “If it’s any consolation, I thought one of us would catch it.” 

    “It isn’t really,” Po muttered. 

    Raffin sighed sympathetically. “Let me get you some medicine. Or—did you take any already?”

    Po shook his head, then nodded, wincing as the action made the pounding worse. “Er, yeah, I took some before dinner, but not since then.” 

    “Hmm, it’s probably too soon for more, then.” Noting his friend’s apparent discomfort, Raffin added, “But I’ll see if we have anything for headaches.” 

    “Thank you.” 

    Raffin paused, a thought striking him. “Does Katsa know that you’re ill?” 

    “No, I—” Po froze, eyes wide. 

    “What’s—” Raffin started to ask, but Po was gone, footsteps thundering down the hall. “What’s wrong,” he finished into the silence. 

    Katsa. Sitting amidst a mess of sheets, tears streaming down her face as she called out desperately in a broken, raw voice for Po. His warm arms embraced her, his reassuring voice murmuring soothing phrases that for once did little to console her. She continued sobbing, crying out, even as Raffin and Bann—the latter sleepy but concerned—entered the room, hurrying to her bedside.

    “Katsa, what’s wrong?” Raffin asked, clearly worried.

    She said nothing, only sobbed all the harder into Po’s shoulder.

    “Nightmare,” he supplied for her, mouthing the word. 

    “Ah,” Raffin said though his face clouded in confusion. Since when did Katsa have dreams, let alone nightmares? He found himself moving forward, pressing the back of his hand against Katsa’s too warm cheek. Definitely feverish. “Katsa…” he murmured sympathetically. 

    Bann, too, tried his hand at consoling her, sleepiness replaced with worry. “It’s alright, Katsa,” he said soothingly. “It’s alright. You’re alright.” 

    But she shied away from her friends’ gentle touches, clinging so tightly to Po that it must have hurt, though the Graceling prince said nothing. Her sobs echoed throughout the room. 

    It was those sobs that unnerved Raffin the most. In all the years that he’d known his cousin, he’d rarely seen her cry. And certainly the limited times he’d actually seen her do so hadn’t been like this. They’d been silent, half-furious affairs, a single tear scrubbed away with scorn, a near-silent gulp of a sob. 

    “Should we get some medicine to calm her?” Raffin murmured to Po quietly. 

    “No!” Katsa shrieked, sputtering the word through the coughing that followed. 

    “Are you sure, wildcat? It’ll help, maybe even make you sleep a bit.” 

    “No,” she repeated, clearly making an effort to remain calmer. “No medicine.” 

    Raffin studied her quietly. “What about medicine for your fever? It might be part of the reason you’re feeling so out of it.” 

    She shook her head. 

    “Please, wildcat. It’ll make you feel better,” Po tried. 

    “No.” A pause, and then, “I’m fine.” She pulled away from Po, hugging her knees. 

    “Will you at least let us take your temperature, then?” Bann asked, his voice soothingly gentle. When she started shaking her head at even that, Bann quickly continued, “No medicine, I promise. Just the thermometer, alright?” 

    Katsa met Bann’s honest, gentle gaze for several seconds before hesitantly nodding. 

    She curled up even more tightly while her friends fussed over her temperature, Raffin attempting—despite Bann’s promise—to give her more medicine. 

    Eventually—after it was clear Katsa had calmed down some, though she still refused any medicine—Raffin and Bann returned to their own rooms, the former still complaining about Katsa’s resistance. 

    Which left just her and Po, the one person she could maybe, possibly, be this vulnerable with. “Thank you,” she whispered, trying not to burst into tears anew. “And—I’m sorry.” 

    “Hush, wildcat.” Po’s voice was gentle. “You don’t need to apologize.” 

    She had nothing to say to that, only wrapped her arms around Po’s torso as he settled in beside her. 

    Katsa couldn’t sleep, but Po drifted in and out, the desire to support Katsa warring with his own illness and exhaustion. Nonetheless, each time he woke, he found Katsa by his side, seemingly reassured by his touch and presence alone. 

. . . . . . . . .

    Po woke once more around sunrise, sitting up quickly enough that it made his head spin. 

    “Po?” Katsa’s voice sounded concerned, and it took him a moment to realize she was worried for him. 

    “Morning, wildcat,” he said, voice gravelly and rough. 

    She winced slightly. “Are you alright?” 

    “I should be asking you that question.” 

    She scowled. “Po.” 

    He sighed in return. Though he’d tried to keep his symptoms to himself, there was only so much he could do when Katsa refused to sleep. He’d felt her attention—and subsequent worry—with every stifled sneeze and muffled coughing fit, though she said nothing of it. 

    “Don’t worry about me, wildcat. Are you alright?” 

    “Fine,” she muttered through gritted teeth, annoyed at Po’s attempt to sidestep her concern. “Po,” she tried again, voice a touch harsher than she intended, “Are you ill?”

    The Prince sighed, rubbed his face with his hands, and slowly nodded. 

    “Since when?” 

    “Just yesterday,” he reassured her. 

    She frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Her thoughts flitted to the training area, to their dinner, to staying up more or less all night. “Do Raffin and Bann know?”

    “Yes, don’t worry, I told them.” 

    “Oh, so I’m the only one you didn’t feel the need to tell?” Her voice was angry, rough. 

    “You’re still ill. I didn’t want to worry you.” 

    “And how well did that turn out?” She scowled, opening her worry to Po. 

    Po winced as his Grace picked up her thoughts. On top of his illness and difficulty focusing, it only made his headache worse. “You’re right, Katsa. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have tried to keep it from you.” 

    Noting Po’s discomfort, Katsa closed her mind, anger dissolving. “I’m sorry I got you sick,” she said in a small voice. 

    “It’s not your fault, wildcat. It just happened.” 

    She was silent for a while, studying Po with her Graceling eyes. 

    “Po?” she asked hesitantly, “How often have you been ill?”

    “Ever?”

    Katsa nodded. 

    Po took a moment to think. “Dozens of times, probably. Maybe once, twice a year. Why?”

    She shrugged. “Just curious, I suppose.”

    “Because you don’t think you’ve ever been ill before?” 

    “Yes.” 

    Po shook his head wistfully. “Your Grace truly is amazing, then.” 

    “I just don’t understand why I fell ill this time, though,” Katsa said, frustrated. 

    “Maybe your Grace is changing. You didn’t use to dream, either, did you?” 

    “No,” she admitted. “But that’s different. If I can fall ill—does that mean my Grace is weakening?”

    The worry in her voice prompted Po to rub her shoulders reassuringly. “I’m sure that’s not the case. I’ve never heard of a Grace doing that.” 

    “Maybe it’s just my Grace, then.” 

    Po looked doubtful. “I’ve really never heard of that happening.” He thought for a moment. “Maybe it’s stress.” 

    “Stress?” 

    A nod. “Raffin and Bann were saying, before—maybe when you first fell ill?—that people seem to get sick more when they’re stressed. Although I believe it’s just a theory of theirs.” 

    Katsa shook her head. “That doesn’t make sense. I’m fine, I’m not stressed. I made it through Grella’s Pass with Bitterblue without falling ill! I just—it doesn’t make sense.” 

    Po was silent for a long while before he finally spoke. “What about your nightmares?” 

    Katsa’s expression immediately closed. “No.” 

    “Are you sure—” 

    “Don’t, Po. Just—don’t. I—I can’t. You don’t understand.” 

    “Then tell me,” he said gently. When she didn’t respond, he continued, “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but maybe you should. It might help.” 

    She sighed, closing her eyes, trying to summon the courage to put her nightmares into words. She’s sure Po’s right—when is he not—that she should tell someone, but the knowing doesn’t make it any easier. 

    At last, she said, slowly, “In my dreams, you die.” 

    “I’ve dreamt of you dying, of Raffin and Bann dying,” Po replied gently. “Of my brothers dying. It’s because of the trauma we’ve been through. It’ll get better.” 

    “Do you kill them?” The words come out flat, tired. 

    “My brothers?”

    “Them, all of us. Do you kill them? Because I do. In my dreams, I kill you. In every single freaking dream, I kill you.” Her voice, steadily rising in pitch, suddenly broke. “It’s always my fault.” 

    Po had no answer to this, only pulled her in tighter, but this seemed to be all the reassurance she needed. Withheld for too long, the words poured out of her. 

    “And there’s always Leck. I try to kill him, stop him, do something, and I always end up killing you instead. I betray you, and he walks away. I betray you, and he laughs at me. I fight as hard as I freaking can, and it’s never enough.” 

    Tears ran down her face as she paused, trying not to overwhelm Po with everything at once, but there’s something cathartic about letting it all out. He held her as words turned to sobs, and then as the sobs finally quieted. 

    “It’s alright, wildcat, it’s alright,” Po murmured into her hair quietly. “It’s alright. None of it happened. Your nightmares don’t mean you failed.” 

    “I dream about it every time I sleep, you know,” she said, quieter. 

    Po’s mind went to the first time she’d woken him, the panic at that mingling with the panic of seeing her so wrecked. “I’m sorry, wildcat,” he said. “All I can say is that it does get better.” 

    “I’m scared to sleep.” The words so quiet, murmured into Po’s shoulder. 

    Po’s answering hug both shattered and mended her. 

    “I can’t sleep every night. I can’t bear to see his face.” 

    Po could only imagine. Leck’s leering face, seared into her brain. Leck’s single, cold eye, an eyepatch covering the other. 

    “It’s alright, Katsa. It’ll fade.” 

    “But it hasn’t!” she exclaimed, voice loud enough to trigger a brief coughing fit. “I’ve had these dreams since I killed him, and they haven’t stopped. I can’t sleep, because they haven’t stopped and I can’t bear to fight him, fight this, every night.”

    Po thought once more of Katsa waking him, crying. How often it had happened, at first. How it had slowly faded. Or—oh. Oh. 

    “You don’t sleep every night, do you?” 

    Katsa was silent for a long while. “... No.” 

    “How often do you sleep, then?” Po asked, even though he was pretty sure he knew the answer. They coincided with the nights Katsa’s nightmares woke him, after all. 

    “Every few nights, or so,” she said slowly, keeping her answer vague, though she was clearly thinking of the precise number. “But I do take naps, sometimes.” 

    Po shook his head, though he looked triumphant. “Wildcat, there’s nothing wrong with your Grace. You exhausted yourself and your Grace couldn’t compensate anymore.” 

    “But—I’ve never been ill before. Surely there’s more to it than that!” 

    “Have you ever gone this long without sleep?” When she shook her head in response, Po gave her a knowing look. 

    “So it’s just because I haven’t slept enough?” She asked. 

    “I believe so. Even your Graced body needs rest.” 

    “So how do I… fix this?” Katsa asked, voice small once more. 

    “Sleep, wildcat,” Po replied, voice gentle. “It’ll get better. This—staying up through the sheer power of your Grace alone—isn’t a solution. You’ll probably just fall ill again if you do.” 

    Her blue and green eyes swam with tears. “But—every night, he’s there. I—I can’t.” Before Po could garner a response, she continued, “And I’ll only disturb your sleep, anyway. You looked so tired, those first few days, Po.” 

    He gave a slight smile at that. “Well, I didn’t exactly know what I was dealing with. The first time, I was scared out of my wits and probably looked it.” 

    Katsa giggled slightly at that. “It was quite a spectacle. Were you even wearing pants?” 

    Po shrugged carelessly. “It’s just you, it’s fine.” 

    “But really, Po,” Katsa said, “I don’t want to wake you.” 

    Po thought for a moment. “Actually, you haven’t woken me once since you’ve been ill.” 

    “I don’t think I’ve dreamed, either,” she admits. “But I don’t know why. What’s different between now and before?” 

    “You’re ill?” Po offered. 

    “But, Po—isn’t the point that I sleep so I don’t fall ill again?” 

    “I’m not suggesting it as a solution,” he said quickly. “That would be counterintuitive.” 

    “What else could it be, then?” 

    Po shook his head. “Maybe it’s something we’ve done differently?” 

    “You’ve stayed,” she said simply after a moment or two. “You’ve stayed during the night.” 

    “I have,” he admitted. “And I left last night, because I couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to wake you.” 

    “And… you know,” she trailed off, a faint blush rising to her cheeks. 

    “Yes,” he said gently, “I know.” 

    She kissed Po on the cheek before settling down more comfortably into his arms. And together, they faced the morning. 

[Akaashi]

Epilogue! At long last!
 

Part 6: Epilogue (or Oh How the Tables Have Tabled)

“Kat?” Raffin croaked in a congested voice. “Cad I have bore tea?” 

    “Course. I’ll be right back!” she called over her shoulder in far too cheerful a voice. 

    A day or two after Po fell ill, Raffin, and then Bann, quickly followed suit. Even the maid, Laureli, hadn’t escaped unscathed, nursing a mild case in the infirmary. 

    Katsa herself had bounced back quickly, either due to Raffin’s well-enforced bed rest—there was always someone around, though, admittedly, sometimes it was just Po, bedridden himself—or because she had finally slept enough for her body to recover. 

    Her friends hadn’t quite reached that point yet. 

    Po was clearly on the mend, his fever having broken sometime the previous day, though his other symptoms still plagued him. Raffin and Bann, on the other hand, hadn’t quite reached that point of recovering.  

    Katsa was playing nurse for all three, who had decided there was plenty of room on Po’s absolutely massive bed to house all of them. She wasn’t particularly maternal, but she did feel a bit guilty about getting them sick. That, and, if she wanted to hang around them, acting as caretaker at least staved off the boredom. 

    Raffin was curled up, coughing—Bann rubbing soothing circles on his friend’s back—when Katsa returned with the tea. She set it down on the bedside table, a hand going to Raffin’s forehead. He’d shown her how to gauge someone’s temperature, and she was surprisingly (or unsurprisingly?) accurate at it. 

    “I don’t think your temperature’s going down,” she said, sounding mildly worried. 

    “Is it goig up?” Raffin asked stuffily when he’d caught his breath. 

    She thought for a moment. “No, I don’t think so.” 

    “I’b sure it’s fide, thed. Sobetibes fevers linger a bit.” 

    Bann coughed, and Katsa’s attention turned to him. “How are you feeling, Bann?” She longed to gauge his temperature, too, but he was propped just out of arm’s reach. 

    A shrug. “Fine. Just tired.” 

    While Po and Raffin hid little about their misery, Bann kept his complaints to himself. 

    “His throat hurts ad he has a headache,” Raffin muttered, turning over. 

    Bann nodded sheepishly when Katsa looked to him for confirmation. She didn’t know how Raffin was so accurate, but Bann hadn’t denied anything he’d said. 

    “I’ll get more throat lozenges, then,” she said, springing up. 

    She returned to find Po in the middle of a fit of itchy, kittenish sneezes. “Hh’kssh-tssh-u! Ehh’kTchuh!” 

    “Bless you, kitten,” Katsa teased. 

    Po had finally stopped stifling, though whether because of Raffin’s verbal disapproval or Po’s building headache, Katsa wasn’t sure. The trade-off, though, was such fits, which occurred with surprising frequency. Po’s illness had turned in a distinctly sneezier direction than Katsa’s. 

    He groaned plaintively, which she ignored. He’d made a point of being verbal in his discomfort, likely because Katsa had done the opposite. 

    When Po made another plaintive noise, she finally turned to him with a sigh. “Yes?” 

    “Will you hug me, please?” 

    Katsa sighed—but she couldn’t say no. 

    They would all be better in a few days, as she had been (or maybe longer, what did she know), but for now she would flaunt (just ever so slightly) her newly recovered health. 

    Her nightmares hadn’t faded entirely—she’d woken Po up, once, when she’d almost fully recovered—but he’d only hugged her, rolled over, and encouraged her to go back to sleep. And, for the first time, she had. 

    The detailed accounts of their encounters with Leck, tucked away into her desk, burned a hole in her mind, so she collected them, haphazardly bound them, and stuffed them into a corner of Po’s library. She wasn’t ready to deal with it, yet, but neither was the world. They were brutal, messy, born of anger and fear and anger at that fear. Someday, perhaps, she would be ready to relive those emotions, but for now, she just needed to process and heal. As the world did—and would—as well. 

 

~Fin~

 

Hey guys, thank you so much for reading! This took me a ridiculously long time to write, but I really enjoyed it. Hopefully the next one won’t take quite as long, haha. I hope you guys liked it!