One of the best things about Ja'far is that he's a hard worker.

In fact, he's such a hard worker that it's one of the worst things about Ja'far.

It's taken weeks of begging, wheedling, cajoling and pleading, but finally, finally Ja'far has agreed that for one night only, it might not be so bad to let the papers sit on his desk, especially if Sinbad puts it under the guise of inspecting certain areas of the city they rarely get the chance to frequent.

It's nice, having Ja'far by his side as they stride through the streets, and in casual clothes, no less. That had taken intervention by the other generals, but Ja'far looks softer, less intimidating, less like a state official like this. Maybe now, they'll actually be able to enjoy a meal in peace. "Pick your poison-not literally. There's a place near here that roasts fish whole, or a family place with a pot of stew on at all hours. Whatever suits your mood." And if you say it would suit your mood to eat nothing and stare at papers all day again, I'll pick you up and carry you.

Ja'far wants to firmly remind Sinbad that it doesn't matter what 'suits his mood' because food, in general, rarely does. He'd survive on tea all day if he were allowed to, with food as tasteless on his tongue as ever, but he merely bites down on a sigh, folding his arms up within his robes with a shrug that he hopes isn't too noncommittal. Sinbad had been so eager, so excited to drag him out of the office that he might as well not be too terribly sour about it, even if the heat already makes him tired, and curling up with a pile of scrolls would, in general, be a much less stressful way to spend his evening.

It's Sinbad, though, and as loathe as he is to admit it, the man does have something of a monopoly on puppy eyes…

"Fish is fine-isn't that place usually a bit quieter, too?"

"It is! I'm surprised you remember. What was it, three years ago?"

Sinbad reminisces aloud the entire way to the restaurant, pausing only to smile and chat with some of the Sindrians passing by, remembering just in time not to put his arm around Ja'far's shoulders. It feels so natural, the two of them out like this even after so long.

The proprietor remembers them, lighting a small candle to keep out the dark, hurrying over with two large salt-and-herb crusted fish on platters. Sinbad raises a glass of wine, eyes sparkling. "May this be the third of many."

"Wishful thinking," is Ja'far's sigh of a retort, but he allows a faint, wry smile nonetheless as he lifts his wine glass, gently clinking it against Sinbad's before taking a long sip. The meal smells good, and more importantly, Sinbad is happy. Once in awhile, it's good to appease his king in things like this, Ja'far thinks as he takes a bite. "Don't scoop out the fish eyes in front of me. That's disgusting."

Sinbad laughs, starting with the tail instead, scraping off the thick coating of salt to get to the tender flesh beneath. "Would you rather I leave them on the plate? That's just a waste of good food."

"It's more the way you do it. You slurp them, it's really unbefitting of a king," Ja'far sniffs, jabbing his fork briefly in Sinbad's direction. "Speaking of things unbefitting of a king-still being unmarried at your age."

"My age? You talk as if I'm decrepit. I've got another….oh, at least another hundred years in me." Ignoring Ja'far's protests, he scoops out an eye, popping it into his mouth. "What does it matter, as long as I'm not harassing foreign princesses?"

"They want to harass you," Ja'far bluntly points out, and he grimaces openly when Sinbad slurps the damned thing anyway. Ignoring the slow churn of his own stomach, he gingerly digs out the eye of his own fish and sets it on Sinbad's plate. "You're going to be 30 in a few years. Start acting your age and settle."

"What's the point? If I need someone to nag me, I already have you. And I hardly need someone to do my washing." Sinbad tries not to shudder openly at the idea of taking a wife. Really, Ja'far knows how to turn his stomach like no other.

"A queen wouldn't be doing the washing. She'd be bearing you a proper heir, and help you rule this country." Ja'far snorts, reaching over to take a slow sip of his wine. Talking about this subject always gives him a headache, and now is no different, with the dull, throbbing ache in his temples. "You aren't going to be around forever, and neither am I. Take a wife and produce a legitimate heir for once."

Sinbad waves a hand, dismissing the idea. "Let's talk instead about next week's festival. Do you have any ideas for the ice sculptures? Yamuraiha volunteered, she'll do them at least the size of buildings."

Ja'far settles upon giving him a put-out stare before poking back around his fish. "Make one of your shirtless chest. The women will be thrilled." That's a joke, please realize it's a joke.

"I'm sure they'll prefer to see the real thing," Sinbad says with a grin. "Maybe I'll have her do one of your smile, that's less likely to make an appearance."

The younger man's eyes narrow. "Perhaps that has to do with a certain king and the ridiculousness of his day-to-day actions. Have a deep sea monster made, just make sure it's not too realistic or Sharrkan will get confused."

"He's almost certain to do that anyway, regardless." Sinbad takes a large bite, delicately spitting out a few bones. "Say….this is a fine country, isn't it? I've never had fish so good anywhere under the sun."

Give this country a queen and it'll be even better is the quip on the tip of his tongue, but Ja'far forgoes nagging, figuring he's done his share for the evening. If only that odd, lingering headache would just go away… A sigh, and he nibbles on another bite, nodding. "It has a fine king. Perhaps even the fish are aware of that, and decide to suit your tastes exactly." Ja'far smiles faintly. "I'm getting the impression, though, that you aren't going to drag me out to see less-frequented areas of the city as planned, are you?"

"I'm no liar! Certainly I am." Sinbad chews, thinking. "When's the last time you saw the tournament hall, or the musician's arena? Those are much less-frequented, at least by us."

"A few months, at least." Well, if he's going to be dragged about, it could be far worse… "Whatever you want to see is fine, Sin. Shall I grant you a coupon to lead me wherever you wish tonight?"

"That does seem like the kind of thing you would respect. You needn't write it out, your word is good enough. And promise," he adds, somewhat sternly, "to at least attempt to enjoy yourself. No musician is as good with you glowering in the background, looking at the sun and waiting for it to be over."

"I'm hardly so rude! Well, unless the sun is out and glaring on me," Ja'far mutters with a huff of distaste. "That's one thing about this country that I could do without."

"At least unlike up north," Sinbad points out, stealing a bite of Ja'far's fish, "the day and night have the decency to stick to their schedules, not go changing about with the seasons."

Ja'far rolls his eyes, taking another bite and ignoring Sinbad's own prodding fork. "Mmn. Says the weakling that can't handle the cold for five minutes. I may hate the heat, but I can still work in it."

"All the more reason to have fun at night when it's nice and cool!" Sinbad leans back, eyes going to the open window, and the stars sparkling above. "There might be dancing tonight, you know."

"That is not included in the coupon."

Sinbad makes a face. "So cruel. You make the girls of the city pine their lives away for you."

Ja'far laughs outright at that, and promptly shoves what remains of his fish in Sinbad's direction. "You must be joking. I blend with the sand, there's little to pine for."

Sinbad eats without question, only casting the occasional glance up at his advisor. "You're really that unaware of it? I'm surprised. Maybe you're more ignorant than cold-hearted, but there really are girls who band together to trade stories of one time you walked by them in the street."

"You're joking," Ja'far repeats, blinking in open confusion over the mere concept. "Or you're talking about the things they say about you."

"Hard to get, easy to want." Sinbad shrugs. "I've never understood that phrase myself. I'm quite easy to get, and everyone still seems to want me. Shall I recite you a poem I heard about that reserved charm of yours?"

"No. No, absolutely not." Ja'far grabs his wine glass, downing it back in one solid swallow. "Also, you shouldn't so proudly proclaim how easy you are."

"Why not? Are you afraid someone will take advantage of me?" Sinbad's eyes glitter. "That sounds rather enjoyable. Are you volunteering?"

"… You say this as if no one has taken advantage of you before," Ja'far deadpans.

"Well." Sinbad pauses, considering it for a moment. "True. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't want it to happen again."

"Pass." Ja'far's head cocks. "Besides, when you want it so obviously, it isn't nearly as enjoyable."

Sinbad ignores the slight, just giving Ja'far an even look. "And you wonder why people want you?"

"Y…es, I do."

"Because you act like you don't want it, obviously. Toying with young women's hearts, refusing even a dance-there are rumors you're pining for a lost love back north, you know."

"… But it isn't acting. I genuinely don't want it. Or them. It's nothing against them, I'm just not interested."

"But to a woman, what do you think the difference is, between acting uninterested and being uninterested?" Sinbad raises an eyebrow. "The old question, isn't it?"

Ja'far's brow furrows. "It's a question I don't ask at all. Why are you so intent to see me with a woman? I'm not the one that needs to produce heirs."

"Neither am I. Sindria is a beautiful country full of good, happy, well-fed people, and their king is young. Heirs are for old kings who don't know any worthy young men."

Ja'far bites his tongue. Hard. Better than arguing with Sinbad is always bargaining, especially when he's feeling more tired by the moment. "If you at least consider a couple of potential women over the next month, I'll let you ask me for a dance."

All thoughts of women fly out of Sinbad's head, and his eyes light up. He finishes the rest of his fish in a flash, standing and holding out his hand. "You have my word. Come, let's go!"

It's actually somewhat cute to watch Sinbad be like this, no matter how it always is initially irritating as hell. A sigh, and Ja'far carefully rises, taking Sinbad's hand with a wry smile. "You know I merely wish the best for you. I won't always be here, and I'd rather you always have someone at your side. You tend to flounder without."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'll always have you." Sinbad squeezes Ja'far's hand, leading him out of the restaurant, a few golden coins shining on the table. "I'd be lost any other way."

"It's not so good just to rely on one person," Ja'far cautions, following at Sinbad's heels. "Isn't that why you have eight generals?"

"But they aren't you." Sinbad shrugs. "They all have their uses, and they're all indispensible for their talents, as you are for yours. Why, are you considering a change of career? You'd make an excellent sailor."

"I get seasick," is the deadpan retort to follow. "And no, I'm merely being realistic." Annoying, that the heat of the sun is still about, even when it sets. "Forgive me for wanting to see you taken care of properly."

"Then don't go anywhere. That way you can make certain I'm always well taken-care of." Sinbad smiles, tugging Ja'far down a series of alleys, leading to the Musician's Quarter. "We don't want to be late!"

"Missing the point, as per usual," Ja'far mutters, and he briefly shuts his eyes as he's tugged along, shoving away a wave of dizziness. Food and heat and being dragged through the streets don't bode well on the best of days. This, apparently, isn't a better day to begin with. "You know, I said I would let you ask me for a dance, not that I'd agree to one."

Sinbad stops short, turning and bringing Ja'far's hand up to his lips, still in the darkness of an alleyway. "Dance with me?" he asks, eyes sparkling, and kisses pale fingers. "Please?"

Ja'far's mouth opens and closes, and he's reminded of exactly how difficult it is to argue with Sinbad.

It isn't the blush that rises to his cheeks that makes him lightheaded, though, and he knows it. Ja'far wobbles against any and all attempts not to, and ah, that's less lightheadedness and more outright feeling he's going to faint.

There's a joke here, about swooning like some pathetic maiden, but he can't quite make it when everything is sudden a dozen times too hot, his blood thrumming in his ears is all he hears, and it feels distinctly like the world bottoms out beneath him when his knees buckle.

Sinbad's first reaction probably isn't as panicked as it should be. He catches Ja'far easily, sighing a bit as he carries the younger man out a couple streets to the beach. He lays his robe on the ground, laying Ja'far atop it, and gently pats his cheeks, his hands. "Ja'far? Ah, you shouldn't have let me eat so much of your fish, you've been living on tea again, haven't you?"

That's a good excuse, Ja'far dimly thinks, even as his head lolls, still too-heavy. "Mm… tea, and too hot," he mumbles, squeezing his eyes shut. "I'm fine. Just-help me up-"

The twitching throb that spikes across his temples is different, far more of a sharp pain than any long-thudding ache, and that's one of the last things Ja'far properly recalls before his eyes roll back.

This is no ordinary faint.

The second Sinbad realizes it-sees Ja'far pass out again and start twitching, making upsetting little noises-he lifts Ja'far and sprints back to the palace, thundering down the halls to kick open the door to Yamuraiha's room. "Get up!" he shouts, as someone hides under the bed and Yamuraiha exclaims something in protest. "He's hurt, there's something wrong, look at him!"

Interruptions seem to be such a common thing these days that Yamuraiha is skilled with tying a sheet tightly in place about her (mostly) naked body as she slides from the bed. "Lay him down, ah, and pull his head back, though he's probably already bitten his tongue-" she stresses, and with a scowl, slams her foot down into Sharrkan's back. "Go get the palace healer, make some use of yourself! Sinbad, he didn't eat anything strange, did he?" It's such an odd question to ask about Ja'far, who has always seemed so invulnerable to everything, and Yamuraiha worries her lower lip as a flick of her wrist at least brings enough cold, near-icy air about the man to cool him down and calm his seizing.

"Just a bit of fish!" Sinbad calls over his shoulder, already running for the healer's room. He grabs her without asking, not having patience for her protests, depositing her almost in Yamuraiha's lap within seconds. "What's wrong with him? Is it poison? Is it magic?"

"With all due respect, Your Majesty, but it's impossible to work with you hovering, so get out."

The healer is an older woman, but astoundingly forceful when need be, and in short order, Sinbad and Sharrkan alike find themselves succinctly tossed out of the room with the door shut in their faces.

Sinbad paces for almost five minutes before looking up, blinking at Sharrkan. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Sharrkan stops mid-stride. "Uh. I….just got here?"

Sinbad ignores that, staring at the closed door. "What could it be? An attack? The heat, but worse than usual?"

Another five minutes, and the door opens to Yamuraiha less than gracefully falling out of it, huffing as she drags the sheet up and around her more properly. "She refuses to work with me there," she sniffs, brushing a lock of hair from her face. "Something about Ja'far's 'privacy' that he'd like to have maintained. For what it's worth, he seems to have settled now, though he isn't awake yet."

That's something, though not nearly enough. Sinbad doesn't even pause in his pacing, hardly looking up. "Do you have any idea what it is? Poison, parasite, magic? Whatever it is, I'm going to hunt it down."

Yamuraiha hesitates, slowly shaking her head. "I thought poison at first, but… when has Ja'far ever been affected by something like that? I have to wonder if it's just the heat after all. You know it's been awful lately, and he's never dealt with the humidity very well." She frowns, eyeing Sinbad. "You should know better than to drag him out in it."

"I-"

Sinbad closes his mouth, swallowing hard. "I didn't mean to hurt him. I just wanted him to enjoy himself."

A sigh, and Yamuraiha sinks back onto her heels with a shake of her head. "I'm sure he'll be fine. You just need to think about these sorts of things, you're all so irresponsible sometimes. Stop pacing and maybe go and do something constructive, you know how he'll be when he wakes up." Really, this should be common sense at the least.

No, I don't, because he's never been sick before. It's enough to make Sinbad's heart flutter with anxiety, the idea that something could really be wrong, because if it's strong enough to bring Ja'far down, to make him shake and sputter like that, then surely it's strong enough to crush any hopes he has for the future.

Well, that's hardly productive. He shakes off those thoughts, nodding. "Right. Go bring some of the scrolls on his desk, I'll work on them here."

Yamuraiha frowns, but she nods all the same, turning on her heel as she grabs hold of Sharrkan's arm to drag him with her. "We'll be back soon enough with everything. Sit down and stay put."

Sinbad hardly notices them leaving, sinking down to the floor. This doesn't seem right. He's seen Ja'far "ill" a hundred times, especially from heat. He's never looked like that, never felt clammy and uncontrollable, never been out for such a long period of time. And if it really is my fault….

The lump in his stomach turns over.

It's an hour or so later before the door finally cracks open, and the healer Amina steps from the room, eyeballing the sight of Sinbad, stressed and surrounded by scrolls on the floor. "He's still groggy, but he's awake," she announces, folding her arms. "If you like, you can take him back to his own chambers. He's rather insistent upon giving Miss Yamuraiha her bed back."

Sinbad leaves the scrolls behind so fast they flutter on the ground, hurrying to Ja'far's side. He notices so much more now, the dark circles under his eyes, the pallor of his skin, and he takes one pale hand in his, squeezing. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have taken you out in the heat, I know how you hate it."

"It's not your fault," is the irritable retort, and Ja'far gives Sinbad's hand a squeeze in return, thinking it's quite firm when in reality, it's anything but. "I've been working quite a bit, I should have known better. Just help me back to my room so I can sleep properly, will you?" Shoving himself up onto his elbows is a test in endurance when it really shouldn't be.

"This is more than just working hard," Sinbad protests, tucking Ja'far up in a blanket before lifting him into his arms. "Fainting, you've done before. This was different." A shadow crosses his face, and he says mock-sternly, "Don't forget, you promised never to leave my side."

"I said I would follow you to the end." Correcting Sinbad on such a thing isn't the way he wants to spend his evening, and Ja'far immediately dismisses it with a firm, "I've just been working hard. I'm sorry to ruin your plans for the evening."

"It's fine, don't be ridiculous." Sinbad steps carefully around the scrolls, heading to Ja'far's chambers, and hesitating. "You should come to my rooms tonight. You always sleep better in my bed."

He isn't in the mood to argue. In fact, he's in the mood to do everything but, and Ja'far sighs, nodding as he lets his eyes slide shut, his head tipping to rest against Sinbad's shoulder. "All right. I'll… if you want, you can still have that dance later."

"Another time." Right now, Sinbad is too intent on feeling the weight of Ja'far in his arms, the solid, reassuring warmth of him, void of that clammy cold, those awful shakes. He lays Ja'far out in his bed, moving over to stand at the window, hands braced on the sill. It's possible, just possible, that he doesn't yet trust himself not to squeeze Ja'far until he bursts.

The next day, Sinbad recruits a bit of help, and goes to see the healer first thing in the morning.

Well, a bit before the first thing.

More like, while she's sleeping.

He stands on one side, Masrur looming on the other, and says cheerfully, "Good morning, milady!"

Amina has woken to many things in her life, though this is certainly a first.

Staring up at the king and one of his generals is new, but not unexpected, and she pushes herself up, a deferential bow of her head following. "And what can I help His Majesty with first thing this… daybreak?"

"My apologies for this intrusion," Sinbad says, not sorry at all. "I was hoping you'd be so kind-I had made the grave mistake of forgetting to ask you exactly what had brought my companion so low last night. And you had neglected to tell me."

Precisely as she expected. "Forgive me, my king, but that was because of his own desire for privacy. He has requested that I be discrete and I would appreciate a chance to obey his wishes."

"Excellent. Now obey mine." Sinbad sits on the bed, smile unchanging. "Tell me what's wrong with him."

Amina's eyebrows raise. "To be clear-you're overriding his orders? I ask, King Sinbad, so I know what to tell him when he comes breaking my door in."

Ah yes, easy enough. Sometimes Sinbad forgets even now that he's a king. "Yes. I'm overriding his orders. Politely."

"I'm not to be blamed for what he does to you, then," the old woman grumbles, and she promptly throws her legs over the side of the bed with a shake of her head. "This isn't the first time, nor it will be the last. Ja'far has seen me for treatment for many years since I came to this palace, and it has done little."

Sinbad feels it when his smile freezes. "Treatment? For what?" Many years, she'd said-Ja'far has known about this, hidden it, and those things together make Sinbad's hands clench.

A careful shrug follows. "That, I'm hardly certain. It's no disease or ailment that I have seen in all my years, and treating any of its symptoms seems to have little effect in abating it. With each year, though, it seems as though his weakness has grown, and that he's more prone to those spells that you saw yesterday."

"What else?" Sinbad's voice is tight now, all his attention, all is consciousness focused on the healer who seems in this moment to hold his life in her hands. "Just the spells? How frequent?"

"The spells, general lethargy as far as he's allowed me to know, headaches, nausea, and he last mentioned a bit of loss of sensation in one of his arms the other day, though that seems to come and go as does everything." Amina sighs up at him. "You seem to think he tells me everything, King Sinbad, when in reality, he is hardly less secretive with me as he is with you."

"Absurd," Sinbad mutters to himself. "How are you supposed to cure him if he holds secrets from you?" He worries at his lip, then asks, "Meaning no disrespect to your illustrious self, Lady Amina, but do you know of any healers more practiced in dealing with ailments of this nature? Anywhere in the world, I care not where."

"If there were, I would have sent for them," she honestly replies, expression tired. "King Sinbad… he seems to already know the extent of what ails him. I happen to believe he came to me mostly for help in prolonging the inevitable."

Sinbad gives her a brief, mirthless smile. "I don't believe in inevitability. What aid can you give him?"

"I don't think," she carefully answers, "anything has ever done much good. A hot cup of tea seems to work as well as the strongest herbal or magical healing I have attempted."

"Then," Sinbad continues, trying to keep as calm as he can, "how long do you think he has left, before he becomes unable to work?" Which, for Ja'far, is at least as bad as death.

"If it were up to me, he wouldn't be working at all right now." Amina snorts. "Try telling him that, though. Lord Ja'far is very stubborn."

"Not until it becomes difficult," Sinbad corrects her, "until it becomes physically impossible. Give me a number. Assume his body is fighting it as hard as it can, and he will ignore any and all pain."

"… If the rate of progression continues, maybe another month."

Sinbad stands abruptly, as if distancing himself from the information as well as the bearer. "Thank you for your hard work, and your opinions. I'm sorry to have disturbed you from your rest."

He's not shaking outwardly, but the smallest twitch of his head shows him that Ja'far doesn't stand at his side as he walks down the corridor, headed for his chambers, and that's enough to make him cold down to his toes. "Masrur. Not a word to Ja'far about this."

"Understood."

Sinbad looks up at him, and notices the tight set of the Fanalis's shoulders, the clench of his jaw. "Are you going to obey that order?"

Masrur looks down at him. "Do I have to?"

Sinbad opens his mouth, then closes it again. "No. Do as you see fit."

"Understood. Leave to go."

"Granted. Don't bring him those garish red flowers, he hates those." Sinbad watches Masrur go, walking more slowly up to his room, speeding up when he remembers time is limited. He opens the door, half-afraid the healer was wrong and he's already-

Ja'far blinks over at him, up from bed in spite of all requests Sinbad gave him the night prior to sleep in, and already half-dressed, to boot. "Sin. I was surprised to see you gone so early-is something the matter?" Ah, but his hands shake, just a bit, when he reaches back to yank the strings of his obi tight. Ja'far ignores it all the same in favor of frowning at the other man. "You look like you've seen a ghost. What's happened?"

"I bullied your healer," Sinbad admits immediately, striding across the floor to take Ja'far in his arms despite any protests. "I'm furious with you, do you have any idea how long I could have been working on finding you a cure for this?"

It takes a moment for that to click, a moment for his face to pale and a pit form in his stomach, and Ja'far sucks in a slow, measured breath, shaking his head as he rests his hands against Sinbad's chest to push him back. "There isn't a cure." It's hardly what he wants to say, but it escapes anyway, his heart thudding in his chest and his mouth dry. "You weren't… I didn't want you to find out." Because you'd be like this.

"You don't know there's no cure!" Sinbad doesn't relax his arms in the slightest, tightening them if anything, and at the thought that in less than a month his arms could be empty, a spike of panic goes through him. It's hard to tamp down, but he breathes deeply, one hand fisting in the back of Ja'far's tunic. "I wouldn't-I wouldn't have dragged you out last night, or a hundred other times-were you just going to-to die, and leave me without a word?"

"Hardly! I would have at least finished everything set before me, and all that you needed of me!" Ja'far's chest tightens as he swallows, face firmly pressed into Sinbad's shoulder. "The best healers don't even know what it is, Sin. There isn't a cure, and I've long accepted that. Just… let me finish everything that I can. Your country is living proof of what you are capable of, with or without me."

"If they aren't capable, they aren't the best healers!" Ja'far's acceptance doesn't bother Sinbad. It doesn't make him want to slay the demon trying to take Ja'far from him any less, though. "We'll find something. You-you're not supposed to leave me. I won't let you out of that promise so soon."

"I'm not breaking any damned promise." Ja'far sags into Sinbad's chest, suddenly and acutely too tired to argue all over again. "I said I would follow you until the end. I can't pick when that is."

Sinbad lets his hand come up, threading through Ja'far's hair. "Shh. Just...stop." He swallows, breathing out a slow breath through his nose. "You should have come to me. We'll think of something. Like you said, look what I built."

You couldn't save your mother, though. Disease always wins.

Sinbad's eyes burn. Not this time.

"If you really think I am going to stay cooped up in here, you've another thing coming!"

Sinbad is insufferable. He's always been, but this takes the cake, and Ja'far can't remember a time he's wanted to strangle the man more. Putting Yamuraiha to the task of constantly prodding at him is one thing, though Ja'far knows it's moot point. The woman only comes away tired and frustrated, and Sinbad a dozen times more so, and Ja'far is tired of hearing about how if he'd simply said something sooner, this would all have been resolved.

The fact of the matter is that Sinbad doesn't want to think about how well Ja'far knows his own body, and he knows the signs of something that isn't simply resolvable. Healers can only do so much, after all.

"I am going to work. If you won't let me do it at my desk, then bring my work in here." Ja'far draws himself up as tall as he can, eyes narrowed. "I'm not an invalid, I'm still fully capable of functioning."

"Men who are fully capable of functioning don't have seizures instead of dancing," Sinbad answers calmly, looking down at Ja'far. "And if you don't stay in that bed, resting, I won't simply keep your paperwork from you, I'll tie you down." Golden eyes narrow. "And you won't escape."

"They aren't exactly a common thing!" Far more common than they used to be. "What do you expect me to do all day, sit and stare at your ceiling?"

"If that's what it takes!" Sinbad folds his arms, beginning a silent countdown to fulfilling his threat. "The truth is, you don't know if rest will help, because you never do rest."

"Not doing my work gives me hives," Ja'far flatly reminds him, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "Besides, who else is going to work this month's budget? If you make me sit in bed all day, I'll have another seizure from the stress of being idle."

"Don't threaten me with those," Sinbad says quietly, voice very serious. "Sit down. I'll give you your work, and you can have it as long as you stay in bed, taking care of yourself. This. Is not. Optional."

Perhaps that was a bit too far of a threat. Ja'far's head jerks in a stiff nod, and he turns around, dropping himself back onto the edge of the bed. "Look. I'm sitting. Are you happy now?"

"Getting happier. Lie down." The thought of more of those seizures, of watching helplessly as Ja'far's body tears itself apart from the inside, is more than Sinbad can handle. He sits on the bed, taking a deep breath. "You've had….a long time to deal with this. Don't expect me to be good at it right away."

"I can't write lying down," Ja'far crossly retorts, but he wavers at the tone of Sinbad's voice, slowly toeing off his shoes as he falls back with a huff of breath. "This is why I didn't want you to know. I knew you'd be like this."

"What, frightened?" Sinbad asks, giving a tight smile. "You were right. Look, I'll give you plenty of pillows, you can sit back on them and I'll get you a tray to write on and everything."

Ja'far briefly bites the inside of his cheek, but he remains laying down all the same, no matter the flicker of vague irritation. "If you hadn't gone prodding," he quietly replies, "we could have actually enjoyed ourselves as we always have, rather than having you stress over it all needlessly."

Sinbad scoots closer, unwilling to waste even a second. "How do you think that would have made me feel after? Never knowing if there was something I could have done that could have saved you? Never mind that there won't be an after, because I will find something." He wraps an arm around Ja'far-has he always been so much smaller?

"… I wasn't planning on letting you know even then," Ja'far admits, heaving a sigh as he slowly lets an arm drape about Sinbad's back, fingers curling up into his ponytail. "One way or another, me simply dying would have been a lot easier for you to swallow, I think. Really, Sin, sometimes there are things you aren't meant to fix."

"So you say now." Sinbad leans over, giving Ja'far's forehead a kiss. "I think I would have figured it out when you stopped doing your paperwork, you know. Or when you-" His throat closes up, and he blinks rapidly. "I wouldn't have been prepared."

"I wasn't going to let it get to that point, either." Ja'far's expression twists wry. "I make an awful invalid. I would rather be dead than a drooling mess in bed any day, and when you have a reaction like that just now, it makes me even more sure not to let it happen."

"You wouldn't have been an invalid forever," Sinbad says softly. "You'd have just let me find you on the floor some cold morning? Or drop off during the soup at supper?"

Ja'far slowly shrugs. "Better than watching me like this, don't you think?"

"And what kind of a choice is that?" Sinbad mutters, tightening his arm more than is comfortable. "Is this an illness your family had? You seem….so sure."

"Sinbad." Ja'far gives an idle push agains the other man's chest, though it's far from any real protest at how tightly he's being held. "You realize I was trained to know my own body extremely well, especially when it's close to death? Why does it come as such a surprise to you that I know?"

"Because you've always beaten it before." Sinbad exhales heavily. "And you've been wrong before, about a great many things. I'm going to prove to you that this is one of them. Just believe in me a little longer."

"… You're an idiot," is the man's simple response as he sags back, eyes tiredly shutting. "If Yamuraiha can't find anything, you should know by now that there isn't anything. Now go and get me my paperwork."

Sinbad kisses the top of Ja'far's head. "Fine. Paperwork, and-which tea, the strong one or the pretty one with the flowers?"

"Strong one. Don't add anything to it, I like it when it's bitter," Ja'far immediately adds, frowning as he opens his eyes. "And do me a favor," he continues more quietly, "and stop looking like you're going to cry all the time. It's hardly becoming of a king."

Sinbad gives him a brief, entirely too-serious smile. "I'll work on it." Then he shuts the door, and strides quickly down the hall for tea.

If Ja'far only has a month, there's not a second of it Sinbad wants to waste.

Judal hates not being paid attention to.

That's the reason he comes to Sindria in the first place. Sinbad never ignores him, even on the busiest days and with that annoyed freckled advisor of his staring him down. He isn't like Kouen, or even Koumei and Kouha nowadays, all of which brush him aside unless they need something.

With that in mind, he's duly surprised when Sinbad doesn't greet him with a smile the second he pops through his bedroom window.

The room is silent instead, with Ja'far dozing in his bed, surrounded by a pile of scrolls. Judal's eyebrows raise, but he shrugs, dismissing it and drifting from the room, glancing about the halls with a frown that's closer to a pout than anything. Really, he came all this way-he deserves something for his trouble.

Pot of tea in one hand, twenty scrolls tucked under the other arm, a teacup somehow juggled in a hand, Sinbad's strides are long as he makes his way back to his bedroom, stopping short to find Judal hovering in the hallway. His shoulders sag, and all he can manage is a short, flat, "Not now, Judal," before trying to stride past him. Judal's not a child. He'll get over it.

Judal gapes.

It's worse than how Kouen greets him sometimes by far, and he sort of lists out of the way on principle, staring at Sinbad's back for a moment before floating after him and grabbing hold of his ponytail. "What do you mean, not now? I flew all this way just to see you!"

Somehow, Sinbad manages not to spill the tea, though a bit drips onto his hand, just this side of boiling. Sinbad grits his teeth, growling, "Not now, Judal! This is important, get out of my way or I will move you."

It's the sharpness in Sinbad's tone more than anything else that makes Judal blink, his hand dropping away with a huff. "Geez, what? If that's for Freckles, he's passed out, anyway. I didn't know you were his personal slave."

Some of the tension Sinbad's been carrying through the previous night bleeds through, and a muscle twitches in his jaw. "Not-now-" If this is what he's going to be like for the next month, it's a mess. All he can think of is all the times Ja'far had warned him about Judal, tended his wounds after, and how Ja'far won't be there-

Passed out, Judal had said. The words hit him, and what if the healer was wrong, what if it was hours instead of a month, Mother went without warning-

Sinbad takes off, only a few doors away, and opens the door as fast as he can without dropping everything, shoulders sagging when he sees that Ja'far's chest still moves.

"The hell is wrong with you?" Judal grumbles, flopping against Sinbad's back lightly and draping his arms over his shoulders from behind. "You're acting really weird. Look, just leave this stuff here and play with me. Freckles is sleeping, he won't mind, I bet."

"He's dying." Sinbad's voice is quiet, exhausted, and he realizes he hasn't slept for at least two days. He sets the teapot carefully down, the scrolls on the bed next to Ja'far, and looks back at Judal with everything he's been afraid to show Ja'far in his eyes. "Just...I can't play with you right now. He needs me."

Judal's head tilts, honest surprise reflecting over his face as he looks from Sinbad and then back to the sleeping man. "… Doesn't look like he's dying," the Magi murmurs, but he rocks back all the same, settling down onto the ground properly and making another grab for Sinbad's hands now that they're free. "He's sleeping. C'mon, you look reeeeally bad. I could make you feel better, I bet."

Sinbad bats Judal's hands away, pouring a cup of tea and removing the leaves so it doesn't oversteep. "Healer says he is. Unless you're going to be useful, let me be for right now. I'm not in the mood anyway."

Lower lip jutting in a pout, Judal wavers a moment longer before floating up again, clinging right back to Sinbad's neck. "I can be useful," he suddenly settles upon. Freckles might be less annoying in this situation, more useful, too, and that's a new one when Ja'far has only ever been something in his way. "Healers are dumb at best, you know."

"I know. They let more people die than they save." Sinbad looks up at Judal, not pushing him away this time. "You know a real healer? Someone who could help, not just tell him to drink a lot of tea and try to last a month?"

"Weeell, that depends. Are you gonna play with me?" Judal props his chin atop the edge of Sinbad's shoulder, staring at him with lidded eyes. Oddly enough, Sinbad does look kind of pathetic. Judal can't remember a time he's seen Sinbad look so honestly upset about something, and that irks him. "What would you do if I said I did know someone?"

It's hard to remember how to play Judal's games when Sinbad's so worried. He tries, reminding himself that he's hardly being any use to Ja'far this way, and tugs on the end of Judal's braid. "What did you have in mind?"

He hadn't thought that far ahead, but the answer is still a no-brainer. "Would you let me choose you? Assuming I could reeeeally fix him."

Sinbad's breath catches in his throat. Those odd mad eyes are so hard to decipher, but...after all, reality is just a tool in Judal's hands, isn't it? Something like this illness would be child's play, certainly-

Yunan didn't save Mother. Maybe he could have. Maybe that's not how magic works. Maybe it gives you nothing for free.

But really, he'd never given Yunan anything back.

He looks down, at the soft silver strands strewn over the pillow. He'd asked jokingly, several times, whether Ja'far's hair would turn brown or black as he aged, the reverse of a normal person's life cycle.

The thought that he'll never get an answer is simply unacceptable.

"Yes."

Judal pauses, unable to stop the slow whistle from escaping. "That was fast." He's not sure if he should be excited or annoyed, especially after all the times he's asked before and gotten absolutely nothing. He hums, untangling his arms as he drifts back, dropping back onto his feet. "There aren't any take-backs, you know. If you really let me choose you, you can't change your mind tomorrow."

"I said if. You can't be trying to trick me either," Sinbad warns. "No saving him today to kill him tomorrow, no curing one disease but giving him another." He hesitates, then reaches out a hand, cupping Judal's face. "Maybe I was just waiting for a reason."

Ah. That's kind of nice.

Judal frowns, leaning his head into Sinbad's hand as his eyes slide over to the bed to look at Ja'far. "Then I guess I'll have a look at him. I'm a Magi, it's not like I can't fix everything, after all."

Despite Sinbad's instincts shrieking at him that this is a Bad Idea, a look at Ja'far's face, and he can only nod. You said you'd stay with me until the end, old friend. I'm just making certain that end is a long way away, for both of us. We have a deal. "I thought healers had to have great knowledge of the human body in order to fix it."

Judal snorts, giving Sinbad an annoyed look as he drifts away. "What, and you think I don't? My specialty is water, after all. That's what a lot of healing art is derived from, you know, and my teachers taught me all the best stuff."

As it happens, though, the closer he drifts to the bed, the more Ja'far twitches, and he barely gets within a foot of it before a blade sharply flies out, raking along the side of his face. A snarl, and Judal reflexively grabs for his wand in his flare of temper, with Ja'far a hissing ball within a pile of scrolls, eyes sharp and narrowed.

"He's not touching me," Ja'far flatly says, gaze darting over to Sinbad briefly. "Sin, use some common sense, this thing hates me."

"He cut my face! Sinbad, do you see?! Look how mean he is to me!"

The deal isn't even complete yet, and Sinbad already has a headache. His eye twitches, and he wraps an arm around Judal's waist, pulling him back. "Ja'far, please, he's a Magi, he can fix whatever's wrong with you!"

"Just because he has limitless magoi doesn't mean he has a brain," Ja'far lowly snaps, his eyes narrowing. "He can't even read, do you really think he knows the difference between a kidney and my stomach?"

"I can so read! I read magic books all the time-"

"Those are in a different language entirely!" A growl, and Ja'far throws a hand out in exasperation. "And listen to yourself, wanting to let him choose you? You'd throw yourself away into Al-Sarmen for the sake of me? Think for a damned second!"

"I'm not going to lose you!" Sinbad hisses, and grabs Ja'far's wrists, pinning them down to the bed as he looks at Judal. "Put him to sleep." He doesn't bother telling himself that Ja'far will thank him later. He doesn't need the comfort of the lie, so long as Ja'far's alive to hate him.

Ja'far's eyes flash, and it's with an abrupt twist and shove that he's suddenly free, out of the bed, and with a considerable amount of distance between himself and Sinbad. Far closer is the door, and Judal watches with a sort of morbid fascination. "I don't want him touching me! And it isn't even about me-you have no idea what he might do to you afterwards!"

"I can take that risk myself!" Sinbad calls, giving chase. "You can't run, you're dying, get back here and collapse! Of all the times-"

"Will you listen to yourself?!" Ja'far snaps as he darts down the hall, and damn, but he doesn't want to admit it, but this does take a bit more effort than usual. He skids around a corner, sparing a hasty glance over his shoulder to make sure he's lost Sinbad somewhat-

And promptly runs directly into Masrur's chest.

"Masrur!" Sinbad shouts, long legs carrying him quickly. "Grab Ja'far!"

"Understood." Huge arms come around Ja'far, holding him close, gently against that massive chest.

"Let me go, Masrur, right now!" Never mind that Masrur has been avoiding him for the past two days, he should still listen.

"Understood." Masrur's arms relax, and Sinbad curses everything.

"Grab him!"

"Understood."

"I said let me go!" Ja'far insistently orders.

"Understood."

"Don't let him go!"

"Understood."

At least this time, Sinbad has a chance to catch up, and before Ja'far can say anything else, wraps his hand over the man's mouth. "I'm trying to fix him," he explains urgently to Masrur. "If you want him to live until summer, bring him back to my room, right now."

Masrur hesitates, picking Ja'far up by the upper arms, holding him so they're face to face. "Is that true?"

"He's trying," Ja'far angrily spits out, "to make a deal with the devil to do it! He's trying to let Judal choose him in return for 'fixing' me, and you know how Judal hates me, Masrur! There's no guarantee for it, and Sinbad will be signing himself away to Al-Sarmen!" He gives a furious wiggle and kick. "Now put me down!"

Judal, a short distance down the hallway, can't help but watch, far too amused. Yeah, this is a lot better than being at the Imperial Palace, if only for entertainment value.

Masrur gives Sinbad a worried look. "You found the devil?"

"No. He's-" Sinbad bites his tongue. "And I'm not selling my soul. Just making an arrangement, which won't even work unless he's fixed." He looks up, meeting Masrur's eyes, such a similar color, but so different from Judal's. "Trust me. Please."

Masrur hasn't paid much attention to Ja'far's kicking before, and he doesn't now. "Understood."

"Masrur, damn it all, listen to me-"

"If you two want to hold him down, I can put him to sleep," Judal cheerfully butts in, twirling his wand between two fingers. In a way, this will be so satisfying.

Masrur wraps an arm around Ja'far's upper body, another around his thighs. "He's still. Do it."

"I am going to give you so much work to do later, you little-"

The words die with a simple wave of Judal's wand, and in an instant, Ja'far is slack and dozing, dangling in Masrur's arms without a single protest to be had from his sleeping form.

Now that he's unconscious, Masrur is twice as careful about carrying Ja'far back to Sinbad's bed, standing still and brooding over him.

Sinbad looks at him, thanking all the gods for Masrur, and over to Judal. "You know my deal."

"Yeah, yeah, I already promised, didn't I?" Judal can't help but be giddy, even before he's had a proper look at the man sprawled back over Sinbad's bed. "Gimme some time to look at him and I'll have him as good as new in no time, so don't make that weird stressed out face anymore." Just make good faces at me, after I've done something you apparently want me to do so badly.

Sinbad's expression softens. "I'm sorry. You did, I-I'm very grateful to you." He looks at Judal, then down at Ja'far. "My country and I are in your hands."

With a spell cast by Judal, Ja'far expects to have nightmares.

Instead, he dreams, and vividly. Odd, because he tends to not remember anything he dreams of these days-too light a sleeper, perhaps, and whatever the reason, he's not sure he'd want to recall them. Dreams tend to be things of the past in his mind, odd memories scattered about and making him wake to soreness and an aching pangs of what isn't anymore, especially as the months and years have worn on and the inevitable has reared its head a dozen times over.

This time, he dreams of the past, and it's less stressful, more soothing, no matter if it's of Sinbad when he was young, stupid and brash and running around without care, without a plan, only seeking a thrill for a day or an adventure for a week. Sometimes, Ja'far can't recall exactly why he ever followed along at this man's heels, but in this dream, he can-the sincerity in those words, the sheer strength and warmth behind everything that he did and has done since then-

I'll follow you until the end.

It's not his fault, really, that the end is to come far sooner than either of them hoped.

Slowly, Ja'far stirs, cracking his eyes open to a world that seems oddly too-bright, with far too much clarity, and he groans, rolling onto his side to press his face into a pillow. For once, sleep is a far better decision, even if he wakes to his head not pounding for the first time in ages.

Sinbad watches, and waits.

He doesn't feel any different, no matter what deal is almost certainly now in place, and he find himself wishing he felt worse about the whole thing. It's far from the first time he's offered up his life in place of one of his men, and this time no one even wants him to die. There will be a way, he's sure, to make this an advantage, or at least negate the ill effects. Maybe. And if not….

Ja'far stirs in the bed, and it's worth it, all of it's worth it.

Eventually, Ja'far flops over another few times, making his way onto his back once more and blinking blearily up at the ceiling. His eyes slide sideways, Sinbad's presence always something he's aware of, even if he's too-focused on how his body feels strange-not aching in odd places for once, and feeling weirdly light. "I'm angry with you."

"I know." Sinbad's heart aches with the what-if as he looks down at Ja'far, and knows there could have been no other decision. "I'm just glad you're alive to be angry with me."

"I'm angry enough with you that I don't want to talk to you." Ja'far's jaw clenches, and he shuts his eyes, sinking back into the bed. It's hard to deny that seeing the relief on Sinbad's face isn't nice. That isn't the point, though. The point is what brought it into being. "What did he do to me? It doesn't feel all… right."

Sinbad reaches out to feel the warmth of Ja'far's skin, touching his forehead before Ja'far can twitch away from him. "He said he purged your body of everything that was killing it. Ah, and that you might be hungry and thirsty, you….got a bit messy." That had been an experience, but at least Judal had warned them.

"… Food would be good," Ja'far begrudgingly allows, turning over the concept of purged and more annoyed by the minute. That could be a dozen things, really. He lifts his hand, brushing Sinbad's away. "And you actually believe him? Sinbad, this could all be a temporary thing. He's a Magi, he can easily make things look however he wants, and all for the sake of dragging you down."

"I'm not going anywhere." Sinbad, prepared for Ja'far's awakening, brings up a tray of stuffed bread rolls and tea, setting it by Ja'far. "He's going to find that being my Magi entails a lot less playtime and a lot more improvement for the lives of my citizens. I'll work on handling him, you just work on getting better."

"Will you listen to yourself?" Ja'far snaps, even as he shoves himself up onto his elbows, propping up a pillow behind himself with a sigh. "You've never been able to 'handle' Judal. What makes you think you can do it now? I-" He stops short, staring at the bread in his hand after taking a bite out of it. Well, that… was unexpected

"What? Has it gone bad? I swear it's only been out for an hour, the cooks swore that it was good enough that even you'd be able to taste something-"

"That's the weird part," he interrupts, frowning as he turns it over in his hand. "I can actually taste it."

"Oh?" Sinbad looks from Ja'far to down at the bread roll, thinking. "Ah, good? Hey, maybe that means it was this disease that took taste from you, all those years ago!'

"Wrong." Something panicky twists in his stomach. "It was my exposure to poison over the years."

"Maybe you were wrong. The disease was taking your senses, wasn't it?" Sinbad sighs, trying to take Ja'far's hand. "Even if it wasn't, really, how many times have people tried to poison you in earnest? None, that I know of, since the founding of Sindria."

"That's not the point!" Ja'far tries not to let his voice get too shrill, but it's difficult. Sinbad's right, in theory, but the fact stands that if he needs to run off and play the role of assassin, he's now severely hindered without decades of immunity built up. He sucks in a sharp breath, jerking his hand away. "So you've signed yourself away to Judal, and he's left me a dozen times more killable. Fantastic." Eating, without the added bonus of knowing whatever is in it won't kill him, makes his stomach churn anew, and Ja'far pushes the tray away.

"You were always killable," Sinbad says, more softy than he'd intended. "And I'd rather have you alive and vital than dead in your twenties because I was squeamish about what I'd have to do." He stands, brushing off his lap. "Try to get some more rest. You'll need plenty."

Ja'far's response is a dark, silent glare before he simply curls up, presenting Sinbad with the slim line of his back rather than any actual reply.

Sinbad tries not to feel like a betrayer.

It would probably work a bit better if the thought in his mind weren't so clear. He's angry because what you betrayed is yourself.

Ah, that's not a constructive thought. Sinbad wanders the halls for a moment before collapsing down into a chair, immediately falling asleep the way he hasn't in days, head falling down to his shoulder.

Judal thought it would be more exciting, finally having Sinbad agree to be his king.

He thought he'd be spoiled and pampered immediately, doted on like Sinbad always had promised he would be, if he left Al-Sarmen and came to live within Sindria as his Magi. Instead, it's boring, with even the kitchens a little hesitant at the sight of him, and Judal ends up wandering off, scowling, munching on a peach that isn't any where near as good as something from Kou, and trying not to think about the weird, twitchy little ache of his magoi and rukh altogether.

He finds Sinbad soon enough, though the man looks so honestly exhausted that Judal resigns himself to not waking him-yet. Maybe Sinbad will appreciate that. Maybe he'll get actually spoiled and treated nicely for that, even though he already should be, after all the work he's done.

Judal settles down at his feet, leaning his cheek against Sinbad's knee, and dozes himself.

When he wakes a few hours later, sprawled out and with a crick in his neck, Sinbad still isn't awake, and Judal's quite done with waiting. He huffs, slowly climbing his way up into the king's lap, nudging his face into his neck and catching one golden hoop earring to slowly tug.

"Hey, stupid king. Wake uuup."

There are worse ways to wake up, Sinbad decides, than by having Judal on his lap. His mouth curls into a slow smile, and he wraps his arms lazily around Judal's waist, tugging him close. "Sorry. Long day. I'll spoil you hard tomorrow, just like I always promised." He leans down, catching Judal's lips in a slow kiss, drinking in the warmth and the spice of him, letting it burn away some of the shaky cold that's been trying to take him over since Ja'far had collapsed in his arms.

Judal is warm, and young, and vibrant, and Sinbad grabs onto it, and doesn't want to let it go.

That's a lot better.

Judal sighs, eyes lidding as he wriggles closer, draping his arms around Sinbad's shoulders as he nibbles at the other man's lower lip, tugging lazily on it. "You better," he mumbles. "Your peaches here suck, so I don't even have that to tide me over."

"I'll get better ones," Sinbad promises against Judal's lips, hands sliding up over his back, down to cup and squeeze his ass. "You and I can take a journey, just the two of us, and pick them from any garden in the world."

"Really good," Judal rumbles in approval, sighing as he squirms in Sinbad's lap, fingers pawing at the front of his robes. "But not right now. I'm tired, too, that took a lot of rukh and I just wanna roll around with you."

As those words leave his mouth, none other than Ja'far stalks his way down the hallway, the glare he fixes upon Sinbad a decidedly menacing one.

"Mm, no, the two of us can rest as much as you…"

Sinbad's words trail off, eyes fixed on Ja'far, and his expression melts from something lascivious to something pathetic. "Ja'far, wait, are you sure you should be up and out of bed yet?"

Ja'far snorts, continuing his stalk as his arms fold into his robes. "I'm perfectly fine, good as new and helpless as a baby, your Magi saw to that. Please, don't stop on my behalf."

Judal makes a face, sticking out his tongue. "Cranky. Ungrateful, too."

"You're not helpless as a baby, just a regular human," Sinbad mutters, lifting Judal off his lap as he trails after Ja'far weakly. "He was helping you, aren't you the slightest bit happy that you'll get to live instead of dying pathetically?"

Judal sits, staring in open-mouthed shock as he's so thoroughly left behind and forgotten while Sinbad trails at Ja'far's heels like a kicked puppy. Ja'far, for his part, seems entirely unmoved.

"Living is all well and good, but if I'm living because my king has thrown himself to that thing's influence, then I'm not so sure what the point is!" Ja'far snaps back, tossing another glare over his shoulder before whipping his head back around. "What were you thinking?"

"You always see the worst in him! He saved your life! Maybe you could think that's a sign that I've been right about him all along!" Sinbad reaches out to catch Ja'far's elbow. "Just listen to me, I don't want to run this country without you!"

"Or maybe, he used a method to save me that would render my previous skill set partially useless to make it easier for me to kill, and make it easier to control you in the end," Ja'far hisses out, yanking his arm away as he stops, whirling to face Sinbad and jabbing a finger firmly into his chest. "How many times have I told you not to give your live for someone else? This is essentially what you've done!"

"And what about what you've done?" Sinbad demands, looking down over Ja'far. "For all the times you told me to think about my own mortality, and what would follow my death, you would have left me-what? No assassin, no tax official, no scribe, no organizer, no best friend? You would have left me helpless and defenseless as a baby!"

"You," Ja'far stiffly retorts, "have dozens of other people that love and help you. You would have hardly been alone."

"But-"

But none of them are you.

Sinbad folds his arms, glaring down at the smaller man, heart still thudding that Ja'far is alive, and he tells it firmly to shut up, Ja'far is angry. "We're wasting time. You might as well put your newfound vitality to work. Think of areas in Sindria that could benefit from the powers of a Magi, now that I've finally made my choice."

"What would you have thought if Al-Sarmen came to me and offered to heal me like this, in exchange for my working for them again?" Perhaps it's hardly a fair comparison, but Ja'far is angry, and as far as he's concerned, Judal is Al-Sarmen. "Would you have expected me to to take such an offer?"

That makes Sinbad flinch, but the expression passes from his face. "You never would have. But I don't expect you to fight for your own life. For better or worse, you're more precious to me than you are to yourself!"

"The fact that you value me over your own well-being isn't something I appreciate," Ja'far softly replies, and he turns, his arms folding up once more. "I'm going to work."

Sinbad almost lets him go. But the lump in his chest is too much, and he reaches out, grabbing Ja'far by the shoulder and spinning him around. "I swear to you," he says, low and serious, "I won't become their plaything. Believe in me. Just a little longer."

Ja'far sucks in a slow breath, biting down on his lower lip briefly as he lifts a hand, resting it over Sinbad's momentarily before slowly pushing it away. "I know you won't become their plaything. I'm not going to let you."

Sinbad nods slowly. "I'll trust you." He lets his hand fall, letting out a deep exhale. "Go on. I'm sure you have lots of work to catch up on."

"I don't even want to think about it." Ja'far settles one last, lingering look upon Sinbad before whirling on his heel and briskly stepping away. Of all the messes Sinbad has gotten himself into before, this has to take the cake-if only because of the reasons behind it.

Sinbad really doesn't want to turn back and grovel to Judal, though he knows it's something like inevitable. Still, there are prices to pay, and he turns back, shrugging his shoulders. "He'll come around. Once he sees what I see in you."

Judal settles for glowering from where he's rolled himself to the floor. "Why did I save him again? He's such a jerk, he's not even grateful at all."

Sinbad sinks down to the floor, stretching out long legs next to Judal. "He's always like that. He doesn't like it when people, I don't know, do things for him."

"I didn't mean to make him all… poisonable again," Judal grumps, and in short order, he flops himself forward, stretching out over Sinbad's lap with his feet kicking in the air. "It's hard to heal with the rukh."

"Honestly," Sinbad says quietly, gathering Judal close, "I'm glad you did. I've always been afraid of what that stuff would do to him in the end. Besides, now he can't complain that he doesn't eat because it all tastes the same to him. Just don't poison him, all right?"

"I wasn't gonna poison him, either." Judal twists around in Sinbad's hold, nudging his face into the other man's chest. "… You would've let me choose you either way, right?" he presses. "Not just because of him?"

"Definitely," Sinbad says, though the true answer is more like probably. "I was just waiting for you to grow up a bit first." He leans down, nibbling on the shell of an ear. "You know, so you could see all the king candidates and know I was the best one for the world."

"You're better than Kouen, for sure," the Magi sighs out, squirming his way up with a low, content sound. "He's so busy, and only talks to Hakuei these days, and he doesn't have anywhere near as many dungeons as you, besides."

"Mmm, that's the fate of a man who wants to take a wife," Sinbad says dismissively. "They stop paying attention to the things that are important." He drags a hand down Judal's back, then up again. "Mm, are you sure you wouldn't rather do this in my bed?"

"… You're gonna fall asleep when you put it in," Judal matter-of-factly deduces, narrowing his eyes at him. "Like that time you were really drunk and we were both being worms."

Sinbad opens his mouth, then shuts it again. "You're probably right," he admits. "I haven't slept properly in five days. How about you come cuddle up with me and kick me all night, and I'll put it in when I wake up?"

Judal perks up at that, nodding as he fastens his arms tightly to Sinbad's neck. "Good. Really good. I want you to carry me to the bedroom, though."

Getting up that way is something tricky, but Sinbad manages, hefting Judal into his arms and carrying him to the bedroom, feeling something like a cat's climbing post.

Then he hits the bed, and sleep runs him over like a giant's foot, and he stops feeling anything at all.