Raphtalia is not a fool, or a weak, naive child in need of constant care. She is not a child anymore, thank you Naofumi. She is an adult in all the ways that count.

She does not need to be tucked in close to the fire and she does not need more medicine than before, thank you Naofumi. It's certainly true that her sickness has eased greatly under Naofumi's care, and that this is the worst attack she's suffered in weeks, but still. It's just her usual cough; it always grows worse in the cold, in the dry air of winter.

It's coming on fall now, and the air holds a crisp chill that both rasps in Raphtalia's throat and gives her the oddest sensation of pleasant change. It feels good, somehow, to be bundled up in thick woolen hoods and traveling through the beautiful countryside, waiting for snow. The forest here is lovely, all dense, heavy pines that perfume the air with sap, and soft floors thick with needles. Filo certainly enjoys kicking up great piles of duff and building nests for their campsites. The harvests are flowing well, too, giving plenty of ingredients for both meals and medicine. The cart is so well loaded that when Raphtalia leans back and looks up through the hanging herb bundles she can almost banish her nausea by convincing herself she's in a forest instead of a flimsy wooden vehicle.

It isn't working so well now, however. Even sitting perfectly still on the firm earth, Raphtalia's head is spinning a bit and her ears are ringing.

Filo sniffles again, snug up against Raphtalia's back in her Queen form, radiating more heat than the fire. Raphtalia sighs - or tries to, then does her level best to hold her cough in instead - and worms her hand out of the blanket prison to pat at her ruffled feathers soothingly. Filo nuzzles back, too tired to go for another round of are you okay now, big sis?

Raphtalia is fine. She's not even wounded, not really. Not that any of them stay wounded with Naofumi around, anyway. There is no use fussing over injuries when they only last minutes. But this time -

It was the usual fight against a mob of weak monsters, the kind that live in the deep forests near roads and wait for traveling adventurers like themselves to settle in for the night. Most of the mob had gone down quickly, but one of the bigger fiends had swung suddenly to charge Raphtalia, trying to gore her on its antlers. She'd dodged, ending up between its antlers instead. When she and had gone to parry with her sword, the pressure of its skull against her chest had set off her weak lungs instead. Filo had taken it down, then stood over Raphtalia, working up a panic when the older girl could only gasp in loud, desperate breathes for minutes on end.

Raphtalia could barely see when an attack overcame her, but she could take it fully on faith that the one embracing her and pressing something hot to her chest was Naofumi.

Now she was not-sulking near the fire, bundled firmly in all the blankets they owned when she and Filo had just finally managed to bully Naofumi into using more than his cape. When she'd been small, it had been fine, but now that Raphtalia is more aware of things, she can easily say that sleeping in their clothes is one thing, but using your clothes as a bed roll and blanket combo when they have both in the wagon, it's right there, five feet away Naofumi, just use a blanket, please - She sighs, and a small cough tumbles out. It's settled to a dull, strained ache rather than any true pain or breathlessness, at least.

Naofumi is there, then, with a small cup of steaming herbs and a more nefarious bowl in hand. Raphtalia's ears go flat against her head and neither of them say anything for a few mulish seconds. She feels her lungs rattle with a coming cough and relents, struggling out of the blankets fully and baring her chest for treatment. Naofumi sighs at her and kneels down, handing her the cup.

Raphtali turns her head and holds it close in one hand, obediently breathing in the steam. The smell is so familiar now, sharp and green and warm, and it soothes her irritated throat and sinuses. Chases away the pounding in her skull and fills it with a soft fog instead. It's soothing in its familiarity alone. Every night of her new life with him and out of the cruel cycle of ownership and break and return had been perfumes with this scent. Her most pleasant memories now are laden with the bitter medicine of herbs.

Naofumi peels the cooled, tacky compress off her chest, rubbing her arm absently when she shivers in the sudden cold. It's the wrong situation to be embarrassed in, and Raphtalia isn't. She's just frustrated, in a small way.

She's not a child anymore, and she wants a different kind of reaction and attention paid to her when her breasts are exposed. His hands are large and warm and very professional as he wipes the spicy scented poultice off her throat and sternum, eases the damp cloth around her breasts like her nipples mean nothing to him. He'd looked at that weird pinecone Filo found yesterday with more interest. As always, Naofumi is a medical saint with a gruff bedside manner at best, and the paste is reapplied and the newly warmed compress put back in place without comment. Well, not entirely. He does apologize again.

It's genuinely not often that either Raphtalia or Filo are injured anymore. Usually Naofumi is a perfect shield for them, no matter how far away his position on the battlefield is. But no one is perfect, even a Legendary Hero. Even the Shield. He isn't hovering as badly as he did when Raphtalia had been cursed by his flames - he had never stopped fretting over her then, until even Filo had gotten fed up with it - but still, she knows that he's not going to be sleeping tonight.

If it were anyone else, knowing that someone was watching over her in her sleep and tending to a fire to keep her warm might be romantic - or maybe creepy. With Naofumi, it's just - safe. Sad, almost. It makes her chest ache in a different, heavier way than pain when he does that. Like the weight of his guilt is pressing down on her, too. She doesn't remember the first time she consciously noticed his vigils, since as far as she is aware he's always done that.

Still, looks like it'll be Raphtalia's turn to guide Filo tomorrow.

"Naofumi," She tries anyway, but her voice comes out weak and small and she has to clear her throat with the steam to be heard, "This is enough, I think. You can sleep now, so don't worry anymore, okay?" And it is true: she can feel the slight numbing of the poultice sinking in deep and loosening the tight strain on her lungs, can feel the steam clearing her head. Can feel the peculiar and singular sensation of his magic, something dull and round in the way a metaphysical thing shouldn't be. She'll be fine now, just like all the other times this has happened.

"Alright, just let me clean up here, Raphtalia." When she stretches out her hand, Naofumi takes it and nods before reluctantly leaving her side, clearing away the bowl and used herbs. He's lying, but she humors him and lets him tuck the blankets back into place anyway. She still has too much of a headache to bother arguing.

And sure enough, a few moments later, Raphtalia hears the familiar rhythm of his herb grinder pick back up. That scent - that sound - it's all familiar and warm and good, but things are even better now. Raphtalia won't need another dose in the morning. They won't have to suffer the indignity of the deepest alleys and the cheapest tavern for their next meal. Raphtalia will not wake up screaming tonight. Naofumi can sleep in the wagon instead of growing more exhausted and sharp tongued throughout an overlong day of fighting alone.

Raphtalia is strong now, and they have Filo besides. They are not alone. They're free now, with the Queen on their side.

The low fire crackles and Filo breathes. Raphtalia falls asleep slowly, then all at once.