Maester Cressen finally opened the door, and the irritation on his face was immediately replaced with worry as he took in the sight before him. "Come in, come in," he instructed, quickly waving them on through into the sick room. Jon and the guardsman deposited Loras on the bed, and suddenly it was all Jon could do to keep standing himself. He sank into the nearest chair. The room seemed to spin around him.
"Get my wife," he told the guardsman. "Please."
It was only when the guardsman left with a quick nod of his head that Jon realised he should have asked for Lady Olenna as well. She would want to be here too. And Loras would want her presence. But then maybe he had not called Margaery for Loras, not entirely.
Not at all.
"My Lord," the maester said when he had spent several moments examining Loras, who had apparently dropped into sleep. Or unconsciousness. Jon hoped it was only sleep. "Could you tell me what happened to Lord Loras?"
Jon took a deep breath, tried to get a hold of himself, tried to hold himself together. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could not help but wonder if Cressen had known. No, he could not have, not if Benjen had only just found out. It could not be only he who had not known. He swallowed. What if Loras had known? What if that was why he had followed him? He shook the thought away. As much as he preferred not to admit it, he knew well enough that Loras would follow him anywhere, for no other reason than that he thought Jon needed him. Did Margaery know? He swallowed again. This time it hurt. And what was it all anyway? What was there to know? He might have misheard, might have misunderstood.
There were dragons in his bedchamber. He did not think that was something he could possibly misunderstand.
"My Lord?" Maester Cressen pressed, inadvertently pulling Jon out from where his own mind had threatened to pull him under.
"We went down into the catacombs," Jon managed. His throat felt raw and painful, and he knew his voice was coming out hoarser than normal, with more of his brogue coming through than was usual. It was not with whatever ailed Loras, though. It was just... Gods, he was tired. He was so tired and something inside him ached like an open wound. "And below, to the lava tunnels. Into the Dragonmont itself, I think. Then Loras was coughing and he was not breathing right. It only got worse as we made our way back towards the surface. I had to drag him most of the way." He glanced at his goodbrother, at his ashen face and the burns on his arms and face. Jon was not even sure when or how he had been burnt. And Gods, if Jon had only thought faster, had only reacted when Loras first started coughing. Or turned around when he first realised Loras was following him, even though he could not breathe down there... He pushed the thoughts away. He had been stupid, yes, and careless, and a very poor friend, but there was nothing to do now except pray Loras would waken soon so he could apologise.
Maester Cressen looked back and forth between them, seeming more than a bit confused. "And you went as deep as he did?" he asked.
"Aye," Jon confirmed. Deeper, but there was no reason to say as much.
Maester Cressen gestured at the other bed in the room, looking Jon up and down for long moments, seeming to take in his mostly burnt off clothes and the soot on his skin. "Lie down, boy," he ordered even as he bustled towards the cabinet in the corner where Jon knew, from experience, that he kept his ointments and concoctions.
"I am fine," Jon said.
Maester Cressen huffed. "If you know what is good for you, you lie down on your own before your Lady Wife arrives and I ask her to make you," he said.
Jon winced, and lay down. It would be nice to get a bit of rest, even though he knew he was not sick. Besides, Margaery's unique mixture of sharp scolding and gentle concern was more effective than any orders anyone else had ever given him. He could admit that, would do it gladly. It was another one of those things she had not started doing before they grew closer, and as such it was dear to him, even if he disliked it while it happened.
Maester Cressen crossed back over the floor, tipped a vial of something or other down Loras' throat before getting to work spreading ointment over the wounds visible on his skin.
The door opened and Margaery walked inside, and as happy as Jon was to see her, part of him felt the apprehension too. He liked being fussed over, as much as he hated to admit it. Lady Catelyn had only bothered to the once. His Lord Father rarely had the time. Dacey was not much of the type to fuss over anyone, even her own babe, and Jon's uncles were more the types to clap his shoulder or give him a quick, tight hug when absolutely necessary, and then leave him to his own devices. It was not the fussing he was scared of. It was... He had dragged her brother into danger, thoughtlessly and carelessly. And if she thought Jon had been in danger too, he was looking at the tongue lashing of his life.
The fussing came first, and he let himself relax into it, let himself forget what would follow, and wallowed in her soft gasp and the way her small, strong hand carded through his hair.
Another wave of exhaustion swept over him. As if from far away, he heard her talking to Cressen, who was still fast at work on Loras. He felt a wet cloth wipe away the soot on his face and chest. There was another gasp, and then Jon was fast asleep.