Midsummer

F o o l

François was in shock.

Everything had been going so well. The man he'd found himself infatuated with, oddly familiar with, had relaxed against him and returned his every motion. It was a perfect moment. But it ended horribly.

He gasped, trying to pull Sigmund's hands away before he hurt himself. Sigmund fainted before he could. François' hands flew up to his mouth and he fell down beside him, laying his ear on Sigmund's chest. He prayed for a heartbeat, and was relieved when he could still feel him breathing.

François hopped up, waving his hands wildly to get the attention of the nearest maid. She paled at the sight, assuring him she'd gather the others. He didn't have to wait for long.

Eirik had outrun the group, immediately dashing to his brother's side. François' father was soon behind. The Fernards were last, since Lady Fernard was struggling to run in her wide skirts. But the sight of Sigmund unconscious on the floor put a face to the screams they'd all heard. It was unsettling to all, except, strangely, Eirik himself.

"Look at that! We left you alone with him for an instant and you struck him down!" Gerald accused.

"I was not even there!" Jean-Marc protested. "And my son would do no such thing. No, perhaps it was you who did this. He stayed to talk to you, who knows what you could have done. You would try to frame me."

"No one is framing anyone," Eirik said firmly. "It was not any of your doing. When we were younger Sigmund would get intense headaches, with similar results. They must have resurfaced. Maybe it was all the stress; he doesn't enjoy being around too many people. François, was he holding his head before he fainted?"

The younger blonde nodded shakily.

"That proves it. I'm sorry that you were all startled like this. Sigmund hasn't had an episode for years now."

"What does it mean, that it's back?" Lady Fernard asked, wringing her hands.

"I don't know," Eirik admitted. "It could mean a lot of things. We may need to call a doctor to check on him. In the meantime, will one of you help me carry him? It'd be best to get him to a bed, where he can recover in comfort."

"We had a guest room prepared for him already. I'll lead the way," Gerald said. "But, say, how odd was the timing? So many coincidences– not only was he alone with the shark's child, but it was around the same time you were revealing it. Do you think that's what caused this?"

"With all due respect, Mister Fernard, I doubt it. Now, I can carry him if someone grabs his hat."

'I'll do it,' François signed.

"My son will do it," Jean-Marc translated. "Eirik, if we could have a word once we get there? I need to talk to you. It's not about your deal– on the contrary, it's about François."

Eirik raised an eyebrow, but nodded. "Of course, Mister Chevalier. But if you don't mind, my unconscious brother isn't exactly the lightest load..."

"Oh dear, we didn't mean to hold you up. I'll run ahead and make sure you can set him down. Oh, and I'll tell the butler to send for a doctor– is that all right? Oh, good, good. I'll do it immediately. Gerald, please don't fight with them!" she cried, already running as fast as she could with the hinderance of her skirts.

Gerald frowned. He had hoped that at least his wife would have some faith in him.

"Right this way, men. I'd help you myself, if it wouldn't be a hinderance. I've ensured the rooms for the two of you will be comfortable, and side-by-side. The very finest in the entire house," he said, sneering at Jean-Marc to rub it in.