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Ichabod has experienced his fair share of adversity over the years - wounds, fatigue, illness. He has never experienced a cold of this magnitude, though, and he just doesn't know what to do to shake it. He has ensconced himself in the library for the time being, dozing between doses of tea and soup, and there are any number of books scattered around him.

He is simultaneously trying to research demonology while correcting a so-called history of the Revolutionary War (Paul Revere was not the hero of the entire revolution and Franklin was, for the most part, an insurmountable ass) and neither is going well. It's as if his entire brain is fuzzy and thoughts are slow and dull. He doesn't do well when his keen intellect has been blunted and he hopes that the sickness passes soon.

First and foremost, he wants to be cared for and cossetted. It is times like these that Ichabod misses his wife the most. Katrina, for all her power and glory as a witch, had been his wife first and had been very good at making him feel better even when it seemed all the world was crashing down around his ears. What he wouldn't give to have Katrina caring for him now, to have Katrina making him tea and soup and tending to him while he relaxed.

He would simply have to make do with cooling tea and a slightly-scratchy blanket in a library for the time being.

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It's only quiet that Elsa seeks, a place to read and enjoy the relative calm of the hotel. However, she finds her favorite corner occupied by a man who looks like he needs it far more than she does.

"Are you all right?"

"Ah, Miss Elsa! I hate that you've caught me in such a position," Ichabod says, laughing weakly. The laugh slides into a cough and it's a moment before he's caught his bearings again.

"I seem to have succumbed to some sort of flu."

"Oh dear," Elsa says, fixing him with a look of sympathy. "If only my powers had options for warmth, I might be of use to you." But she can't even bring him a warm drink.

"That's all right," Ichabod says. It truly is. He needs simply to rest and try to overcome this momentary stumbling block and nothing but time will heal it. "Should I ever find myself possessed of fever, I will be sure to call for your aid. I think you might be well suited for that."

Elsa smiles a little at that and nods, agreeing. Her control is good enough now that she thinks she could, though she'd rather Ichabod didn't have the flu at all.

"I could call room service and ask them to bring some soup and...not touch it?" she offers.

"That would probably be the best course of action," Ichabod says. "If I could manage to get back to my room. I think I slept overnight in the library." He had tried to research through his illness and ended up doing a lot of harm and very little good.

"Cold hands mean a warm heart, don't they? I think so, anyway."

Elsa smiles again, finding she likes the idiom very much. "I hope so. And I'm wearing gloves, so hopefully my cold hands won't get in the way if I help you back to your room?" she offers. The library, while peaceful, is certainly no place to rest while ill.

"It is a risk I am willing to take," he assures her. It is difficult to be gallant when he feels so ill but Ichabod makes the attempt because Elsa is a kind woman and her heart is in the best place.

"Thank you for your help."

"You're a friend," she says practically, holding out her hands. "I've spent a long time being afraid of those. I'm trying to change that."

Ichabod takes her hands and stands; he is a little unsteady but it's nothing that rest won't cure. Elsa's help will be appreciated as he toddles his way back down to his room to recuperate.

"Friendship warms the heart," he agrees. "And I am honored if you consider me a friend for I consider you one of mine."

"True love can thaw a frozen heart," she quotes, before she pauses. When had she heard that? Elsa honestly can't remember, but it sits properly in her heart.

"An interesting sentiment and one I dearly hope to be true. Where did you hear it?" Ichabod thinks it might be relevant to Elsa's own condition, though he cannot imagine how. Hers is something he's never seen before and while he is not afraid of her, he has a healthy respect for how her powers do work.

"I'm...honestly not sure," Elsa admits, helping him around the corner though she lets Ichabod lead them to his wing of the hotel.

"I should probably abide by it more."

"I can imagine it would prove salient in many areas," Ichabod says. He wants to go on to say that he feels like Elsa has a lot of affection to give in spite of her particular condition and she shouldn't let it hamper her except he's wracked by terrible coughs.

"To bed with me, I think. I am sorry I cannot be better company today. It seems the ague has gotten the best of me."

"Does your room have one of those coffee makers?" Elsa asks. "You should at least have another cup of hot tea. I'll make some for you while you get comfortable."

"Oh, yes, but I do prefer tea over coffee. You know, it's a commonly held misconception that the English don't drink coffee at all," he says, latching onto the tangent because there's nothing he loves more than knowledge and trivia and it distracts him from his current condition.

"Which is a lie. That said, I do prefer a nice, strong cup of tea."

"I'll do my best," Elsa promises, smiling gently. She just hopes that her gloves will do enough to prevent the tea from going cold. Even when she's at the most control of her own powers, her touch is always slightly cooler.

"And I don't have much of a taste for coffee, but those blended things? With the cream and ice? I like those a lot."

"They are excessively overpriced," Ichabod says, laughing weakly. "Did you know they levy almost an 8% tax on those things? We fought against such excessive tariffs in my day. There should be no reason a person should have to pay that much in taxes for something to eat or drink."

"I suppose that's why so many people in the world are going hungry," Elsa laments. If only she wasn't burdened by her powers, she could have ruled her country wisely, done something to counteract such troubles.

"I trust you do not levy such taxes in Arendelle?" Ichabod has the impression, whether it is true or not, that Elsa is a wise and fair ruler. Her dealings with him on the personal level seem to indicate integrity and intelligence and he cannot imagine that it does not extend to her position as queen.

Elsa shrugs, handing him a cup of tea. "It's not really fair for me to judge. Arendelle is small, but our natural resources are high and our location on the fjords is advantageous. It's easy not to tax cruelly when everyone prospers."

"How does your government work, exactly? Is it solely a monarchy or do you have any sort of parliament or council to help you?" Ichabod has always had something of an interest in all the varied forms of government, having come from a country so newly born himself.

"I have a council, with several ministers to advise me. They acted as my regents before I came of age," she explains. They are good ministers, loyal to her parents and so to her.

"If your mind is this sharp while you're sick, I'd hate to match wits with you on a good day."

"I'm afraid that being ill only gives me more time to think," Ichabod says, laughing a little. "So questions come easily even if I should be resting and allowing my mind to simply drift off for the duration."

"Exactly." Elsa points at, but doesn't touch, the cup of tea. "Drink that and get some rest. We can talk politics when you're better."

Ichabod takes the tea and lifts his cup to toast Elsa. "And thank you, for being such a generous friend. I hope to see you soon? When I am feeling better?"

Ichabod hopes that is sooner rather than later.

"I'm easy enough to find," Elsa promises. "Just wait for the temperature to drop."

There is an awkwardness that persists in Hal whenever around Ichabod due to their unfortunate incident upon the ship. It is something he wishes to undo from his memories, but Hal is not given easily to forgetting. No, it is recollection that he excels in and five hundred years of memories are often plaguing. Still, the profuse look of unwellness gives Hal relief for the most terrible of reasons.

Hunger is secondary when sickness is at play. "Are you ill?" Hal asks, from the doorway. He cannot catch human illness, but he still finds it off-putting and untidy and keeps a mild distance.

"I am, in spite of my best efforts to deny it." This is punctuated with a long-drawn out sneeze that has quite the buildup and echoes throughout the room. It's embarrassing and Ichabod surreptitiously wipes his nose with his handkerchief.

"I wouldn't suppose it's something you can catch, seeing as what you are."

Hal winces at the thought of the microbial things swarming around in that handkerchief. He had carried his own around for many years, with elegant and perfect stitching, but he had welcomed disposable face tissues with aplomb. "No, I cannot catch illness, as such," he admits, though he still looks terribly off-put. "I do have an issue with gems," he says, standing downwind from Ichabod. "The thought of them in this room, this is a hot water and bleach sort of clean-up."

Ichabod covers his mouth with his hand and laughs lightly. "Well, if you'd like, I want to get back into bed anyway. You can disinfect this place to your heart's content after I've gone. I doubt the staff is going to mind."

Ichabod thinks they might even be grateful. He's been here for several hours and he can imagine he's steering off others who might want to use the library.

He twitches and thinks he might need to. There is one thing that Hal cannot abide and it is the uncleanliness of a place. There are so many germs lingering in all places that can be vanquished with the application of disinfectant and cleaners. It would be a shame not to use them. "Perhaps I ought to see you to your bed, first," he offers. "Come," he encourages. "At a pace's distance, of course."

Ichabod nods, tamping down his desire to laugh. A man's fear is no thing to trifle with, even if it seems inconsequential to someone else. Hal has a genuine fear of being unclean and being even within a pace's distance, he suspects, must push at that fear.

"Did you have this fear when you were alive? The fear of uncleanliness?"

"I honestly cannot recall," Hal admits, for his human life is so very long ago. Offering a brief smile to Ichabod (though it is strained and sags under the weight of his daily struggle), he thinks back and cannot even remember the place he had been born. All he remembers is the Gdansk and then the battle. "I'm over 530 years old," he says. "I'm afraid after five centuries, even what you try to remember fades away."

"I could only imagine. I am two centuries old, of course, but I slept most of those." It is not anywhere near the same situation since Ichabod did not live the years between then and now.

"Sometimes, I think it would be best if I could sleep away or ignore some of the years. There were unfortunate stretches within them spent whiled away in captivity. Churches, abbeys...in the 1600's, there was a particular determination to eradicate things like me," he says, though obviously it hadn't worked.

Hal had left quite the bloodshed in his path. "Tea," he says suddenly. "We should fetch you some tea and we'll soon see your illness fade."

"Tea can cure a lot of ills," Ichabod agrees. "I think tea helps even when it does nothing but soothe a savage soul and ease the mind. I can't speak much to the medicinal purposes aside from clearing the sinuses. All of those would be good right about now."

"In my time, there were many teas that could render a man inept," Hal says, thinking fondly back on those pharmaceutical teas that were quite potent and powerful. "Though, I think at this moment, all you require is a Honey Lemon," he says. "I assure you, drugging is not in my mind."

"I trust you." Ichabod is not sure if this is wise, considering what happened beyond the door, but he likes to think that this version of Hal is the true one and the one he encountered beyond the door was an aberration.

"Honey Lemon sounds like an excellent remedy."

Hal does not point out the error of such a statement. While he might be helpful in this moment, Hal should absolutely never be trusted, lest something terrible happen as a result of such a trust. "Then let us find you some, in a place where you do not have to sneeze or cough on me," he notes with mild disgust.

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