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It was a slight twitch in his arms that gave the first sign that Diryas was coming to. The second was a slight change in his breathing; it lightened and lost some of the steady pattern that it had maintained for some time. He didn't make any actual sound, at least not at first. Then, he took a sudden gasp of a breath, hands tightening around the blankets covering him. His eyes opened a bit, looking off into space as his breathing slowly evened back out. A low, quiet groan, and his eyes closed. Fingers drumming lightly on the bed, however, showed that he was still conscious. His eyes cracked open again, followed by a soft sound of complaint, before closing again. Open. Grumble. Close.

The room probably wasn't very overly bright, but it seemed too bright to him. That was the first thing he'd noticed, aside from the tightness in his chest. The pain over the rest of his body seemed like a distant annoyance, awareness of it slipping away any time he tried to focus on it. What had happened? That was something else that kept slipping away every time he tried to focus on it. He was in a bed, obviously, and the last thing he remembered was... a bird... A very large bird, a large bird he'd been trying to take out, because...

Because...

Fighting a bird...

Because...

When Zebulon said his name, however, Diryas did then remember what it was he'd been doing. His eyes opened, and he squinted at Zebulon both from the lights and the distinct lack of glasses on his face. His mouth was dry, and the first attempt to say the other's name came out as a rasp. From what he could see, Zebulon seemed alright. He was whole, he wasn't in a bed like Diryas himself was... Of course, the operative words were "from what he could see". He lifted a hand a couple inches off the bed and gestured Zebulon closer. He wanted to make sure that there wasn't any lasting damage from the fight. He would work with his condition, but he wanted to assure himself that Zebulon didn't need to do the same thing. He'd gone in to rescue him and, by god, he was going to make sure that's what he'd done.

He could worry about the tightness in his chest and the raw feeling to his skin later. It was probably nothing tea and a long bath wouldn't solve, anyway.

Diryas obliged Zebulon's gestures for him to stop trying to talk. At least, for the moment. When Zebulon came closer, Diryas visibly relaxed. Yes, it seemed that Zebulon had escaped major injury. All of his limbs were intact, his facial features seemed the same as before, so no broken jaw or skull fractures... Zebulon taking his hand pulled his attention, and he almost asked him what he was doing. He was allowed to move, he was sure-- oh.

He shifted a bit under the concerned and pathetic eye of his husband. He appreciated the concern, he did, and the rest of it made the corner of his mouth twitch. However, he also wanted to allay as much of that concern as possible. He was fine. He was. Diryas would be out of the bed and walking around as soon as the staff--and Zebulon--allowed him to. He shifted his hand in Zebulon's grip so that he could give the other a light squeeze. All of this fuss was unnecessary, really. He was sure the soreness and pain would fade. He had not lost feeling in any of his extremities, so he knew there was nothing permanently the matter. He couldn't quite recall everything that had happened the moment he'd lost consciousness, but clearly nothing had gone too horrifically wrong.

Zebulon offering him water made for a quick distraction from his thoughts, and he reached for it nearly immediately, aware again of how dry his mouth and throat were. He took the cup and shifted slightly in bed so that he was sitting somewhat. No straw, after all, and the last thing he wanted to do was spill it over himself. Once he was situated, though, Diryas took a long gulp from the cup. Nearly downing it all in one breath, he sighed when he pulled it away from his lips.

"Thank you." His voice croaked a bit, but still offered a vast improvement. To answer the question, "nevermind that. You?"

It wasn't escaping Diryas' notice that Zebulon was fussing over him. He supposed that it wasn't without reason, but even still he felt the magnitude was a bit unneeded. He was alive, right? He was alive and in the infirmary, so his injuries were being tended. There was no further need for concern. But the last he'd seen of Zeb...

"Can you walk? Anything broken? Have you even been looked at?" He craned his neck to try to look Zebulon over.

Zebulon was in a chair and not a bed, so it did occur to Diryas that he was probably doing well enough. That did not stop him from wanting to know anyway, just to be sure. The image of Zebulon in the bird's grasp was the last thing Diryas remembered seeing before blacking out, and the memory of it sent a chill spreading through his body. The two seconds Zebulon stood were not enough to satiate Diryas' concern, nor allay his fears that there was something going on deeper that just simply hadn't been found. However, he knew he was likely to get nowhere persisting after that line of questioning. Zebulon was not going to leave to go any kind of examination room or radiology. If there even was a radiology setup at the moment.

Better answer the question, then.

"Feel like I got run over by a giant bird," he replied matter-of-factly, nonchalance creeping into the tilt of his head and the set of his shoulders. He hurt, he did. He suspected he'd hurt worse if not for some kind of magical or chemical intervention. Diryas was not moving very quickly, but he did reach his right hand out towards Zebulon. Logically, he saw him sitting there in front of him, knew him to be fine. Or, at least, fine enough. Emotionally, reactively, he wanted tangible reassurance that Zebulon was actually there. His mind was still replaying seeing the bird snatch Zebulon up. Without thinking, his left thumb rubbed against the bottom of his wedding band where his left hand lay on the bed, a gesture unnoticeable save for the subtle curling of his fingers.

A pause before he answered Zebulon, gaze going distant for a moment before his eyes met the other's.

"I will be alright."

The corner of his mouth twitched at Zebulon's snort, the sound of it actually immensely gratifying, as well as the joke that Zebulon cracked afterwards. The humour did indeed help to ease his mind a bit. The warmth and weight of Zebulon's hand squeezing his pulled him back to the present moment, and he returned the squeeze with one of his own. Thumb rubbing against Zebulon's hand, Diryas worked to quiet the nagging doubts still whispering at the back of his mind.

See? He's there. Ghosts and hallucinations do not have warmth.

He could be feeling the warmth of his own--likely feverish--body temperature.

Ghosts and hallucinations do not have physical tangibility.

He could still be unconscious.

His level of pain--while not intolerably high--argued against unconsciousness.

It could be magic, an illusion.

No one would bother tricking Diryas this way, there would be no point to it. Also, there would not be a way for an illusionist to so accurately mimic the small mannerisms inherent in Zebulon's behaviour--

It took a second for Diryas to process what Zebulon was saying, and he squeezed Zebulon's hand in acknowledgement.

"How is everything? Any fatalities?" He assumed they'd been victorious, but... Was it precisely what Zebulon had asked him? ...No, but.

Diryas let go of a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding in anticipation of Zebulon's answer--and in anticipation of the answer being bad. While it certainly wasn't all good, at least the civilians they'd been protecting had made it out alive. They'd saved more than had died. He would have to be content with that, even if it knotted his stomach to think of those that had died out on the mountainside. Hopefully they had succumbed to cold long before the avalanche hit them.

Ah, yes, the god healing.

"There's that," he agreed, using his free hand to prop pillows up behind himself before settling onto them. They were not the most luxurious, but they would do. Alright, so they had not suffered any fatalities. That was undeniably an unequivocally good thing. Another knot of tension released itself, and his shoulders visibly relaxed. So they were in the recovery phase. Barring any emergencies, they should progress just fine. Everyone was going to be alright. Zebulon was alright.

Zebulon was alright. He looked like he had worried himself ragged--he probably had--as well as generally exhausted, but he was alright.

Diryas picked up the hand Zebulon held, pressing his lips briefly against the back of Zebulon's knuckles before settling their hands back on the bed next to him. A slow blink in the other's direction as he took a slow deep breath. "Mind your health. I will recover, and so should you."

I love you.