"Go awa' Duchess," Oliver told his cat in a broken voice. "M'dyin'." Now that was probably a slight exaggeration but it didn't change the fact that the Scot felt like hell. It had been comparatively easy to go out and play the hero that night in Tilbury and it had been even easier to think of himself as too cool and invincible to bother with a drying charm after he had ended up in the icy water. In the end it had taken three solid hours until everyone was saved – aside from the ship, which sank like a rock – and almost four hours until Oliver got home again. By that time he couldn't feel his arms and legs any more but still remained convinced that he as too tough to bother with getting some hot lemon into his system.
Now, a whole week later he was still paying the price. It had started out with a scratchy throat and quickly expanded to include a hellish headache, a cough that hurt each time more and a constant pain in his limbs. In fact, Oliver's very skin hurt and he was very, very miserable – a fact that he liked to share with the world. In painful detail.
"M'dyin'," he told the cat again which remained frustratingly unimpressed.