Magnified Terror.

[Alastir]

He awoke suddenly, unaware of where he was - of the surroundings that lay in the dark. The pillow was warm, the sheets curled around him. Soaked in sweat. It was nightfall again. Spent the entire day laying there - staring at a wall. So much wandered in his mind - there are memories not his - memories he doesn't want. But they kept climbing upwards - just like the bile in his throat. He'd remembered knocks on the door. But, he'd not answered them. None at all. But, there was cold food sitting outside and he'd opened the door to pull it back inside.

Back to the wall, legs folded up - knees to his chest. The food is tasteless in his mouth - nothing had taste anymore. Not even this meal that'd been hand prepared. He knew it's his brother's cooking - but no flavor. Nothing. Just tastes like the bile eating away at his mouth. Chew. Swallow. Chew. Swallow. Automaton-like. He knows he needs to eat, to keep up his strength. He'd helped the wounded earlier, but he hadn't said anything to anyone. Not even Zalin, or D'stan - or Deost. But, his mentor had left him alone. And he's somewhat grateful for that.

With the food eaten he leans back against the wall - turns cheek to the cool stone, that alleviates nothing. He looks over the curves in the stone - the porous texture that's so acute. He felt like the stone. Porous, over-full with water of terrifying uncertainty. Slowly eroding, dashing, cracking at either sides. Mortar unglued, unfused. Hands to his head, he buries his face in his knees. Shoulders shudder uncontrollably, endlessly. An hour slips by, and he still can't control his shaking. No manner of meditation, no matter of mental calming he's learned - works. Nothing works. He can't even summon up his diagnosis-eye. This is something he can't fix. Something he can't heal, himself. And it's driving him mad. The phantom twinge at the lower of his spine is a heavy thing - like the heavy thud of his heart. Repetition, over, and over, and over. No words form in his throat, no anger - no hatred.

There is nothing.

Save, endless quiet.


And right now, even if he wanted to cry - to scream - in sorrow, in rage, in anger - with any emotion. He can't. An endless labryinthe, and the minotaur stalks silently through it.

[Glenn]

Sometimes it was much easier to do something for a man, for a friend, when he is unable to refuse assistance. That had been the case when Glenn had rushed from the front at Snowstill to the Dagger in order to request Rhaena Olwak's aid in rousing Alastir from his coma. The two had managed to do just that and it had been ... enlightening. Unfortunately, following up on Alastir's condition had been nigh impossible.

Oh yes, Glenn had heard that the many of the Knights, Lancers, and Constables had been healed by Alastir. He had heard from D'stan how Zalin was able to get into the room at least once a day even if the Yewman was able to keep Glenn and Owen out. That meant Alastir was at least eating.

A number of thoughts were coursing through the mapmaker's head on the situation. There was slight dread in what he knew he had to tell Ariane about Alastir's condition and how it had not improved as much as first thought. There was anxiousness, because he knew it wouldn't matter. The man could make people better. That was what she needed him for. That was what she would use him for. When she was gone, Savoy with her, Glenn would have no one to try to understand and solve the problem of the Fiend with. It was foolish on so many levels to try to talk to Quiller. Going to either the Knights or the Constables was futile. Teron was a threat, he had to be stopped. To them, that was all. Someone like Ignas would probably feel the same way, and he certainly did not want to involve Rhaena in all of this. She had promised not to try to read either Vraal or Teron. That was more than enough.

Also, Glenn was anxious for what Alastir knew of Ashfiend now, with ancient memories having been used as weapons. The fact of the matter was that he didn't have the heart to press his friend on the matter yet, even if he COULD reach him. It seemed that Teron had dumped not just the tragic and painful memories but the good ones as well. So much could be learned if he just had a chance to talk to Alastir in earnest.

Most of all, however, he was worried. What if Rhaena and he had done more harm than good? He may have saved the man's life, for all he knew, but he knew next to nothing. Glenn had had a taste of it all last night, the taste of one unpleasant yet hardly traumatic memory being forced into his mind against his will. That in itself was enough to damage him for a few minutes. That was nothing compared to what he suspected Alastir was going through.

Just as important was the fact that some of Alastir's secrets had been partially revealed to Rhaena in the midst of it all. Savoy would understand, even agree with it, perhaps, but that hardly meant he'd be happy about it.

With a sigh, Glenn sat down to write a letter. Seeing how he couldn't even get in to see Alastir, It was important to find some way to at least let the man know that his friends were concerned.

It just meant a careful choice of words. When Alastir got back from his trip with Ariane, the two of them really did have to work out some sort of code for such things.
------------------------------------------------------------------
Alastir,

I hope that you are feeling better. Only three nights back you had one very amatuer mapmaker bumping around your head trying to fix things. I pray that I did right by you in that.

There is the matter of Miss Olwak seeing more than she should have in your mind, but I assure you she is trustworthy and true. Still, I take responsibility for letting more slip than I inteded.

I'm not sure how much news you've gotten, but Quiller is hunted now for her role in things. I need to amend my testimony to Malaroth now that I know what she's done to you. It's one thing to put a knife to my throat and use me as a shield. It's another to drag you to into the front.

Once you depart with Ariane, I will be taking over your room at Esraeux. No, no. I jest. I will be staying in a room nearby though. There are things, relating to my trade, which I hope to learn from Master Deost.

On that, and other topics, I hope us able to talk soon. Good luck in your recovery. I will continue to attempt a visit as much as possible. Those knocks at your door are often Zalin, Owen, or I. I fear that Owen might be taking things fairly hard, having just found you and now being so shut out. Talking to him might not be the worst idea if you can manage it. Just a thought.

Be well, my friend,

Glenn
-----------------------------------------------------------------

The note was sealed and sent off. He would try to follow up on it later in the day but in truth, did not expect much success.

[Alastir]

How long had he been couped up in this room. Where the walls had gone from unfamiliar things - to things *most* familiar? Where he knew exactly how many lines there were in the ceiling - in the walls themselves. He knew, he'd counted them. Huddled quietly in the corner with a blanket around his shoulders- eyes merely travelling the circuit of the room. Then, there's a rush-hiss under the door and there's a note left behind. One leg doesn't wish to work - the other pushes. And he half-stumbles to the door before dropping to knees to pick up the letter. Undone, and unfolded he reads it.

His fingers uncoil and the letter trips the air - hits the floorboards and he slumps over by the door - peering out under the gap into the hallways. Faint-light from the orange glow of candles. The faint light that lit the darkness of his room - and only served to deepen shadows.

This is the way of it?

It'd been no dream. None at all.

...none at all.

This was no trick of the imagination. No jest, and no fanciful idleness. There are visions, there are nightmares. And sleep is not a respite. It's still a war. They'd been in his mind? And he'd hoped beyond hope - that he'd just clung on to his friends for his own sanity. But, they'd had an active role in it.

His secret - was now in the hands of another. And at this moment he didn't care about that. That secret is the cause of *this* is the reason why he is in here hiding. No, not because he's worried people will find out. It's because he'd used his secret on Teron - and Teron had answered him in kind. Kind. It's an ironic thought that kindness can be so cruel sometimes. Had he been cruel to Teron? Was he like Teron? His mouth twitches at one corner, and he shuffles to the bed to lay on it; askew.

Are we any different?

Or are we merely seeking our own revenge; our own vengeance - and grafting it upon Teron's head? Is there no redemption at all? What would anyone do who lost a loved one? One so *terribly* dear to us? Would we do terrible things, terrifying things? Could a man become a monster; a monster become a man. If anything this thought rings - and it *terrifies* Alastir.

"Am I too now a monster..."

[Alastir]

"Six-peice, sick-peace. Six-peice, sick-peace." The healer sat near the far window - directly in the middle of the hall - staring at the skyline. The morning sun was behind the manor house and the rays of light struck trees, grass, and the small building behind the manor itself. Behind him, far down the hall was D'stan and another guard, watching over him quietly. But, D'stan's expression was nothing short of stoic and puncuated by shakes of his head.

"W'ots wrong with him?"

"I dunno. He's been like this ever since Snowstill."

"Huh. Jus' sittin, starin?"

"No, he talks, but he talks funny."

"Funny, how?"

"Rhymes, riddles, and such. I think he's a bit cracked."

"Poor kid."

"Aya, Cap'n wants us to watch him, make sure he don't hurt hisself."

"I see, well I'll go get some chairs."

---

"Far gone, close come. Ne'er to be ever so glum. Hmm. Hmm."

This goes on for an hour or so, before Alastir hops to a stand and then crosses infront of the two men with a merry smile - and a wave before striding down the hallways and down into the manor house' commons. D'stan and the other man follow suit. They'd orders, after all. Apparently today was a day where Glenn and Zalin weren't here. And Calomel hadn't come a calling either. And, Alastir walks on the manor grounds - absently for apparently hours. And, the forest line intrigues and D'stan and the other man follow closer then they should. And then, they watch as Alastir begins to do the excercises that Deost had taught him - in the books he'd left him. Though, the words were so hard to decipher - but the pictures made it all the more easier.

"Such pretty dances, aren't they. Legs, to and fro - arms akimbo."


Maybe D'stan was right - maybe something was terribly wrong with Alastir.

[Lamai]

One such size was a rolled parchment bound in violet ribbon, smelling of lavender, slipped underneath the protective barrier of a door.

Alastir,

They tell me that you are refusing to answer your door. In spite of that, I did knock and received no response. So I am leaving you this in the hope that it brings you some comfort through your pain.

I had a long conversation with Zalin, and I have decided that I am going to learn how to be a proper Yjaes. Just hold on for me, healer. I will return to repay my debt as soon as I can.

Light bless,

Lamai

[Alastir]

There's a note under the door, left there - and after having stared so vacantly, or perhaps too fully - he turns about with sleeves a trailing before slipping to the note. Reads it for a moment. Tilts his head at it - turns it upside down a moment before nodding once to himself. Then folds it thrice, before depositing it into his too-large tunic-tabard's innards.


"If anything, I've got nothing but time."

A smile then, and a whistle of sorts - before he strides out the door - and past the two guards - before descending into the kitchen for food - and a slip from his guards for one evening.