Something is Wrong

Soft rustling woke him, light filtering in small moving patches on his face as he squinted at the branches of the bush. Then to the blanket laid on the ground. He'd fallen asleep as he intended, but strangely he couldn't remember a dream or even whatever that nightmare was. All he felt was empty. Something was missing and he couldn't place it. He was missing something… this couldn't be the end of the waking dream. 

With a groan he'd gingerly feel his right arm. It still burned but his time lying still has dulled in somewhat. He would still likely need to be visited by the doctor, to be assessed, but he didn't relish the discomfort he knew would come for any examinations. 

Rolling onto his left side, away from the filtered light, he'd inspect the small flecks of pink on the bandage, pinpricks of slowly healing puncture wounds, some unable to be stitched, seeping whatever sludge of infection or fluid from the wound. It made him sick to think of, and he'd not dare inspect the horrendous state of his arm without bandage. He knew Elene could, she was there everyday from when he first awoke, tending to his injuries, cleaning the wound and rebandaging him, all without even a grimace. On occasion his mother helped but she had other duties to attend and his fiance was easily available, as well as decently proficient in care. 

She was an angel in his eyes and he nearly cried the first time he was coherent enough to recognize her with him. She held an anger then too, and he knew she still felt slighted by his repeated lack of word, first disappearing for a week with the ship fiasco, then for another to go roam around Namarast and nearly get caught by rats and guards. As a stroke of genius he'd decided to go hunt the monster previously known as the mage Yuriel with his new pirate acquaintance and somehow turned up home injured afterwards. Rationally, he'd expected that it was likely Ghostie bringing him back, but he'd not heard from him since. That was also not unusual. Ghost didn't make contact at the manner aside from emergencies, when there was no other alternative. And Yorro couldn't risk having the ghost in his pocket found out. His father would likely try to kill him and Yorro didn't want to think of his own fate. 

Had he said anything to Elene about what happened? The man was with him before Namarast, they'd parted ways in the forest when he'd met with the infiltration team of Namarast. The answer would likely remain in shadows, neither Elene or Ghostie willing to share. 

With a final groan, settling that he was actually awake in this version of reality, Yorro would sit up, branches pricking him as he awkwardly climbed out of the bush. Thankfully no one was about to witness the merchant son doing so, and he'd stand and once again attempt to clean off any dirt and leaves. A quick squint at the sun's direction told him it was nearly to sundown, so he'd waste no time in his return to the manor.

He followed the same route as the afternoon, albeit with less dawdling and as soon as his feet touched the carpet he made a point to beeline to the upper left wing, and to his rooms. Elene should be waiting and spending  as little time in the halls meant less interaction with anyone. It went as planned and he'd sneak through his doors, securing them in his wake and clicking the lock shut. 

As he turned, surveying the room, he'd noted the window cracked open from the balcony. The air was crisp and cooling as the evening approached, and the door to the bathroom was closed. He moved to close the window, locking it, and then drawing the blinds. Satisfied with that he approached the bathroom to knock. 

"Elene." 

"Yeah?" Her voice sounded relaxed and he'd test the handle to see if it was locked. 

"Coming in."

She didn't protest in the slightest, even with his hesitation in entering. After a moment he'd step inside, the air hot and humid from the water drawn. The mirror was fogged over, leaving his shape in it as nothing but a dark blob. He'd squint as he thought he saw an orb move by. He was seeing things. With a shake of his head Yorro approached the edge of the white clawfoot tub, crouching down at the end near where Elene lounged.

She smiled at him, a wet hand rising from the water to smooth back his hair, resting at the end on his cheek as her attention went to the bandages. 

"How's your arm feeling?"

"Sore, sorry for asking that of you."

"I don't know what you're thinking of all the time, but.. I won't do that again even if you beg."

"I'll beg for different things." He'd smirk at her, taking her hand to kiss it. 

"Can I join you?" 

Elene would smile softly, all the invitation he needed. 

---

He'd met someone new, a mage finding him in the dream, antlered and wearing a dark robe. He’d tried to hold an illusion, to hide himself and the downed Elene. Though the fatigue ate at his abilities, and the ache in his body helped to further weaken it. He’d remember warning the other, harmless for his part, what did he have but a knife and his desire to protect. This man seemed unharmed, he’d found him in the mist and amongst the illusions. Yorro was nothing but a shell of his abilities, unsure of what was real and dream.

The other warned him to get up, he was falling asleep- yet he wasn’t, this was the dream, surely. He spoke more words of distrust, willing the other to depart, such a hope never coming. Distantly he could hear the crow of a bird, perhaps a raven or crow, his hearing echoing with a hum to muffle it. From a fall? He couldn’t be sure. What he did know was the sinking feeling in his stomach, the pulse of his racing heart, the fear he felt. What would happen to Elene?

Next he knew, he’d somehow stood, leaving his golden love lying like a corpse on the ground. His legs and body trembled with fatigue and he could barely keep himself here, his vision fading until the stranger’s voice snapped it away. He’d turn his dark eyes, distrustful, towards the other. Why was he here, this was a battle was it not? Something unwinnable.

Yet his thoughts didn’t matter, the other answered impassively, someone else stuck, just as he was. There was a fanged smile, causing Yorro to bristle, but instead of conflict as he expected the other gave a name. Wanderer. He didn’t think it a true birth name, akin to something of a name a thief or otherwise would adorn themselves. He was here speaking and subverting the merchants expectations yet, all he could do was ask how the other was ‘awake’. Something his dream self thought appropriate. They were both sleeping, that man was some figment of something he could not place.

Distant noises of explosions, of magic colliding with whatever dark shape lingered in the fog. He couldn’t place if they’d been there, but they seemed the same as what he saw in the mirror. There was a hunt going on, and that made him wary even more that this was a trick of his sleeping mind. What better to torment himself with than another mage turned monster. He felt his arm throb, a permanent reminder of his encounter with the last. He could pray to Fortune all he wanted, for a swift victory and an end to the nightmare.

 His distrust melted as the man sided with him to bring Elene to safety. He could barely think for himself, the help was needed greatly. He felt tired in the dream, just as he did in the reality, and how convincing it was. The other spoke of getting out, that help would come. His dream self thinking her family would come for her, they cared more of her well being than he thought, being a tool to benefit them, and any moment looking for a chance to pass upon the prospect of her marrying Yorro and instead finding her hand taken by either of his elder brothers. 

They'd spoken at length of Witchfinders, at the edge of the fog of Mead, helping or perhaps studying the downed citizens and mages. He was worried they would take dream Elene from him, to study her, how it affected non-mages. Something more about the monster in the mist, Yorro hadn't been able to see it clearly, only long shadowy bones towering above and out of sight. Not even any other mages, there were bodies, but most seemed to be commoners, deep asleep. The darkness of night near blinded him as the pair moved Elene via a makeshift tent stretcher. She hardly stirred, and by the end the man had aided him to the banks of a stream. He owed him, this wandering soul. Helping him even in a dream. But who he owed the most was his love. Sleeping still despite their exit from the fog and the dampness of the grass that darkened her clothes.

It was always how nightmares went, he supposed, not as one wanted, and as Yorro knelt to feel the chilled neck of his betrothed, he'd think not even lucid dreaming could help. She didn't move, she didn't respond to his voice. He could still feel warmth and a pulse in her, but she was getting colder. He’d pull off his coat with some effort and ginger movement from his wounded arm, the pain felt dulled, draping it over her form.

After a time he'd stopped speaking to her. Did it matter if he saved the dream her? Did he not hold her in reality? Would her dream family come from Skystead  or would this all vanish into obscurity as he awoke. Or should the dream shift?

It felt so real, and all the while his confusion grew. It could be both realities were dreams, this one a dream within another. But he'd never experience that either. All he could hope was that he wasn't in some coma, suffering or wasting away, bringing despair to the few loved ones he held dear. If he ever awoke, he dreaded finding that she’d have her child without him at her side, without support from anyone. Surely his mother would be with her, but their relationship was of convenience. She was her son’s betrothed, and he had the feeling his mother didn’t approve of the arrangement, yet her voice fell on deaf ears when her husband's word was law. 

His voice came with more sadness than he expected, softly speaking to the dream with a futile desperation, “Elene, I need you to wake up. Tell me what is real..” He’d brush his hand over her bangs, sticking to her sleeping face. She looked peaceful at first, but that would soon turn to turmoil. Her body stirring in sleeping jerks as if fraught with fear and despair. Yorro leaned over her protectively, first thinking something nearby had brought her reaction, but his eyes failed him in finding anything and instead he was left with the soft-unintelligible mutterings of her voice, her face slightly contorted in a wince. He tried in vain to listen but he couldn’t understand and no amount of jostling or calling her name roused her from the terror she suffered. 

All he could do was watch helplessly as she stayed trapped in that endless sleep, resting his head on her chest to feel it rise with each breath. She was still alive, at least he could be sure of that. His left hand found its way over her stomach, waiting expectantly for the stirring of the babe, yet all was still.  Fortune let them be only sleeping.