Waking up

He woke up to the sound of the morning bell, with first rays of sunshine burning through his closed eyelids and straight into his brain.

The pain he felt was immense, but even worse was lingering sensation of sickness that sloshed inside his chest, and washed over his hands and feet. It was a rotten feeling of something toxic crawling through his veins, burning him from the inside.

His head pulsated with every heartbeat and dull ringing echoed in his ears. With numb swollen fingers Henrick grasped the sheets and dragged them over his eyes, familiar darkness enveloped his senses and he managed to take a long, ragged breath.

Henrick struggled to breathe as torturous minutes dragged on impossibly slowly. After a long time, through mind-numbing pain he finally managed to grasp a part of his new reality and his first conscious thought told him that something was very, very wrong.

The fact that he was shaking, wrapped in a sweaty, bloody sheets smelling awfully of shit and piss was enough of an indication that something was not as it was supposed to be.

Helpless to do anything about it he soon fell into fevered dreams and time dragged on once more.

Through periods of nauseating delirium and tortured wakefulness Henrick barely noticed people going in and out of his room, changing his bedsheets and cleaning him up.

Suffocating in his misery he had nothing else to do but listen to his surroundings, and after what felt like eternity, he finally managed to clear his thoughts enough to comprehend a part of the conversation that took place on the other side of thick, wooden doors that barred entrance to his current quarters.

Angry, powerful voice of his "brother" boomed through the door, positively radiating with threats of imminent violence.

"I waited long enough, it is my right to see him. Now move out of my way or I will cut you down."

The other voice, somewhat familiar in Henricks new and foggy memories, was muffled, barely audible and thick with regret. It answered back.

"Lord Dorian, I regret to inform you that master Edwards orders, given to me quite some time ago, are still in clear contradiction with your wants. While I would like to comply with your request, I am afraid that until my orders are changed, aside from the healers, I simply cannot let anyone pass into his quarter, least of all you.”

There was a sound of creaking wood, like something heavy just shifted weight, and in his mind Henrick could almost see Dorians imposing figure leaning over the much smaller man baring his passage. It was not mere words, not exactly, that could be heard through the doors, more like a rumble, or a growl filled with meaning that escaped from Dorians’s throat.

"Listen to me well Guardian, I am his brother, the second prince, inheritor of the throne. Whatever his orders were to you, well-meant or not, I do not care. I do not care if you have no choice, I have no time for empathy, not for you. Not at this moment…. Now…. move out of my way."

The second voice, one that Henrick finally managed to recognize from his usurped memories, belonged to a man named Samuel, who was Edwards one and only Royal guard.

Samuel’s answer was quiet, almost resigned.

"I am sorry, I would beg you to go inside if the situation was different, but I can't let you pass. I am immensely gratefully for bringing him to the healers, but master Edwards orders were clear, he is not to be disturbed if he is unwell, especially by family members. I cannot let you in."

There was a short silence filled with heavy breathing of something large and angry and then, unannounced and very suddenly, sound of swords being drawn ringed through the air.

But someone was faster than the blades being bared. There was a loud, violent thud, like a thunder crashing in the distance, and his Guardian crashed through closed doors and flew across the room, his hand still desperately grasping the half-drawn sword by his side.

Samuel sailed over the entire room and finally crashed headfirst into the solid oak nightstand at the bottom of Henricks bed. His head splintered the wood of said sturdy piece of furniture and he slumped there, unconscious.

Squeezing through now "opened" doors came Dorian, followed by entourage of his guardians. With a few heavy steps he approached the bed and dragged the cowers off of his brothers face.

In disbelief he stared at the sight of his younger brother, who violently shook in his covers.

He was changed, barely half the weight than he was just a few days ago when he went to fetch him from the brothel. Sweaty and shaking, Edward was pale from the blood loss. His skin was yellowish and it was painfully stretched across his protruding ribs. His fingernails were broken, or in some cases, cleanly plucked away to expose the bloody flesh underneath. Bloodshot eyes blinked at him, unfocused and lost, with strange glow glimmering in his pupils.

"Brother..."

He started, but Edward suddenly fully opened his eyes and pierced him with a painful stare, with half opened mouth he quietly whispered something.

Kneeling down to his side Dorian leaned in to listen, while with his hand he swept the sweat from Edwards's brow.

"I'm listening brother, whatever you need."

Barely breathing, Edward mouthed through dry lips, weakly and quietly.

"…Get out..."

Dorian was not caught completely by surprise it was true, but the words still felt like someone showed a knife of betrayal between his ribs. For all that happened between them he still loved his brother and he hoped Edward would think the same once his mind cleared.

But before disappointment and pain fully registered in Dorians’s mind, Edward continued to whisper through shallow breaths.

"…Get out… I… I can’t… get out… i… I can’t get out Dorian… haaa… from this… don't…."

Wheezing, Edward gasped for air, and Dorian could do nothing else but look at him.

His brother was suffering, trapped in some fevered dream. Dorian felt both sorrow and relief, for his brother was not completely lost, the mix of emotions playing havoc on his mind.

Powerless, he swept Edwards sweaty hair from his forehead and left the room.

Once in the hallway he joined the two healers that waited outside.

"What is wrong with him?"

Silent and serene the two healers stared into his eyes.

They wouldn't talk, he knew that.

Healers were a strange sect, while they worked primarily for the king and royalty they were still an organization on their own and of their own making, with illogical and mystifying rules that they followed blindly. No matter the threats, tortures or rewards, they wouldn't reveal their patients’ secrets.

No matter to whom, be it peasants or kings, family or friends. Without explicit request from the patient, or the chance that someone else could help their patient when they couldn’t, they would never share secrets with others, be it about their trade or the state of their charges.

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It was fools’ business to question them.

"What is wrong with him?"

Expectedly, only silence answered him.

Tired and defeated Dorian turned away and stomped through the hallway and out of his brother's quarters, his Guardians following after him.

On the night that his brother fell ill he carried him straight to the house of healing where Edward was taken into their care. How his brother’s guardian managed to spirit him away from the house and bring him back to his quarters, and why did the healers let him do so, Dorian truly didn't know, but it didn't matter now anyway.

Healers had a way of finding their patients, and it was clear that Edward was still under their care, even if they let him return to his part of the palace.

His guardian must have allowed them to tend to his brother in his quarters, else they wouldn’t have let him take Edward back in the first place. And if he was not confined to the Healing house, where they had all rituals and magic to help him, then the healers must have decided that there is nothing else to do than to wait.

Dorian sighed. If that was the case then there was little, he or anyone else could do.

As Dorian walked away two of the healers entered into Edwards room through now broken doors and without any hesitation started to do their bidding.

Without a single uttered word one healer headed straight for Edward while the other focused his attention on to Samuel, who was still lying unconscious on the floor.

They worked in silence, changing filthy sheets and applying healing oils where they were necessary, also iced water for swollen bruises on Samuel’s head and healing drafts for both of their patients.

As soon as they were done, they left the same way they entered, quietly and without a word.

Henrick or Edward, depending on the view, lay on his bed weak and tired, but now at least clean. And Samuel, who was now awake once again, stood in the doorway guarding the entrance while other servants came to replace the broken doors.

Unwillingly Henrick closed his eyes and sleep overtook him.

When he woke again it was morning, which meant that at least a day had passed.

Looking around he noticed empty bottles and pitchers surrounding him. His entire room smelled intensely of healing salves and potions.

That obviously meant that he was still in process of healing, which he supposed was both good and bad.

Second thing that caught his attention was the fact that Samuel was nowhere in sight, and that someone replaced the broken doors with a new one.

Still not feeling well he sunk back into warm covers and closed his eyes, trying to make sense of what was wrong with him.

The ritual worked, obviously.

If it didn’t, he wouldn't be here. And not that it just worked, it worked perfectly, he was sure of that.

With spells of such magnitude and intent you couldn't make mistakes without terrible consequences.

And given that he was still alive and kicking, with both his and his deceased hosts memories intact, the ritual obviously worked perfectly.

Still feeling a dull pain in his limbs, and aching need in his heart, he tried to remember what could have gone wrong.

There he stumbled on a slight problem.

While his old memories worked perfectly, all of the newfound ones got completely hazy when he tried to remember certain things.

Something was wrong with them, and it was not that he was missing a part of them, but rather it was like they were all covered in thick fog of confusion.

His own memories as Henrick were more vivid, truer, to describe it better. His own soul resonating with the truth of his being, while his new memories as the prince were more like information learned from the books. His memories too, but only as knowledge, not as the truth.

He knew most of the basic memories, such as his name, which was Edward. And he was also aware that he was eleventh child of the emperor, and that he had twelve other brothers and sisters, among other, less important information.

But something was still amiss.

Unexpectedly, another shudder went through him and he curled up in fetal position. Pain flared through his brain and cold sweat covered him while cold spikes pierced him through his spine and lungs, leaving him out of breath.

Vision of something bright and blue danced across his mind and he cursed.

Few more hours passed before he managed to regain consciousness.

Still sweating he shivered from the cold, even while wrapped in thick warm furs and cowers.

He now had some notion of what was wrong with him, but weak as he was, he just couldn't fully comprehend what it was.

Whenever he came close to the answer his mind clouded and another wave of sickness washed over him.

So, without much choice he stayed curled up and tried to get some rest.

Time passed and sun slowly set, his room grew dim.

After untold hours of rest Henrick was still laying in his bed and shaking with fever when unspeakable rage suddenly filled him to the brim, overflowing his mind and body.

Not really understanding what was happening he clutched his pillow with pale hands and occasionally, when pain became too much, he bit into it and screamed until his voice broke.

It lasted for hours, wave after wave of rage, then saddens, followed by nauseating sickness that left him retching all over the floor. Trapped in his own private hell he let the symphony of emotions play through, ripping through his mind over and over again until he was too tired to feel anything.

Finally spent he was left alone laying in his bed, feeling empty and lost.

In this state he barely noticed when Samuel entered the room and approached him.

Gently he grabbed him by the shoulders and carefully seated him up.

Consumed by insanity Henrick did his best not to cry out in pain as he stared, dead eyed, in front of him.

He was vaguely aware that Samuel was pleading him something, but he simply couldn't focus on the words.

Suffering, he sat petrified with pain, staring lifelessly into the wall opposite of him. Through shallow breaths he gasped quiet cries of agony, rasping and shaking all the while.

Samuel continued his pleads for a while but stopped once he understood he wasn't getting through to him.

Unwillingly, he reached into his coat and pulled something out of it.

Henrick didn't really understand him, but the words still reached his ears as Samuel cried to him. Begging he reached and offered him something from his open palms.

"I did as you ordered my lord, but I beg you, please, don't take it. For all that is holly I plead you, don't."

It glimmered and shined, bright, blue and silver.

Drawn to it, Henrick's eyes followed, transfixed.

World suddenly shifted, everything around him broke and paled until only that bright blue light remained.

Possessed, he grabbed it out of Samuels's hands and with inhuman strength showed him away.

Stumbling, Samuel fell to the floor and with tears in his eyes turned to his master, who was now kneeling on the floor with small glowing bottle in his hands.

He stared at it in amazement, his face full of pure, unnatural bliss. Panting, he uncorked the small engraved bottle and froze.

Henrick stared into silvery bright and blue light that danced in his hand while vapors of indescribable pleasure filled his nostrils and penetrated his very being.

Something heavy, like entire universe, weighted in his grasp and waited on him. It was consuming, overwhelmingly beautiful. Like power incarnate it burned in his hand and called to him. It was his and his alone.

His lips parted slightly to consume this pure essence of the universe that lay before him, and then something slipped through his mind. Something… something… like a message or a warning. It screamed to him:

THINK.

It's time to stop.

Confused, he carefully and very slowly, stopped, while in his mind a warning resounded, that something was awfully wrong.

With Inhuman willpower Henrick focused on the object in his hand. His entire mind strained under the effort, and through pain and longing, his vision, ever so slowly, cleared.

Glowing In his hand, contained in a crystal bottle engraved in silver and gold, sloshed pure, liquid, Lyrium.

Something cold fell into his stomach and his face melted from bliss to terror.

Implications crashed through his head and everything fell in place.

He was a Lyrium addict.

Anger took him by force, burning through terror and weakness as he started to shake. The bottle in his hand vibrated dangerously.

Like HELL. It won't go this way, not in seven hells will he go this way, after all he did.

That fucking bitch of a boy, may he burn in deepest hell for eternity, but he won't end here.

"Master…"

Samuel called in concern, as Henrick shook in place, staring furiously at the bottle in his hand.

"Master please…"

But Henrick started to pant in anger, and tears streamed down his face. He stood there frozen with wrath, pinned in place by hatred while Lyrium glowed brightly in his hand.

"My lord…"

"Arhgg… argh… hrrr… hrrrr…"

With every breath Henrick took he growled and his expression darkened again and again until only madness could be seen upon his features.

"…please my lord…"

It was here that Henrick snapped.

"AAAAAAARRRRR!…"

With unmatched fury he screeched and still shaking with rage he hurled the bottle at the wall.

Explosion of blue fire echoed through the room and flames spread over the wall and wardrobe, quickly swallowing everything in their path, from mirrors and tapestries to wooden furniture, everything quickly took to the flame.

"…AAARGGH...AAARR…"

In growing chaos that engulfed the room, Henrick screamed. Falling to his knees he doubled over and screeched into his opened palms again and again.

Illuminated by the blue glow of the magical fire that burned through everything in its path, he screamed in pain.

Like someone who just lost everything he wailed into his fingers, which like claws he dug into his face.

Torn by fear, Samuel screamed his master's name and reached for him in desperate attempt to get him out of the burning room.

But before he managed to reach him, Edward gasped and still kneeling, straightened like someone just stabbed him in the back.

Frozen in horror Samuel could only watch.

Sudden pressure filled the room, flames snuffed out and shuffling mass of power flooded the space, devouring every sound until for a heartbeat everything fell silent.

Then, bloodcurdling scream escaped Edwards’s mouth and lightning danced around him.

From his hands and eyes streamed bolts of pure magic fire, and bluish glow of power emanated from his chest.

Like in a prayer and still screaming in pain he raised his hands above his head, and from outside, and from Edward himself, lightning and fire exploded into the room.

Pure mage-fire ripped and carved through outer walls of the castle, and in stunning explosion, pieces of glass and marble were flung everywhere, while deafening boom echoed through the night.

Once again Samuel found himself launched through the thick oak doors, but this time accompanied by flurry of debris that exploded through the room.

Taught by previous experience he covered his head as he crashed through closed doors and into the wall outside, where he slipped to the floor, hurt but conscious.

Dazed he stood up and in panic staggered back into the room where his master was laying among the settling dust and flames.

In a hurry he crashed to the floor by Edwards side and turned him on his back, checking for any kind of injury.

In the settling cloud of dust, he inspected his master’s body and found to his surprise and relief that he was miraculously unharmed, if a little dusty.

Holding him close to his side Samuel sagged with relief as he watched his lord. Who now finally slept peacefully and calmly, through deep healthy breaths.

Outside of the room, down in the garden at which the windows were once looking, and through entire castle, knights were marching with swords drawn and doors were being locked.

Dorian himself, woken by the explosion and still in his sleepwear, armed with a great sword in his hand, raced through the castle halls and straight to direction of his brother's room.

Following him were his guardians, and wherever they passed castle stirred and woke.

Everything was set in highest alert, entrances were being locked down, and plans were set in motion against possible assailants or assassins.

Far from the bustle of the waking castle, deep inside the throne room, seated on the golden throne, emperor of mankind, and king of kings stirred in concern.

Lifting his gaze away from the map of the empire, he looked out of the throne room and towards the entrance where his subjects were already doing everything he could have done in his place.

Still concerned for the wellbeing of his son he patiently sat and waited for a word from Dorian.

He cursed himself for being so blind, but duties of a King could not be ignored, and now one more of his sons suffered for it.

How he wished he could have paid more attention to his children, to delegate responsibility and be a better father, but truth was as it always was, ugly.

It was not just a blessing to be chosen by gods, to enforce peace and stability across the realm, it was also a duty that could not be avoided. No matter the price.

Even so, he had the power to do much, and whatever was wrong with his son had finally come to the surface, and no matter the enormity of the problem he would help him, damned if he didn't.

With patience of someone as old as he was, he stilled and waited.

That was all he could do right now.