Gwyn’s eyes opened to a familiar ceiling – white and curved. It belonged to the Aqueenian hospital, which at the moment didn’t seem too different from the Nun hospital, other than the curved architecture the Aqueenians seemed to prefer. He shuddered at the thought that hospital rooms were the thing he was becoming most familiar with on Resh when another, more important thought entered his mind.
“How did I get here?”
He didn’t mean to say anything aloud, or perhaps he wanted to determine if someone was in the room with him, waiting for him to wake. A few moments of silence told him he was alone.
The Nonpareil groaned and did his best to push himself up. His left arm was weak, as always, but his whole body felt especially heavy on top of that. The sight would have been amusing to watch as he squirmed from under the blankets like a caterpillar, deciding it didn’t want to spend any longer in its chrysalis. Once upright, his back pressed to the bed's headrest – curved, of course – he looked around the room.
Rubbing the right side of his torso, where the shoulder transitioned into the neck, he pondered what might have happened. The last thing he could remember was being in his room, alone, save for Mem being there. Then he went into a dream; he was sure it was a dream he had just woken from, but the details were scarce, slipping away every second he remained awake. He tried to grasp for something to recall but quickly gave up, deciding a dream that couldn’t be remembered must not have been worth remembering.
It still didn’t explain why he was in the hospital or why the portion of his upper torso stung so badly he felt he needed to rub it.
Taking a couple of deep breaths, unsure if he was exhausted or suddenly out of shape, he slid his feet to the edge of the bed and pressed them on the cold floor. Almost immediately, as if it was timed, the door slid open, and Fiona rushed in.
“Gwyn!” she shouted as all he saw was a blue-looking blur approach. She embraced him, and he, still unsteady, fell back onto the bed. “You’re awake! And sane!” Fiona said with a voice that sounded like a trembling violin.
The Nonpareil had questions, but there was a more pressing matter first.
“Fiona, get off. My side!” The blue princess had fallen along with him and was too busy hugging to realize he was in pain—though he was unsure why it stung so badly. It felt as though something had burned him recently.
She let go immediately and zapped away from him to the wall. Making a slight cough and keeping her head aimed at her feet, she spoke.
“Anyway, the doctor probably wants to talk to you,” she said in a voice that seemed to be forcing down her previous excitement without hiding it.
Gwyn, having not realized another had entered, turned to a blue Aqueenian man in a white coat. He made a noise with his throat that sounded like he was trying to clear it or perhaps trying to focus attention on him.
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“Nonpareil, your case has been… rather extreme, I must say.”
“My case?” Gwyn looked at his body, only to notice several large red spots on his left arm and dried, irritated skin on his right. His eyes were wide, and he didn’t notice the doctor speaking until part of the way through his monologue.
“…took several days to stabilize, and removing the growth was challenging—fortunately, that arm was already low functioning, so we could take more risks. Nothing internal was touched. We had to experiment some with the medicine… ah.”
The doctor had stopped and looked to the side. Gwyn turned to see an unhappy expression on Fiona’s face quickly turn to a smile at his gaze. The doctor coughed and continued,
“Anyway, Nonpareil, as I said before, you have contracted a rare, dare I say mythical, disease known as Hanwell. It is… said to be contracted from drinking the blood of an Unkillable… we think when you fought one before… and were eaten… you may have picked it up.”
“Uh-huh,” Gwyn replied. He was sure his expression was blanker than the smooth, white Aqueenian hospital walls. The doctor rubbed the back of his head, apparently unsure of what to say next. “So, am I… going to die?” he finally added after a long moment of silence.
“Die? Not at all!” The doctor’s stance loosened, and he pulled two cases from his pocket. “This here,” he said while pointing to a blue case, “you should take once every morning, and this,” he pointed to a red case, “you take on an as-needed basis; it will help if symptoms flair up!”
Gwyn said nothing as the doctor happily dropped the medicine into Gwyn’s shaky hands. “If that is all, I recommend you get some rest for now!” he added before darting out the door.
The Nonpareil turned to Fiona with a raised eyebrow. She shook her blue head.
“Believe it or not, he’s the best doctor here… your condition just stumped everyone.”
“What happened?”
Fiona crossed her arms and walked across the room, turning and leaning back on a different white wall so she could face Gwyn without making him turn his head.
“Like he said, you have a rare condition. I guess it makes scaly growths as hard as rocks spread across your body and makes you more susceptible to becoming like a beast….”
Gwyn pressed his back to the bed’s headboard. He didn’t say anything and let Fiona continue after a brief pause. “Apparently, the growth started around your heart; that’s why you’ve gone so long without knowing. It will keep trying to spread, and if it gets too far along… well, the legends say the people afflicted turned into statues….”
Gwyn closed his eyes tight and pressed his right hand to his forehead, where he began to feel it sting. “I see,” he said.
“But!” Fiona’s voice turned chipper, “The doctor says the medicine will keep things stable!”
Gwyn sighed.
“Where’s Mem, by the way?” he asked. The air in between sentences was quiet with his Needaimus’ snark commentary.
“Your Needaimus is… resting. It seems you accidentally triggered the overclocking process, and… well, it takes a toll on a Needaimus, or at least that’s what Sun told me.”
Gwyn looked up at the plain white ceiling. He wanted to go back into his room—get some peace and quiet—but that had been the very place his condition got the better of him. He doubted they would leave him alone now; he didn’t even know what to do, what he was trying to do. He just didn’t want to get hurt again, and yet he ended up hurt all the same.
“Could I just have some time alone?” he asked, unsure how his voice sounded.
“Oh… yes, you… should take some time to rest!”
Fiona left before Gwyn could get another word in, leaving him to a silent room and his thoughts.
He shifted, so he laid on his back and tried to recall the dream once again. He felt like he had spoken with someone. The phrase ‘What’s wrong with being a coward’ popped into his mind. Had he said it, or someone else? The Nonpareil didn’t know. He just knew he was tired. The room seemed to grow darker as his eyelids ended. Soon, he was asleep once again.