A/N: Hello and welcome to the new story! Before we begin, I'd like to extend my thanks to everyone who supported the story Unwilling Night till the very end, including my most recent reviewers: Lady Weavile 461, Emozenith (you just keep giving me happy tingles!) and Akage987!

(Also, the cover art for this fic was drawn for me by VerdeICe! Gracias amigo!)

Enjoy!

Gangrel stood alone in the training grounds, his practice blade thudding against the padded dummy again and again. It was a mindless repetition, the same strikes over and over again.

The Mad King had gone through a transformation in the last month and a half, and it was not a positive one: he ate less than usual, hardly consuming more than a pound of food a day,and practiced drills with a near obsessive frequency. He was also refusing to sleep until his body gave up on consciousness altogether. As a result, he had lost too much weight, his skin stretched taut over his muscle, and his features were gaunt. He hardly looked like himself; it were as if he had aged twenty years.

Lon'qu was watching him practice. The Plegian showed absolute indifference to anyone and anything that crossed his path these days, so the Shepherds would occasionally take up the task of keeping an eye on him. Gangrel simply didn't care anymore.

The Feroxi swordsmaster stepped forward and placed a hand on the trickster's shoulder, halting the endless attacking.

"I would like to join you," Lon'qu said in his usual deep tones. Gangrel turned away from the dummy and brought his blunted blade up in something of a salute. The Feroxi returned the gesture and they added a few paces of distance between them. Without needing words, they charged one another.

Again and again their blades crossed, steel ringing. Lon'qu was silently impressed at the force Gangrel was mustering in his swings, but that completely expressionless face was worrying to say the least. It were as if his soul had been drained out of his body, leaving a pale imitation of the brilliant personality that had once resided there.

Morgan was watching over his father-as always-from the camp. These past several weeks had been stressful for him, and he was doing his best to care for Gangrel, but it was difficult when the older man refused to acknowledge the person trying to help.

"At it again?" said a voice with a distinctive country twang.

"Yep," the grandmaster replied. Donny shook his head, pot wobbling at the motion.

"Least he's gotta way to cope some," the former farmer remarked. "When my Pa passed, Ma and I had to work the fields to help us keep goin'. I was plumb right terrified when Gangrel refused to eat at all the firs' week. Thought he'd waste away. But he's gotten a bit better, ain't he?"

"Only a bit," Morgan muttered. "He still hasn't spoken a word since...that day."

There was an uncomfortable silence between the two as they continued to watch the duel. Lon'qu called for a halt and gestured for Gangrel to come sit with him for a rest. The trickster obeyed, his apathy never fading one jot, and stared numbly ahead, seeming to not take anything in.

"He will get better...right?" Morgan asked plaintively. Donny shrugged.

"Up ta him. 'Course if Nisha does come back like she promised, I bet he'll turn around right quick."

"Somehow, I don't think Father is looking for a miracle," the grandmaster muttered.

"That's up ta him," Donny repeated. "All ya can do is be there for 'im."

Morgan rubbed the back of his neck anxiously, heaving a sigh. The farm boy patted him on the back comfortingly.

Gangrel's head turned towards where his son and Donny stood, his face expressionless. He did not acknowledge that they were there, just looked blankly at them. It were as if he were trapped in his own little world, unable or unwilling to break out.

"Do you wish to continue our match?" Lon'qu asked the Mad King softly. The Plegian gave no sign he had heard the words aside from standing again and resuming his attack on the practice dummy.

The swordsmaster got to his feet as well and watched Gangrel for a moment before he left the training ground, taking a moment to rest his palm on Morgan's shoulder in an act of sympathy. Then both he and Donnel strode off into the rest of the camp in silence, leaving the young man to watch his father sadly. At length, he strode towards the older man and spoke softly.

"Father...I think you've done enough for today."

The trickster paused for a moment before he sheathed his practice blade in the dummy's gut and stepped back, allowing himself to be lead away. He didn't care where Morgan took him; it wouldn't change anything.