There was no honour in what he had to do.

The girl was fond of him. He knew it by her actions; by the way she stared at him when she thought he wasn't looking. By the way she would half-smile every time they conversed, no matter what the topic was. Even when he'd fought the magic compelling his every action, and bluntly asked her about her heritage…

She'd smiled at him. But that time it had been a sad smile.

They trusted him. They hadn't always, and with good reasons; some had openly shown suspicion, but she'd never allowed them to confront him about their concerns. She trusted him, just as she trusted everyone she travelled with, and with time it had been enough for the others.

He didn't love her. He wasn't even fond of her, not in the way a man can become fond of a woman. No. He respected her, he… he liked her well enough. He'd found out who she really was, and the mistaken assumptions he'd conceived at the height of his own personal misery were washed away. He'd been too hasty to blame, too reckless. It wasn't like him. It'd be the death of him.

But still her eyes would follow him, dropping to the ground almost shyly whenever he was fast enough to meet her gaze. She was young; so young. So young and naïve, just as he'd once been. But life had given him experience and anguish and hurt and pain. He could remember the bad so clearly, but why couldn't he remember the good?

Home was so far away. And family…? It was family that had brought him to these levels of despair, though through no fault of their own. Or had they? His sister had loved a madman, and the cost had been almost unbearable. Now she loved a madman, for he knew he was certainly going mad, if not mad already; what would her cost be? Her life? Not if he could help it – and he could. But how…

There was no honourable way. He was trapped on a path he'd created alone, and he could blame no one else for it.

They weren't even friends though he tried his hardest to be the best companion he was able to be. It was hard. He was always driven by the arcane power that held him in a vice-like grip, and that power wished her no benevolence. But it wanted her alive and unharmed, so he could protect her. He could fight with her. He had fought with her. He wouldn't regret that.

But he'd also led her here, to this place; to this Asylum, where the inmates shared his madness. But none of them shared his guilt. None of them had surely acted so cruelly to those loyal to them; to those who had considered him more than a comrade on the road.

He couldn't meet her eyes, though he knew she was watching him. He wondered if she was still smiling. They'd come here for her sister, to rescue her and free her from the wizards. But they were wrong. There were no wizards left here, except for those who were already insane. He knew that. He'd known it for lifetime, or so it felt, but he'd been unable to do anything about it. It was part of the plan, just as his presence in their company had been part of the plan. He was there to ensure their arrival.

And he'd wanted them to arrive, at first. But then he'd met her and she'd been frankly open. By then, though, it was too late.

They huddled together in the vast hall, waiting for their guide to appear. The doors let in a chill; it was quiet. Too quiet for his liking. All was calm. The plan was going exactly as intended.

He briefly considered telling her, warning her of what was to come. A blistering pain seared through his mind, forcing him to close his eyes and clench his teeth, staggering slightly as he fought away the conspiring thoughts.

A few looks were directed at him. He looked away from them all quickly, he couldn't even pretend any more. They'd done nothing to him; Tamoko had disappeared, but that had been Anchev's fault. Blaming the guiltless had been a mistake; a convenient fix for his own remorse.

Something brushed against his hand. He tensed, his eyes looking over sideways to where she stood. She looked worried. Her fingers gently wrapped around his.

"Are you all right?"

He wasn't all right. He was in an impossible position and he couldn't even tell her that. He opened his mouth, ready to say a few words, but small stabs of pain returned, warningly. He sighed.

"I have been better, my friend" he managed at last, forcing himself to smile. She smiled in return; her cheeks pinked slightly.

He'd never hated himself more than he did right then.