The headache proved fatal to his brainstorming session, as his mind periodically chose to blank out and stare into space. He had considered passing himself off as a simple Cygnan traveler, but the chances were that the council was probably attended by a Cygnan representative. In all honesty, his own confusion and migraine stopped him from thinking of any other alternative aside from telling the truth: that he wasn't from Vainqueur.
He shuddered to think of the possible responses from the council.
Dullahan shifted slightly closer towards the hallway within his cell, huddling his cloak closer. He'd consumed half of the ale Kiel provided; the other half was spent washing his head wound.
Yet somehow, the stench of blood lingered on still.
It's the bars, he reassured himself. They're iron. They're similar, but they're not the same. Your mind's playing tricks with you.
He refrained from asking for more liquor; this moment would pass. He was sure of it. He couldn't risk himself walking into the council meeting half-drunk. He needed to be sober, and he needed his brains to think.
Somehow, his brain was being overly active at this juncture, much to his own dismay.
No. There were no corpses at the other corner. No, I'm not going over there to confirm that.
He reached for his bow, usually slung across his shoulder. He made contact with thin air, instead. The border patrol took his possessions. Fair enough, but totally not something he appreciated right now.
Dullahan was no longer looking at the empty parchment before him- he was staring at the darkness of the cell, terror gripping at his every jittering move.
Kiel quietly brooded over his desk, still unable to figure out where he had met the man before. There was an odd feeling of deja vu, but not quite- but that could be applied to pretty much all the memories he retained from during the war. Back then, still a fresh recruit, he could remember clearly that he was assigned to a brigade under the now-revered General Rosch.
The details on his first assignment and all subsequent events, however, was generally shut out from him. The most confusing one being that he actually remembered dying. But somehow, he was still here. That did wonders to sober himself up and stop being overly childish. God, the nightmares.
He did voice his concerns with Dr. Sonja, though, and she had reassured him that quite a few people have had this off-feeling ever since 'the Event' three years ago- a top-secret Alistel project that involved Granorg. Well, at least he thought it was.
Well, the Event was, after all, the major subject of tension between the two nations. There were drunken theories running about, claiming that the Event was probably some continent-wide manipulation of mana, especially those focusing on memories- but top guns from almost every field couldn't find evidence to support the rumours; and thus they remained as rumours.
"Mrrrrrrr," Kiel's forehead collided with the desk, throwing the desk lamp into a slight flicker. Sure, he didn't need to mull over it, but something at the back of his mind told him that this particular feeling of familiarity was important. Could be someone who he liked very much, someone he looked up to- "oh, I don't know," he whined defeatedly.
Kiel's train of thoughts was stopped abruptly, however, when suspicious sounds emanated from the prisoner's cell.
As much as he'd like to give the prisoner a benefit of doubt, Kiel reached for his blade as he stepped down the hallway to investigate.
"Heather, where are you!" the voice- the prisoner's- was shaken, and confusingly so.
Kiel quickened his pace, not bothering with his sword, as he stepped into the cell's view.
Who was he kidding? He was in a fortress dungeon, rich with the history of war. Of course he was going to be having nightmares. Getting thrown into a cell here, of all places was the last thing on his itinerary. He had such confidence in Heather that he literally waltzed straight into the Sand Fortress. The fuck was he thinking? Trying to relive the idea that yes, he's an unchecked murderer, burning down villages, getting his own brigade killed, and ordered the massacre of unwilling civilians? A traitor who abandoned his own lord?
All of whom were eager to see him dead? Eager to tear him apart, the moment he wasn't watching? When he direly needed sleep? When he was with his friends and family?
Heather can change that, but she isn't here.
It was true that he haven't heard from Heather since he found himself on this unknown continent. He should've been more suspicious and more careful- but he now knew that he was all alone.
Alone with those imaginary eyes staring at him from the shadows- he knew very well that they were imaginary, a product of his imbecilic thoughts- ready to swallow him whole.
There was a loud banging of metal hinges, and Dullahan felt himself being lifted to his feet, and dragged out of the cell- and away from the nightmares.
Kiel hadn't expected the man to be a war veteran, but there he was, showing every sign of being one.
His brief internship with Dr. Sonja before being transferred back into the armed divisions gave the young jailer all the exposure he needed to deal with post-war soldiers- and it was never pretty. Sure, he was no expert in medicine, but he could probably calm the prisoner down, somewhat.
It was against protocol to get someone out of their cells unauthorised, but he knew he was doing the right thing.
Kiel made the older man sit next to the desk, pouring some fresh water from his personal keg- something rare and treasured this far away from Alistel (courtesy of General Rosch during his last visit). He shoved the mug into the prisoner's hands, making sure he took a drink, before eyeing him warily.
It was a few, long minutes before they made eye contact. "... Sorry, I need to get out of here," the prisoner- Dullahan, was it?- said, swallowing uncomfortably as he wiped away at his sweaty palms and face into a fistful of his cloak.
"Yeah, I know," Kiel said carefully, eyeing the corridors and stretching his ears to hear for any activity upstairs- nothing out of the ordinary. Thankfully he was the only man on duty down here this afternoon; otherwise, he would've had to wiggle his way out of explaining this to his colleagues and superior. Which was also never pretty.
... Yeah, this guy's not the Sergeant, Kiel thought, slightly bemused before stopping himself. Which sergeant?
Nevertheless, Kiel followed the prisoner's gaze everywhere- and carefully kept his weapon out of the other's reach. "Just hang on a while more; you're up next with the council. Just think about that, nothing else." Kiel gave a childish grin, hoping to lighten the prisoner's mood.
As his nightmares began to subside, his sane mind re-emerged, insistently shoving the idea of breaking out at his face. What, and be ungrateful? How low can you get? Dullahan frowned.
The hour of the council meeting could not come sooner.