Note: There is some drug abuse and drug side effects in this chapter, as well as some unsanitary bits. This is based off a personal experience, I will admit: I got somewhat addicted to morphine when administered to a hospital a few years ago. Some of the things I describe here are closely linked with that. If that is a sensitive topic for you, then please refrain from reading this chapter, or at least go in with caution. Thanks!
Days later, and the first group to relocate camp up north arrived at their destination. They began the process of settling in without any mishaps. Tents were pitched, latrines were dug out, and steeds were tended to. Scouts went out to verify their location and to map out any inconsistencies with Robin's maps, while Frederick took charge of the whole group and delegated different tasks to different people.
Henry found himself assigned to convoy-sorting duty. He had half the nerve to protest, but then Frederick mentioned that Libra was having troubles handling the medical supplies by himself, which caused Henry to have a very good yet a very bad idea. Smile placed on as always, voice bright and chipper to fake degrees, and arms moving in friendly but oddly placed angles—Henry chirped like a bird.
"I'd love to help Libra out~ Where is he, anyway? Did he get killed off while we were walking up here, or what?"
"Refrain from making baseless comments such as those," Frederick retorted. "If any tragedy befell a member of the Shepherds, I would let it be known posthaste. Additionally, if Libra was actually dead, then instead I would be telling you to gather white lilies, and let the others know that they ought to help prepare the death ceremony that Libra has requested."
"Oh, right, funeral preparations and everything~ How tedious." Henry laughed as he relished the look on Frederick's face. It was one of his better scowls, surely! "You were the one that managed all of it, right? Do you still remember my death preparations?"
"Yes, sadly. You requested that your body be set aflame with dark magic, or anything bearing resemblance to black flames. Then you asked for the body to be left for the crows to they feast upon. And then you suggested that a day after the birds have feasted on your flesh, that we take your bones, crush them to ash, and spread them at sea." He appeared only mildly disgusted at the perfect recital of the knowledge he already knew. Part of it was because of the war they were in. With death coming at them left and right, it was only natural to discuss funeral arrangements in the unfortunate (and common) case that a soldier died.
Death and life were sacred things, so people could request anything in that case. Henry's funeral arrangements, however, were completely wild and outlandish. Even more so than Tharja, who shared her Plegian ancestry with Henry, but didn't have half of the grandeur that his plans had. She requested something small, intimate, and flowered-filled. She also asked for people (especially Robin, but that much was a given with her) to say nice things about her as they gathered 'round her body.
"Or what's left of it, anyway," she added on during the arrangement meeting. Frederick conveniently ignored that comment.
But the point was that even Tharja had a tame idea of a funeral! So for Henry's ideas to be so fantastical and far-reaching was not only exasperating, but almost impressive in terms of creativity. Frederick would not concede to this, however, and he kept his face as stony as possible to reinforce his disappointment in the idea.
Henry cackled. "Don't you think normal funerals are too boring? At least mine has the nerve to be creative! But if Libra isn't dead, then where is he?"
"If you are serious about it, then we will adhere to your wishes in the unfortunate case that you were to fall in the midst of battle or otherwise," Frederick noted. "But I dislike jokes on the matter of something as precious as life and death, which is why I showed distaste for your comments in the first place."
"Uh-huh, sure. So where's Libra? And where are the new medic tents, for that matter?"
"They are situated near the mess hall, to the south of it. Libra should be inside the very first tent on the left."
"Thanks, Freddy~" Henry became amused at the idea of Gaius' nickname for him, and laughed at the confused expression on Frederick's face. "See you around, maybe!"
With that, the sorcerer skipped away from the great knight, and retained his usually wide and plastic smile on his face for all the onlookers to see. He had a date with a monk, after all, and the very thought of it excited him to the point where he didn't care about the judgement of others.
Not that he particularly cared for their judgemental thoughts either way, but still!
He had plans formulating in the chasms of his mind, and with any luck he would see them come into fruition sooner than he'd ever imagine. Yes, the very thought of those sedatives flooding his bloodstream with their numbing goodness was exciting in and of itself. The idea that Henry could finally, finally, finally escape pain was entirely liberating and thrilling. All the confusion that his body and his mind have been having—the pains in his chest, stomach, heart, and everywhere else—would finally be erased.
Thinking all of this and more resulted in manic glee flying off of Henry's person, like electric shocks flying out the pages of an Elthunder. And he left behind nothing but smoke and cinders in his wake, with his cloak trailing after him like a lofty shadow of disappointment.
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Henry arrived at Libra's tent without a hitch. Parked behind the tent was one of the convoy wagons, and it was attached to the back of the tent where the flaps lifted up, and one could easily move cargo from the wagon space to the shelves inside. This sight greeted Henry, along with that view of Libra's backside as he moved boxes here and there. He worked with such precision and dedication that he remained completely focused, unseeing of Henry until the sorcerer finally called out to him.
"Hey Libra!" Henry shouted. "I've been assigned to help you clear out the convoy~ What do you need me to do first?"
Libra turned around, and looked quite surprised to see Henry there. Once the initial shock wore off, however, he regained his usually cool exterior, and gave a tiny smile in Henry's direction.
He almost matched Henry for how fake he could make a smile look. This development was already made, however, and therefore it didn't shock Henry as much as it should. So the sorcerer remained unfazed as the monk continued to feign complacency.
"Henry," he greeted him softly. "Good to see you. I thank you for taking the time to help me, I know it must be tiresome for you."
"How could I be tired when Robin hasn't let me do anything fun since the cave incident?" His tone of voice was very joking and cordial, indeed, but like most everything Henry said, there was something sinister and misaligned lurking beneath it. It felt off in every way, but he continued speaking in such a manner.
"But sorting things can be fun! I'm actually good at organization, kind of."
"That's good to hear, at least." Libra sighed as he pointed to some more boxes and baskets, those that were filled to the brim with various bottles of medicine and other supplies. "If you wouldn't mind helping me unpack these, then. If you find anything broken, just leave it there and I'll take care of it."
"Roger that!"
He sprung to action almost immediately. He moved thoughtlessly as he ripped boxes open, tore off basket covers and linings, and grabbed things out from inside. His darkened hands trembled with excitement, and didn't let up at all even when he read various labels and found nothing worth his while. Sure, there were sleeping tonics and stomach aids, not to mention fever patches and vulnerary bottles, but nothing that vaguely resembled a sedative. Or at least, nothing that looked like whatever a sedative looked like. Because the first time Henry encountered that drug was when he was beaten sorely and out of his wits, and for him to remember what they were called—let alone what they might have looked like—was a miracle just by itself.
All he knew was that he would find a description on the label, one that would say something like gets rid of all the ouchies or makes that evil pain finally stop for once in your wretched life. Or at least, something filled with medical jargon that he could read out to be an ender of pain.
"A killer of pain," he whispered to himself. "If pain is a person, then that medicine is its poison. Pain poison? Pain be-gone? Pain...antidote?" He rattled off words from his tongue, losing himself in not-too-uncommon strings of nonsense. His voice was softer than usual, though, and a bit subdued because part of him was aware of his actions, and that part didn't want Libra to catch onto his plan.
The monk would kick him out if he found out the true reason for his being there. The sorcerer was very, very, very decided in his decision that he was going to steal the sedatives from under the medic's nose, and he knew the consequences for something like that, too. Of course, the Shepherds had their fair share of thieves and light-fingered fools alike, but those people usually stole from the treasury or the armory. No one ever thought to steal medicine, mostly because they appreciated its helpfulness, and also because there had never been anything in the history of forever that had stopped pain.
There were magical staves that slowed injuries and erased death, but that did nothing to amend the agony that stayed behind. Henry worked for years to make a curse that dulled one's sense of pain, but it worked as well as other curses in the sense that it nearly killed the recipient, which wasn't exactly the same thing as erasing their pain.
But the solution to Henry's long battle with misery would soon be over. He turned over bottles and bottles of fluids, pills, and other things. He carefully handed Libra several magical staffs imbued with healing magic—those with shiny appearances and good luck charms that undermined the true effects of its work. He even helped unpack several cots and bedding materials. Everything from pillows, arm slings, and even bedpans! All of it got emptied into the tent, and with each diminished box, Henry felt as if he had lost all hope in finding what he wanted.
His luck changed for the better, however, as he found a squat, nondescript box in the very back of the wagon. It was filled with various bottles, plants, and powders, and there were papers on top of them all that were surely for inventory purposes. Henry was thankful that the daylight was bright enough that he could read in the shade of the wagon without breaking through the canvas covering or summoning a fire. He straightened the papers out, and started skimming through its contents.
Eventually, his eyes came upon the important stuff. He read it in broken fragments, mind and eyes skipping over words that were deemed unimportant. All in all, Henry managed to glean: Sedatives...dubbed "painkillers" by staff...extracted from morfiend plants...said to numb senses and dull one's perception of pain...numbs everything in general...recommended for surgery and amputation or otherwise severe operations...not to be used as a regular medium of treatment.
Despite reading the papers with utmost accuracy, Henry strained his eyes through the sentences over and over again. His body shook without his permission, and his breath sounded broken underneath his lips. Luckily, Libra was still focused on his task, or he might come over and check on Henry who was certainly taking too much time. But he couldn't help it—not when the thing he used once and fantasized occasionally about since then was right in front of his eyes.
Henry checked over his shoulder, and noticed that Libra was finishing things up on his end. He would come into the wagon to give its contents a once-over, and in doing so he would see the box and the painkillers, and he would take it away at once. There would be no choice, because according to the records the sedatives were not meant to be in the hands of non-medics. In fact, if people found out that those life-saving, pain-killing drugs were in such near proximity to them, they would riot.
They would take it for themselves, and Henry decided that he wouldn't allow it. If anything, he had to be the one to take care of it, just so he could protect everyone else from its hazardous effects.
With this (hypocritical) resolve in mind, Henry carefully cut a hole through the wagon's cover, and slipped the box through the opening so he could place it outside the wagon. Libra would never see it there, not when the wagon was parked into his medic's tent and not when he would be too absorbed in the things that were present rather than the things that were absent. If he somehow managed to notice that something was gone, though, Henry had to be quick and smart about hiding it. He had to get out, and fast.
He hopped out of the wagon's interior, and jumped onto the grass that grew in tiny tufts within the tent's interior, instead. Then his feet met the part of the medic's tent that was covered in a cheap, rollout carpet, and he hummed to himself along with the dull beat of his footsteps. Libra noticed him at once, and gave a tiny smile in his direction.
"Thank you for your help, Henry. It's immeasurable in a time like ours, where the war is at its crux. Your efforts are deeply appreciated."
"Libra, there's no need to wax poetic for me. It was no big deal, really!" The words I should be the one thanking you died on Henry's tongue, and escaped his lips as battered chuckles, at best. He ignored the slight concern growing on Libra's face, and deflected the small suspicions with a smile.
"Is there anything else you need? I hope not, 'cause I've gotta do some sorting out of my own, y'know!"
"...I see," Libra said, the look of concern never quite leaving his eyes. "You're sure that the wagon is empty?"
"Well, I left a few boxes for you, but they're pretty small~ Did you want me to empty those out, too?" Henry tilted his head ever so slightly, eyes opening just a sliver to reveal an identifiable color behind his snow-colored lashes. Libra's breath hitched at the sight, and Henry continued speaking. "Do you? Do you? Hey, tell me Libra, do you?"
"That's quite alright," he conceded, with a tired tone coloring over his voice. The march must have been hard on everyone, if someone as resolute as Libra could be so exhausted. The thought made Henry feel a slight pang in his chest (Guilt? No way!) but it disappeared as Libra spoke once more. "No, you've been a great help already. I can handle the rest by myself."
"Okay, if you say so! I'll see you around, Libra!" Henry chortled as he skipped out the tent, dramatically parting the flaps like they were curtains for a show, instead. He called out to the other with fleeting joy.
"...Or not!"
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Henry raced for the box of painkillers that he put out of Libra's sight. He moved as silently as a shadow, because he didn't want to alert the monk of his presence. As soon as the coast was clear, however, he moved with such precision and agility that Gaius might have been proud of him, if he were there.
Of course, that pride would morph into disgust or hatred if he knew what Henry was planning. In fact, Henry hadn't quite factored in Gaius' reaction to this at all, but mostly because he was sure that no one would witness him, so he didn't factor in anyone's reaction to his thievery to begin with. As mentally unsound and unstable as Henry may be, he wasn't stupid so he knew how to keep secrets and be sneaky all the same. He wasn't an idiot that let others catch onto things he so dearly wanted to keep hidden. He wasn't as daft as to let them outsmart him on an occasion where he needed all of his quick thinking at once.
Henry knew what he was and wasn't, to some extent, and he wouldn't be told otherwise by people that didn't even pretend to know him. There were some exceptions to this, of course (Henry's brain screamed multiple names in defiance, names like Tharja Ricken Robin Miriel Lissa Maribelle with afterthought sentences following that list—things that went along the lines of maybe Nowi, maybe Libra, maybe Anna, too! Until it finally conceded in that obsessive cacophony that was Gaius Gaius Gaius—although that bit was nothing new to him.) but for the most part the other Shepherds in the camp were still strangers at worst, acquaintances at best.
They wouldn't care if Henry did something like this, right? They wouldn't mind if they were lower in stock of painkillers than they originally anticipated, right? The lie would work itself out. In case anyone asked Henry where he thinks the medicine might have gone (they really wouldn't ask him, but just in case) he would shrug and say that it could have been in another tent, or left behind with one of the two other parties that still had to convene at the new camp location. If the former lie didn't work, then the latter surely would have. This wasn't the first time that the Shepherds had to pack up shop and move, and it certainly wasn't the first time that they miscounted inventory items, or lost things in between moving from here to there.
It worked out so perfectly, Henry almost felt guilty. But the idea of guilt—along with so many other emotions that Henry couldn't think or know to name—was strange to him. The world was so, so strange, and Henry had a hard time keeping up sometimes. His lack of progress in the real world made him susceptible to getting hurt. When he got hurt, he felt more miserable than usual, and all those ugly, murky feelings and memories would rise to the top of his head—all that hatred and disgust he kept with him all these years would eat him up.
If it took some powder, plants, or painkillers to prevent himself from getting devoured by his own mind, then would anyone blame him? They blamed him for worse things—being too violent, for one thing, and being fucking weird, for another—than that, so surely they could overlook this slight mishap.
Henry's mind thought this all through and yet not at all, the gears of his brain turning at a rapid-fire pace to keep up with the speed of his feet. Once he secured the goods, he ran as far away from Libra's tent as he could. He stayed off the main roads and pathways of the camp, opting to use the cover of shadows and the shapes of the tents to keep his appearance hidden. He moved and leaped with such grace and speed that Gaius would be really proud of him at this point, and he almost wanted to seek out the assassin in an attempt to see that praise for himself.
The image of Gaius frowning at him, however, with something more than just disappointment in his eyes was not desirable. The look of purity and righteousness in someone that claimed to have neither would be overwhelming. The sound of his sharp breaths and angry huffs would be like screaming to Henry's ears, and he already had enough ringing noises to keep him annoyed—he didn't need the screams to add onto it, either.
Henry decided that Gaius was the last person that needed to see him right now, because he couldn't stomach the decisive disgust and anger that was sure to manifest within him once he saw what Henry was doing. He thought this to himself before, and he was completely sure of it now. He had to avoid Gaius all the while he was doing this.
He just had to.
It was for both their sakes, really. Gaius didn't need someone like Henry. He didn't even understand him, after all! He called Henry difficult to deal with, nearly impossible at times. Although he once said that the mystery was part of the fun, Henry liked knowing things. He liked being sure of himself, because there was a time in the past when he was so lost that he didn't think he'd ever be found again. And while the mystery of their relationship was fun to guess at, he didn't like the suspense it held. Henry didn't look it, but he was quite the impatient fellow.
He couldn't just wait for Gaius to unravel him. He wasn't even sure if that's what he wanted, in the first place. There were so many ugly things inside of him, after all. Besides his pure heart and bright soul, his mind was a muddy swamp with grosser things lurking in the depths. His thoughts were rotting flesh and dismembered body parts, and his feelings were empty holes and endless spirals. His words were poisonous arrows and torturous spells—his mouth was a cesspool of hate, negativity, and death.
There were so many ugly things inside of him. Gaius was brave for trying to peel back the layers, but once he saw what lay underneath he would do what everyone else has done in his case. Once he saw the truth, he would run away, he would hurt Henry, or he would get hurt himself. No one got out of Henry's antics with a clean slate, not even the person who demanded that it be cleaned in the first place.
Not even the one that had inadvertently tried to save him. Well, Henry was beyond saving.
There was something bitter about this resolve, though. Normally, when Henry decided things, he felt light and ready. But this time, there was something acidic in the back of his throat and inside his chest, something that yelled at him that he was making a mistake. That feeling of bitterness—the one full of doubt and suspicion—was a new feeling, too. It wasn't there before, so surely it couldn't be relied on in a time like this. Yes, Henry felt some hesitation in the matter, but he shooed it all away.
No one could change his mind when he really decided to do things. That's what he told himself, anyway, and that's the story he would stick to.
The only thing left to do now was to stick to it.
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Henry hid the supplies he stole from the convoy wagon in an enchanted place within his own quarters. While the tents were pitched over dirt and grass alike, there was nothing stopping him from using a shovel, and nothing stopping him from casting a few spells after that. He made a little compartment in the ground, that which was enchanted to the point where no ordinary person could find it. Scratch that—no one would find it unless they did some extensive hexing on their end, too. And knowing the other Shepherds like Henry did, he had nothing to fear.
The other magic users were weaker than him when it came to curses and dark magic of the like. Even if Tharja used one of her truth spells again, he could easily reflect it. If Ricken cast that light magic spell that revealed hidden secrets, he would simply block it. They were the only ones that could even hope to crack Henry's secret, but their introverted natures would never allow something as brave as confrontation of the personal matter to arise. While Ricken in particular might say how much he cared about Henry (and while Henry knew that to a great extent, that statement was true) he physically couldn't do anything to stop him.
Henry used to fantasize killing everyone at once. While he hasn't done anything of the kind at all, he would admit that at some point, he imagined himself setting Ricken on fire or zapping him to bits. He could very well still accomplish that, although it would kill him inside to even attempt the idea.
The point was that he couldn't be stopped. He wasn't being stopped in the least, not when his tent remained undisturbed and his goods were hidden with shocking levels of ease. With the last wave of his hand, everything settled into place, and his quarters looked bare but normal, untouched yet inhabited like all the other tents were. No one would suspect something was off.
Not even Gaius. Funny enough, Henry got the idea to bury his secrets underground based off that one time where he found Gaius' secret candy stash, way back when. It was such a long time ago that Henry found himself surprised at the speed of time, but also surprised at all the things that have happened in between that first meeting and now.
Back then, Henry didn't remotely think of Gaius in any other way than being a general nuisance towards him. Now, however, he was feeling so strongly towards him that he was scared. He was scared of these unknown feelings, that which Gaius—and most other people—were so well versed in. All it would take is a turn of hand, and Henry's craftiness and unsteadiness would be eliminated out right from underneath him. He would lose everything he had ever known: he would be torn to pieces and then ripped up again.
Whatever he felt towards Gaius now was dangerous. It was different. It was new. He admitted being attracted to danger, right? He admitted to liking Gaius, in a way. So, if he liked him so much, then shouldn't he be more considerate about the other's feelings? Shouldn't he stop, and ask Gaius for guidance in a trying time like this?
Shouldn't he think twice about this?
He banished those thoughts as soon as they entered.
He stopped thinking so hard about it.
Henry poked his head outside the tent to see if anyone was heading in his direction. When he saw nothing but tents and the occasional horse, he smiled to himself unknowingly. Then he went back inside the tent, and sighed deeply.
While he stored away most of the sedatives underground, he secured a small bottle for himself beforehand. From the way its contents swished around with a delicious sound, he knew he grabbed one of the syrupy variations of the medicine. He also saw various powders in the box, those that were meant to dissolve in hot water but also those that were meant to be bitterly swallowed down the patient's throat.
Henry anticipated all the ways he would indulge in his secret, and laughed at himself for spite of the situation. Then he unscrewed the cap on the bottle, and peeked down its murky depths. He had never been fond of things like syrup, as he always found the thick, slow moving substance to be suffocating and distasteful. But any feelings he had for the texture would be snuffed right out of him if the medicine did what it was supposed to. With that dry thought hanging in his mind, Henry brought the bottle to his lips, and drank.
He, unfortunately, did not calculate how much of the substance he actually needed. The bottle was small and could fit in his hand, but the dosage inside could easily fit four or five spoonfuls. Henry drank with such fervor that he felt the container empty at such a quick rate—was it dangerous to have that many sedatives at once? Was he making a huge mistake again?
The sorcerer paused mid-drink, and wiped at his mouth when he felt abrupt drops escape his lips. The liquid sloshed slowly, and the cap cluttered to the ground. As Henry reached down to pick it up, he felt the sedatives' effect take hold of him right then and there.
He nearly gasped. It felt like ice water washed over his entire body. He felt cool, light, and empty. He felt like a feather riding the wind, like clouds thinning out at the endless horizon. The ringing in his ears stopped, and so did the frenetic pains his chest took to when his heart beat too fast. The dizziness his head had when he was thinking about Gaius stopped at once. Everything, and nothing, hit him with full force.
It felt amazing. All the misery from head-to-toe disappeared without any protest. Everything from the smallest inconvenience to the largest injury suddenly seemed far away and unreal. Everything had that distant effect, actually, and it was as if the world had suddenly appeared hazy and discolored—like Henry was seeing through a lens and not with his own two eyes. A layer of film and air separated Henry's mind from Henry's body, and the disconnect between the two was neither unpleasant or harmful.
It was actually quite nice.
He laughed to himself. He laughed hard, and normally laughing too hard would make his stomach hurt and his insides wheeze, but he didn't feel any of that. He didn't feel the sensation of laughter at all, as it seemed that the noises escaped him on their own. He didn't feel the weight of his own clothes anymore, or the weight of anything to begin with. The weight from his shoulders disappeared. The weight from his mind lifted. The weight from his heart sunk through until it fell in a bottomless pit of nothingness.
That thought entertained another. My heart, he thought curiously. Is it still there? He reached over his chest, and scrambled his fingers around the fabric as if searching for something. While the world doused itself in cold water and froze in the same instant, the fire that was once his heart disappeared, as well. The blood didn't rush through his ears anymore—the buzz didn't spread through his fingers anymore. The dull noise that was a heartbeat wasn't even audible anymore, and Henry vaguely wondered if he really, truly lost it.
Did he lose his heart?
He noticed a weak throbbing beneath his still fingertips as he let them hover over his chest, and that's when he knew he wasn't dead.
But he didn't feel alive, either.
He didn't feel anything.
Henry looked at the near-empty bottle once more, and thought for only a few seconds before he decided to empty it completely this time. He brought the bottle to his lips—another sensation which he did not feel—and drank again. He couldn't tell if the liquid seeped through his mouth or not, and so he held his awkward position there for an indefinite amount of time.
Then he moved again, and opened one eye to see if the bottle was empty.
It was.
He smiled.
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Henry was floating on air. Or maybe he was swimming through a shallow sea. Either way, he moved with such delicacy and happiness that it couldn't have been the same old ground beneath his feet. And the way that people were bobbing like buoys at sea made it clear that they, too, were unstable. They, too, were riding these waves, although they seemed less happy than Henry as they did so.
The colors around Henry weren't any different, but somehow things looked brighter than they were before. Things appeared vibrant and muted all at once. Sometimes the world looked like glass that someone had breathed air on, so the hot steam spread across the surface and obscured the view. Other times, it seemed as if the world was on hyper focus, and things were so startlingly clear that Henry could count out the number of thorns on a distant rosebush—or he could recount the vivid pattern of someone's robes when they walked in front of him.
Once, it was as if both views of the world collided into the same scope that were Henry's eyes. And he unknowingly laughed, muttering to himself: "That's pretty, I wonder if the world was always like this and I'm just seeing it now, or if the world is only like this because I'm seeing it now?"
His question was never answered, but he didn't mind. He simply kept moving in that world full of water and light. He kept swaying in between figures, those that were blurred at times and others that were sharp and in-focus. Sometimes, he heard voices call out to him, and he just dismissed them with a smile and a wave. Other times, he felt something grab him, but he sloughed off the contact with fake jubilee.
Henry was floating and swimming—fading and appearing—all at once. He was overstimulated at best and overwhelmed at worst. But he wasn't in pain, and that's all that mattered.
That's all he cared about as he meandered aimlessly, head tilted towards the heavens above—as if to hear a long-anticipated answer from some unknown deity.
He heard nothing but the sound of his own laughter.
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"Henry, are you alright?"
The words wove in and out of reality. Henry heard them to the extent which he believed he might, but then paused with a semi-smile on his face because he couldn't quite figure out what he was hearing or not. Looking in the direction of where the voice came from (or where he hoped it came from), he said:
"I'm more than alright! I'm great!"
"That's good, but are you sure about that? Y-You seem a little off…"
The stutter gave it away. He didn't know that many people, but only one person could crack underneath their own niceties like that. Henry giggled at the revelation.
"What do you mean, Ricken?"
"I mean, I saw you by the mess halls earlier, and you weren't walking straight. You're not injured, are you? Robin told me one time they saw you with an ugly gash in your side and you didn't even blink an eye!"
"Yeah, well, it's weird how pain works. Sometimes you feel it so badly that you want to die, other times it doesn't even rear its ugly head! Not even when it should! So what about it?"
"I asked if you were injured."
"Huh. I wonder."
"Henry, please! I don't know what it is, but something feels...wrong."
A frown threatened to take hold of Henry's face. The ice seeping through his veins quieted his anger, though, and brought a sunny expression to his countenance, instead. As he shook his head, he relished in the cold sensations of breeziness he felt as he did so.
"I'm telling you, I'm just fine! Not any different from normal, no sirree!"
"..."
"Come on, Ricken! Why're you so worried? Is it 'cause we're all so healed now that they're gonna make us start being soldiers again? Do you need another big break to take another sweet vacation off? If you want, I can curse you with something so sick, you won't move for weeks!"
"That's not funny, Henry. We don't need another break, and if we do, I want it to be well-earned and not because of injuries in battle!"
"You say it's not funny, but we have different senses of humor, you and I. So, there!"
Henry thought that he pointed an accusatory finger in Ricken's direction. He was sure of it when Ricken seemed unamused, and swatted his hand down in an annoyed manner.
"This doesn't have to do with Gaius, does it?"
"Eh? What do you mean? I wasn't talking about Honeybuns at all!"
Ricken didn't speak for a while. Henry assumed he left, or that the sedatives didn't give him the wherewithal to notice his presence all the way. Both ideas were incorrect as Ricken's voice cut through the dry air once more.
"You're kidding, right?"
"Huh?"
"Did you forget? Gaius went to you the other day, and you got into a huge fight with him. He didn't tell anyone the details except for Robin, and I've only heard rumors at best...but I figured that if anything was bothering you today, it would be that."
"...What are you talking about, Ricken? I haven't seen Gaius since we got here at the new camp. Which was, like, yesterday or something."
"What are you talking about, Henry? We've been here for almost a week now, and he's definitely talked to you before! Everyone has, actually. So i-is something wrong, Henry? How come you don't remember all that?"
"Hmm~ I wonder! It's a bit strange, isn't it? Might be a curse or something. Well, I'm leaving now! Bye!"
His body moved very quickly. He registered the sound of a chair being squeaked against the floor, and then the sound of dull footsteps resonating underneath him. He also became aware of Ricken's irritated but concerned voice piercing the air with its suddenly brave tones, and the touch that the other boy's skin had when he brushed against him in an attempt to grab him. Finally, Henry noticed the wind, and how it blew against his body with full force when ran outside with all his might.
He dodged the noise and the stimulation that suddenly attacked him all at once. The throbbing in his head returned, as did the ringing in his ears (albeit softly, gently—as if to sweetly remind him that it was still there after all this time). And the sun seemed too bright and the colors were too vivid, to the point where everything appeared widely fabricated like it were from some picture book, instead.
This wasn't a story, though. This was reality.
Henry hated it all the same.