The night seemed interminable for Anagan, sleep eluding him despite his exhaustion. The room was silent except for the occasional creak of the old castle and the distant hum of the wind outside. Tossing and turning, he finally decided to get up and seek out Emrys. He found the servant just outside his door, keeping vigil as promised.

"Emrys," Anagan called softly, not wanting to wake anyone else, "sleep…seems to evade me."

Emrys turned, his copper mask catching the dim light from the hallway. "I see, is there something I can do to help?"

Anagan hesitated, then spoke, trying to mask his vulnerability. "I was wondering… about the king. How is he?"

Emrys's eyes, visible through the mask's slits, held a trace of sympathy. "To put it simply, the king is in a horrible state right now. He's been lying in his bed, barely moving, consumed by sorrow."

Anagan's heart ached at the news. He hadn't known how Ogron may be, but hearing it confirmed stirred an unexpected pain. "What gives him the right to sulk like that?" he asked, his frustration evident.

Emrys looked at him carefully, gauging his response. "From what I've been told, you had a disagreement with him. If you don't mind me asking, why did it happen?"

Anagan's face hardened, his thoughts racing back to the confrontation in the dungeon. "I went into the dungeon," he admitted, the words escaping before he could fully grasp their implications.

Emrys's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "The dungeon…? You must know that's a very significant place for the king. It's where the previous king, Ogron's predecessor, is interred."

Anagan's expression shifted from confusion to curiosity. "Why is that place so important?"

Emrys took a breath, trying to choose his words carefully. "The dungeon…holds deep meaning for the king. His highness Ogron had only Valtor, who was his closest confidant and, to him, the only one who truly loved him. They spent many years down there together. Losing that bond, especially after having been hurt so deeply, has left him in a state of despair. He's acting out of grief and anger, but it doesn't mean he doesn't regret his actions."

Anagan absorbed the information, his frustration mingling with a tinge of understanding. "So, what you're saying is that he's allowed to act like this because of his grief?"

Emrys shook his head gently. "I'm not saying it excuses his behavior, but it helps to understand where it's coming from. If you're willing, perhaps a conversation with him might help both of you find some resolution."

Anagan considered this, his mind a swirl of emotions. The king's actions had been hurtful, but learning about his suffering added a new layer of complexity. "Maybe… maybe you're right. But I don't know if I'm ready to face him yet."

Emrys nodded, offering a comforting smile behind the mask. "Take your time, sir. Just remember, talking it out might be the key to moving forward. If you need anything, I'll be here."

Anagan gave a small nod, appreciating the offer. As he returned to his room, the weight of the night seemed a bit lighter. Emrys's words had provided a sliver of understanding, but Anagan knew that the road to reconciliation was still long and uncertain.

He finally managed to settle into bed, the thoughts of the king's grief and their shared pain swirling in his mind. Sleep still eluded him, but for the first time that night, he felt a flicker of hope.

———-

The weeks following the incident had been a tumultuous period for Anagan. As the days passed, he gradually ventured beyond the confines of his room, his movements tentative at first but growing in confidence. The castle, once a suffocating prison, began to feel slightly more navigable. Yet, the war within his mind raged on, a constant battle between anger and understanding.

Anagan found himself wandering the castle's corridors more frequently. Each step was a small act of defiance against the isolation that had consumed him. His mind, however, was far from at ease. He was plagued by conflicting thoughts—one part of him sought to justify the king's actions, while another part vehemently opposed it.

He'd often replay the argument in his head, grappling with the notion that he had violated the king's direct command by entering the dungeon. This internal conflict led him to question his own judgment and the righteousness of his anger. He found himself mired in self-doubt, wrestling with the notion that perhaps he had been wrong, that maybe he had misinterpreted the king's intentions.

Yet, every time he thought he had found some semblance of justification, a whisper in the back of his mind would remind him, "It's not right. The king's actions were unjust."

By the third week, Anagan's mental turmoil had reached a boiling point. He knew that he needed to confront the source of his anguish. Despite the turmoil in his mind, he resolved to seek out the king, driven by a mixture of unresolved anger and a burgeoning desire for clarity.

He approached the castle's grand chambers with a sense of purpose, his steps more determined than they had been in weeks. When he reached the door to the king's quarters, he took a deep breath, steadying himself. His heart raced, a mixture of fear and hope fueling his resolve.

He knocked, and when a guard opened the door, Anagan spoke with a newfound steadiness. "I wish to see the king."

The guard, recognizing the seriousness in Anagan's voice, relayed the request. Moments later, he was ushered into the king's presence.

As he entered, Anagan's eyes met the king's. The room was dimly lit, the king lying on his bed, his expression weary and burdened. The sight of him stirred a complex array of emotions within Anagan—anger, pity, and a glimmer of hope for resolution.

The king looked up, his gaze meeting Anagan's with a mix of surprise and apprehension.

Anagan took a step forward, his voice trembling yet firm, "I need to speak with you."