Disarray

Chapter Twenty-three

          “Now, there is a question I would like to ask you, if that is alright.” she said, turning toward Rylan. He nodded.

          “Do you love her?” The queen inquired. He was confused; puzzled by why she would choose this out of all the things she could ask him.

          “Love feels like such an inadequate word to describe the emotion I feel toward her. I adore her, and I would do anything it takes to save her life, even if it cost me my own.” Rylan tried his best not to cry, he was afraid that if he did, he wouldn’t be able to cease. A tear slid down his cheek, and he wiped it away. He knew if he was weeping over her possible death, he had no hope for her to live, and he was not strong enough to consider such a thing.

          Arilia nodded, and looked as if she, too, was suppressing tears.

          “The emotion behind your words is not one that could possibly be anything but genuine. You are him.” She paused a moment, as if clearing her mind. “You must go now; Malifar knows not of your recovery, you must speak with him. I wish you the best of luck, dear Rylan. Save Raelein.”

          Rylan bade farewell, and turned to leave. He took a few deep breaths, for he did not want to stop until he reached her. He then sprinted along the path to the infirmary, running faster than he ever thought he could.

          Aden didn’t follow him, giving him the space he desired; he must have seen that he wished to be alone.

          Rylan slowed, seeing the structure of the infirmary. His pulse throbbed with both the energy from running, and the anxious concern to see Raelein breathing. Without asking for permission to enter, he pushed the door open.

The surprise on Malifar’s face when he saw him was the most emotion Rylan had ever seen him show. Utter shock rendered him speechless for a moment, seeing him here.

Then he saw her. Raelein was laid gracefully upon a bed, looking as if she had simply fallen asleep. As he neared her still body, he was slightly comforted to see her breathing. Her face was pale, even more so than usual. She looked frail and weak, nothing like her spirited self. Rylan’s heart sank, seeing her like this.

          He sat in a chair near the bed, entwined his fingers with hers, and gently kissed Raelein’s hand. It was such a relief to be near her again, though it distressed him to know that he couldn’t help her, as much as he wished to.

          “I love you, Raelein,” he whispered, vainly hoping his words would awaken her.

A few long moments passed, and a red fairy struggled her way out of Raelein’s tangled, curly hair. Noticing his presence, she stared up at him despondently, her tiny, childlike face bearing such sorrow in her gaze.

Rylan extended his hand toward her, and she curled up in his palm. For a moment, he thought that the fairy was asleep, but he then felt her body shake as she cried. His heart ached for the little creature; she must have been one of the fairies who especially loved Raelein. He cradled the red fairy in his hand until she fell asleep, and gently laid her on the pillow to rest.

“Finally know who you are again, do you?” Malifar asked. Rylan laughed softly.

“I knew who I was the whole time; it was that I did not know those who mattered most to me that was the problem.” He answered.

“Do you remember anything after capturing Zayleth?”

“I hazily remember returning to Islea after finding Falraen, and having Aden try to help me remember, that is all,” Rylan replied, puzzled. He hadn’t thought about what he did before.

“The forgetting juice is likely responsible for that. It tends to effect current or recent memories, but its effect on old memories are not as strong.”

“What did I do when Zayleth was controlling me?” Malifar hesitated, as if he was unsure if he was going to answer his question.

“Well, you tried to escape. That is when we locked you in the prison. A few days after, Zayleth summoned the remnants of his army to attempt to escape again. The elves prevailed, and demolished his soldiers. During the battle, Raelein tried to speak to you, she was desperate for you to remember her. Zayleth tricked her into setting him free, and killed her before he attempted to escape again.” He spoke kindly, as if he knew this was a sensitive subject for him, and respected that.

“Why was I not able to resist him?” Rylan asked, feeling guilty. “If I was strong enough to overcome his controlling of my body, I could have saved her…”

“Cease, Rylan. It was, in no way, your fault. There is no one who has resisted forgetting juice or serving juice, much less both of them together. If you continue to blame yourself for something you couldn’t have prevented, you may never recover if she dies.” Malifar stated. He sounded kind, which was foreign, and seemed oddly condescending.

          “Would she be sick if I had been able to warn her?” Rylan nearly shouted the words. The old elf hesitated again, and then shook his head.

          “I wasn’t strong enough to resist Zayleth, which makes me blameworthy for her illness! Nothing you can say will make me think otherwise. If I had been strong enough to oppose his control, she would be alright!”

          Malifar sighed, seeing that any attempts at trying to assure him would be futile. He simple glanced at him with pity, and returned to his work.

Rylan sat with Raelein for the remainder of the day, not leaving her side for anything. Only when Aden forced him to eat supper did he move, and even then, he was reluctant to leave.

          After finishing supper at the dining hall, Rylan wanted to see Raelein again, but he was too tired to do so. He insisted on going anyway, but Aden made him go back to the sleeping hall with him, they both needed sleep.

          “I am no use to her here…” Rylan grumbled, annoyed.

          “You cannot neglect yourself, you’ve been with her all day, and you have spoken to her until your voice was hoarse. Rylan, you have done all you can for her today, but you can go there as soon as you wake.” He stated.

          “Rebekah may be dead, but must you be the one to assume the place of my mother?”

          “Rylan,” Aden warned. “Rest. I am not in the mood to quarrel with you.” His voice was tense and unstable. Rylan gave in, he was exhausted, and he felt at fault for Aden’s current state of stress.

          His eyes irritated with exhaustion, and his movements weighed down by fatigue, Rylan laid down in his bed. He was back in his old quarters; he was no longer trapped in the windowless room that served as a prison.

          Before he was able to process the happenings of the day, he fell asleep, hoping that someday soon, life would be peaceful again.