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Ragnar is there on Sinric's other side, reaching out to hold him.

"Sinric," he says. "Sinric. You are here with us, and safe."

Sinric throws his weight against them, fighting against something unseen, something terrible.

His eyes roll back, thrashing and gurgling. This is no longer a nightmare but a fit.

Athelstan looks up at Ragnar.

"You're stronger than me. Hold him down and I'll fetch the doctor."

"Yes."

Ragnar is holding on to Sinric, trying to keep him from injuring himself.

There are words between his screams, almost coherent. "Don't! Don't kill her! Ragnar, no!"

But they get lost in a babble of Greek and sharp cries of pain. He fights with ever ounce of strength, blood speckling at the corner of his lips.

Athelstan runs for the door.

Ragnar wraps a blanket around Sinric, trying to calm him at least a little.

Sinric sobs and thrashes, his eyes showing white.

He goes ridged, hard as iron and shaking wildly.

Athelstan realizes belatedly that he doesn't know where the doctor's room is.

The only option is to go down to the main room and hope to find either him or Guppy there.

Dr. Lecter is actually in the main bar, playing the harpsichord. There is a glass of red wine on the turned-up cover.

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Athelstan hurries over.

"Doctor. There's something wrong with Sinric. Can you come up?"

The doctor jumps up, and the wine glass goes flying.

"Yes!" he says. "What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know exactly. He only seemed as if he hadn't eaten for too long... but it's got worse. He was having a fit when I left."

"A seizure?" the doctor asks, hurrying towards the stairs. "Could he talk, or was he incoherent?"

"Sort of both." He follows quickly. "There were some clear words."

"What did he say?"

The doctor is running up the stairs, gracefully taking three steps at a time.

"'Ragnar, don't kill her' - but there was no woman there, let alone one in danger from Ragnar. I don't know what he was seeing."

"Had he been asleep?"

After two flights of stairs, the doctor turns into a corridor.

"Yes", Athelstan confirms, following him. "Bar provided something to help him, or I don't think he would have been able to sleep at all. I hoped it would be more restful."

"What was wrong with him to begin with?" the doctor says, unlocking his door.

"Like I said, he hadn't eaten for too long. Or had any water, I think... he said something about a ritual."

"Do you think drugs might have been involved as well?" the doctor asks as he trows his door wide and steps inside.

Dr. Lecter's room in Milliways is quite simple, for his standards.

There is a book case full of well-worn old books, a small fireplace with a comfortable-looking chair, some framed pages from medieval manuscripts on the walls, and a small harpsichord. There's a desk, and a desk chair to go with it. Most furniture is vintage midcentury modern, unobtrusively luxurious and classic. He even has what must be a small kitchen, made up from two towers and an island.

Everything is rich, warm wood and mature colours -- an off-grey, and some accents in oxblood red.

Quickly, the doctor walks over to a small cabinet and starts collecting bottles and instruments into a leather bag.

"Not modern drugs, I think it happened in his own time. But it could have been ones available then."

"There are very powerful plant based drugs," the doctor says, putting more vials into the bag.