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athelstan,
ragnar

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Curled in Rangar's arms and clutching Athelstan's hand, Sinric keeps his face hidden as they enter their rooms. Somehow it's easier with his eyes closed. It seems to narrow down the visions.

He tries to steady himself enough to stand, wavering like a leaf. "I must smell terrible." He can't tell, still so disconnected from his own body. "I don't remember how long it's been since I washed."

He senses a turn of discomfort from Athelstan. "I can do it alone, it's alright."

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"Sinric!"

Ragnar had been dozing in a chair right beside the bed, touching Sinric every single moment and now wakes up at once.

Hannibal gets up and comes to the bed immediately, as of he hadn't even been awake.

Athelstan is there as well.

"I don't think this is as bad as last time", he says hopefully.

Sinric wakes with a start, trying to rip his hands from their grasp to rub his eyes. "Please? It hurts!"

His eyes are quite red and this time it does seem like there's something in them, something caught under his eyelids.

Edited 2016-11-28 11:44 (UTC)

You might make things worse if you rub you eyes," Hannibal says, taking out an instrument to peer into Sinric's eyes.

Athelstan pins his hand down firmly, hearing that.

"Let Dr Lecter look at it."

Sinric keeps struggling but both Ragnar and Athelstan are some much stronger than him. Even at his best. "Please, get it out!" He tries to keep his head still but he can't. His heart is racing as the panic attack kicks in.

Dr. Lecter peers through his instrument.

"Sinric," ha asks, gently. "What is it?"

"The tree!" Caught between his eyes and eyelids are tiny, tiny ash seeds, winged to spin as they fall.

"I will pick them out," Hannibal promises, calmly. "I will give you a sedative first so you won't panic when I toch your eyes."

He inserted a syringe into the drip and pushes the plunger.

"We might need a magic handler," he adds to Athelstan and Ragnar.

Sinric goes limp as the sedative enters his blood.

Slowly, Hannibal goes about picking the seeds out of Sinric's eyes with a deft and minutiously skilful hand.

"This was magic," he says. "It's not something I know how to deal with. Do you know anybody who can?"

He looks at Ragnar, and at Athelstan.

The seeds out, Sinric drifts into a deep and dreamless sleep, all monitors showing he's relaxed.

He doesn't wake till dawn, surfacing slowly and waking naturally, far calmer and quieter that before.

Edited 2016-12-01 15:16 (UTC)

"Master Elrond, perhaps", Athelstan says hesitantly. "He's a healer."

"He uses magic for his healing?" Ragnar asks, rubbing his eyes.

"That would help," Dr. Lecter adds, from his chair.

Sinric is quiet and restful now, passing the night without further trouble.

The fluid does it's works and he looks like gaunt by morning.

Their voices, talking over him help. They keep him grounded.

He smiles up at them when he wakes, still pale but looking a little more alive. "Go, get some rest." He says to Ragnar and Athelstan. "I'm alright now, the tapestry is fading." He pulls their hands to hid lips, "I've kept you from your beds too long. Leave me with the good doctor a while and I'll join you later."

He and Hannibal need to talk. And it's best Athelstan and Ragnar don't hear.

Edited 2016-12-04 14:11 (UTC)

Athelstan nods, letting his fingers brush Sinric's face.

"You know where we are if you need one of us."

Ragnar gets up as well, stretching, then bending down to unashamedly kiss Sinric's lips.

"We will be in reach."

Hannibal gets up from his chair. "Do get some sleep, and some time by yourselves," he says, smiling.

Sinric answers Athelstan's touch with warmth and wordless gratitude that flows over his skin as he brushes the back of Athelstan.

And Ragnar's kiss with a soft sigh. "My beloveds." He smiles to them both, putting on a show of a smile as they leave, glad they're close.

He waits for the door to close to let himself fall back into the pillows, fatigued even at that. "I can feel your curiosity like an itch, my good Doctor."

"I do wonder what you saw," the doctor says. "Unlike some, I won't disdain any edge on my future I might get. But first, it's much more important that you get well. Do you have the makings of tea in your room?"

"There's some teas in the cupboard on the left there. And a kettle in the bathroom." He answers, gesturing weakly. Green tea and apple powder mostly and a bottle of mead.

He lays back, eyes closed a moment as he regains his strength. "You already have plans for the future. I saw them over and over like a revel play. Who is the woman with the blonde hair?"

Hannibal goes about making apple tea, and talks with his back to Sinric.

"Bedelia DuMaurier," he says. "She used to be my own therapist."

"The patterns that bind you with her are beautiful, and terrible. As they are with so many in your life."

He covers his eyes, careful of the drip. "Will Graham especially. He's..."

"Yes?"

He shakes his head, lowering his hands. "I don't have the words. I don't think there are words. What he is, what you are to each other is so rare no words have ever been chosen. But I see. And I understand, at least in part."

There is no fear, no revulsion in his voice. A slight note of perplexed wonder perhaps.

"You know where we are if you need one of us."

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