Sinric the Wanderer

There is true affection in this tale, not just the deep love for Will Graham that Hannibal would give anything for, but affection for Alana or Abigail, for Jack or Bedelia -- and great regret when Hannibal sees the need to sacrifice them to his great game.

Then, there are the likes of Tobias Budge or Randall Tier, minor monsters that fall to the wayside as the connection between Hannibal and Will is forged in fever and blood.

"You do," Hannibal says, almost awed as he realises how far Sinric's new gift goes, and that he would be able to step inside the Memory Palace itself, if he wants to.

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Hannibal's mind palace is too complex for Sinric yet, the feeling too new, but he can feel the thread singing, and all the threads crossed and bound with it.

"You will both take up St George's spear." Sinric whispers, feeling his way forward to a shining knot. "To a symphony of waves."

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"Waves," Hannibal says, pondering the option. A house on the cliffs, lonely glass and concrete, rises in his mind's eye.

"Oh yes."

His threads are complex, a spider's web in the shape of a renaissance pleasure maze.

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So complex Sinric starts to lose himself, starts to feel trapped by the tight threads of the web and the sharp twists of the maze.

His breathing quickened, threatening to hyperventilate him as he pulls away to rub at his eyes.

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Hannibal lets go of his hands.

"I'm sure Athelstan will be back soon."

Ragnar is stroking Sinric's shoulders. "Perhaps you should give him that other thing after all."

"Diazepam, rectally? I don't think so," Hannibal answers.

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Sinric buries his face in Ragnar's shoulder, panting for fear of losing himself again. He reaches under Ragnar's shirt for the matching tattoo he knows is there, using the softly ridged flesh to anchor himself. He's shaking quite badly now, not quite seizing but not in control either.

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Ragnar is holding him close, then slips his hand down to the tattoo on Sinric's hip.

"Cling to me," he murmurs. "I am here. I have you."

The incomprehensible words the doctor said about what he might do sound somehow spiky and not very helpful.

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The touch over his tattoo, the gentle strength of Ragnar's voice helps and he slowly sinks into the closed loop made by the ink in their skin. It calms him, tracing those lines over and over in his mind.

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"I have you, " Ragnar says, "I love you!"

He looks at the doctor.

"Will this happen every time he has a vision?"

"I don't know," the doctor says. "He might be able to learn -- with an honest teacher."

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"It's fading." Sinric's voice is little more than a breath. "The further I am from the tree. The closer I am to you, to home"

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Ragnar holds him very close. "Cling to me!"

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The door opens and closes in the other room.

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nd he does, burying himself as close as his thin frame and the sheets wrapped around him will allow.

He can feel the rivalry between the two men, the desire to control but he doesn't have the strength to play the peace keeper.

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"Athelstan?" Ragnar calls out.

"You should stay with him," the doctor says, gathering up his things to transfer them to wherever Sinric spends the night. "If you two anchor him to his sanity."

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"Here", he calls back.

There's a sound of wheels on the floor.

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Sinric concentrates on breathing, fingers clenching rhythmical at Ragnar's still damp shirt. "My room. Please? I want to be near."

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"Of course," Ragnar says, picking him up and getting off the bed without letting go of him once.

Hannibal, bag in hand, goes to open doors as indicated to let them through.

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Athelstan has a trolley loaded with the equipment and supplies Hannibal asked for.

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Sinric's room usually isn't very big. In fact any other day the harpsichord will need to be moved closer to the wall in make room for the bed, but the Bar seems to have anticipated the issue and expended, creating deep bay window area the perfect size and shape for a sick bed and all the equipment required. And a view east over the gardens.

There's far in the distance, is the giant ash tree, almost skeletal against a patch of evergreens.

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Ragnar puts Sinric into the bed by this new window while the doctor readies the equipment, both the trip and the monitors.

"I will have to put a needle in your arm and leave it there so the liquid you're missing can be filled up," Hannibal explains to Sinric.

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Athelstan just hangs back to let them work.

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Sinric nods and sits his hand, wrist up to Hannibal's touch, turning his face away to look to Athelstan for comfort.

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Hannibal quickly slips in the needle, puts the adhesive over the green plastic bit at the end, and then connects the drip.

"And these bits are for us to see whether your heart is beating properly," he adds, putting the heart rate monitor in place. "Please excuse the machine that goes ping, but it shows us that you're still doing fine, physically, without having to take your pulse by hand."

Ragnar has been half-sitting on the bed, providing Sinric with the touch he needs.

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Athelstan is there, trying not to get in the way before everything's set up, but he doesn't look away from Sinric.

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