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Chapter Text

The Biological Organ Regenerative (BOR) Parasite implanted within my body had been a unique experimental specimen, modified by my own hand in fact. I had long hypothesised that, perhaps, some of those modifications would adversely affect its ability to utilise its natural self-defence mechanisms. Indeed, a number of outcomes had been expected in the, in my opinion at the time, exceedingly unlikely eventuality that I perish before completing its improvements.

Violently destabilising into a cloud of dust had been one of them.

My BOR Parasite spontaneously developing the ability to travel dimensions had not been.

I was no common man. Not only did I boast a gift for survival, my intellect and foresight were even more impressive still. The chance that I would ever be caught on the back foot in a violent engagement was immaterial, and the possibility that anything might manage to slay me in such a battle was no more worthy of consideration than a speck of dust in the wind. 

You can imagine my surprise then when an unwashed band of anti-progress bandits had done just that.

It was not an eventuality I had meaningfully planned for. The Biological Organ Regenerative (BOR) Parasite implanted within my body had been a unique experimental specimen, modified by my own hand, in fact. I had long hypothesised that, perhaps , some of those modifications would adversely affect its natural self-defence mechanisms. It had not been a simple matter to adapt characteristics of the Q.U.E.E.N. strain into another parasite. Thus, a number of negative outcomes had been predicted in the, in my opinion at the time, exceedingly unlikely eventuality that I perish before completing its improvements.

Violently destabilising into a cloud of dust had been one of them, and I was equal parts gratified and horrified that my hypothesis had been proven correct. I expected a troubled regeneration to follow, and while that was what happened in a strict sense, what actually happened was beyond anything I had imagined.

When I first came to, I found myself lying on a bed of grass. Not a situation I was unaccustomed to, in and of itself. After all, I attended Harvard Medical School in my youth, and was therefore no stranger to waking up naked on unfamiliar lawns. Nights out could be wild. Of course, there had been no cocaine involved this time, but the experience was familiar enough.

A little too familiar, in fact. Just as in my halcyon college days, I had awoken fully disrobed. This made it immediately obvious that I had regenerated in the form I held before my forays into transhumanist evolution. It was a little hard to mistake the pink skin I woke up with for the black, corded, fibrous muscle analogue I had sported in my larger form. Above all, the proof was in my long lost genitalia, now dangling in plain view. It was very concerning. I had sacrificed them in the name of progress and all of mankind, and this reversion raised a lot of questions.

When I broke gaze with my old partners, the view that I was graced with was no less perplexing. To begin with, I was on no lawn, but a vast field of grass, very clearly outside. From the trees that cluttered my surroundings, I was clearly in some sort of forest. Whether natural or artificial, I had no way of telling, but I had not seen one since the Great Collapse. Here and there, what appeared to be deer happily grazed in the distance. 

Horrors had been ravenous, devouring flora, fauna, and inorganic matter alike. Neither these deer nor the trees, nor the grass, nor this topsoil for that matter, should have survived. Had somebody beyond the Red Mist developed a method of keeping them at bay? If so, I was tremendously interested.

Craning my head further back revealed even greater mysteries. Above the improbably healthy ecosystem, dominating the cloudy skies were gargantuan, bioluminescent trees. I speak not of the likes of the sequoia sempervirens of glorious America, but of lifeforms hundreds of times that height. Biological impossibilities, too impossibly large to support their own size, or so we might have once believed. 

Perhaps not so.

For a few minutes I simply sat there, thinking. I considered possibility after possibility, but the working hypothesis I settled on identified them as a consequence of the Horrors outside the Red Mist assimilating the lifeforms of the planet. By volume, plants and bacteria composed a staggering ninety six percent of all biomass on Earth. It was more than possible that the Horrors would, eventually, evolve in the direction of what their diet primarily comprised. It was as reasonable a hypothesis as any, for the moment at least. 

This was what I had yearned to escape the cage for. Possibilities. Progress. Dangers and the unknown, ripe for study and assimilation. For all that it was not the “worst” case scenario of super-apex predator Horrors, the sheer size of the tree-like entities stirred up something visceral inside me. Awe. Fear. The desire to harness their power. The fiery determination to challenge and conquer them, to prove once and for all humanity's unrivalled sovereignty of this planet. And most of all, a desire to uncover the truth.

Good thing, then, that I spied what appeared to be a man-made structure in the far distance. To a regular mortal, it might have been little more than a speck in the distance. My eyes had lost none of their sharpness as a post-human, however, and revealed the structure to be a grand tower, constructed in a style not wholly unlike that of that Gregorio fool's crypt. 

In my middle age, my eyes had been failing me before my parasite had been implanted. Yet, for all that I outwardly resembled the human I had been before the drastic bodily transformations granted by my modified BOR parasite, I was clearly not the same.

Crossing my arms in contemplation for a moment, I plucked one of the cleaner stones off the grass and carved a deep gash in my arm. My skin knitted together before my eyes.

Good. Not all of the evolutionary progress I made had been lost, then.

Rising to my feet, I began my long march towards the structure. If I could find other people, then I could find answers.

I had no allies, no resources, not even clothes or shoes, but nothing would stop me from moving forwards. Towards the future.

After the decision to head this way had been made, a good few hours had been spent trekking through the wilderness of the forest. More than once I would have lost my way were it not for the brightly luminant tree structures in the skies. The largest and most grandly golden was probably dozens of kilometres above the forest floor at its zenith, so it was a simple matter to use the ‘trees’ as navigational aids.

I must admit, it was a riveting experience. As much as I was a biologist by trade, long gone was the age when my kind would explore the untamed wilderness on field studies. Most of my adult career had been spent in some lab or other, and even my brief foray into running a mercen-, apologies, a ‘PMC’, had seen little time in the wild. For me, at least. There was simply little reason to take to the field myself when my time could be so much better spent in a well-equipped laboratory.

Now though, I had no choice. Circumstances dictated that I brave the wilderness, or perish. In the privacy of my mind, I could admit that I was living out one of my fantasies. Man versus wild. Juzo Mido versus the world. A learned gentleman, pitting his intellect and strength against Mother Nature and her many vicious faces, always eager to topple humanity from the top of the ecosystem. 

It was enough to make a man giddy.

After a few hours of walking I was growing thirsty, which provided the perfect opportunity for some hunting. It was easy enough to snap off a bough from a nearby tree. After that it had only taken a little effort with a stone to fashion a rudimentary javelin out of the wood. 

A third party observer might be justified in assuming I lacked the strength to pierce the creature's hide. My appearance as a small, balding man, however, belied the prodigious physical strength of a Revenant.

With contemptuous ease, I let loose the makeshift weapon in my hand, skewering not one but two deer with my throw. I watched the other deer dart away in panic, knowing I could slay them as well if only I so desired. Instead, I made my way over to the dying pair.

It was easy enough to wrench the javelin from their forms, and then I was snapping the necks of the animals. I was so enjoying myself that I only belatedly realised the lack of a blood delivery system. The absence of a Blood Veil left me momentarily dumbstruck.

Any parasites living inside the deer would pose little concern to my well-being. The BOR parasite would simply digest them all, so there was no need to filter the creatures out. The question then was whether or not I was about to knowingly chug down litres of potentially infested life fluid.

Without a word, I tore the head off one of the deer and held its headless corpse high above me. Mouth wide open, I greedily swallowed what I could as the red showered down over me. When the flood began to peter I discarded the deer and repeated the process with the next one.

Perhaps it was a little wasteful, but I must have seen hundreds of deer over the last few hours. Whatever circumstance was allowing them to flourish outside of the Red Mist, they were populous enough that one or two losses to their number was negligible. That thought was enough to ease any concerns I might have about conservation.

Sated, I settled down against the trunk of a small tree to rest and reflect. I briefly considered starting a fire and cooking some of the deer. After all, it had been a long time since I had a fully functioning mouth, in the human sense of full functioning. On second thought, however, I had little confidence that I could transform the wild game into anything particularly delectable with nothing but an open fire.

I briefly missed my second assistant. Kevin had been an absolutely tragic excuse for a researcher. No vision. Could never get anything done without my supervision. Would never stop dithering about the ‘ethics’ of an experiment, even if he always conducted them anyway. At least Sophie had stuck to her convictions in the end, sentimentally misguided though they might have been. 

Still, for all his flaws, Kevin could cook a mean roast on a fire.

BBQ Day at the lab had never been the same after I used him as a test subject.

Staring at the deer for a moment longer, I decided that I could at least make the attempt. If nothing else, sizzling fat would always be delicious. Course of action decided, I made a small mound of dried leaves, and began creating a spark. I didn’t have much in the way of tools nor technique, but my brute force made the task simple enough. Once the fire really got going, I capped it with a large rock, before moving onto preparing the meat. A few minutes later slices of animal muscle sat on the gradually heating stone. 

All done, I simply sat back to admire my handiwork.

How peaceful. It had been many decades since I had a moment like this. I never regretted the endless pursuit of advancement, but no worthy cause came without sacrifice.

The last time I had been able to simply take in Mother Nature must have been in high school.

With everything taken away from me, I was finally free from ‘one last thing before I take a break’. When I had information, resources, and means, I was never a moment without a worthwhile task to apply myself to.

Now, without even understanding where I was, or how, there was simply nothing pressing to see to. There was freedom in that.

I was just alone with my thoughts. Nothing but the cloudy sky, my cooking meat, the sounds of distant animals, and the even more distant screaming of men.

Ah.

I rose to my feet and retrieved my spear from the tree I had leaned it again.

Perhaps not so free after all.

Leaving my meal, I broke into a jog and then a sprint towards the source of the sounds. I crossed hundreds of metres in seconds, only slowing as I neared the source of the disturbance. It wouldn’t do for my footfalls to alert potential hostiles, after all.

There. 

Below the low cliffs, I spotted what appeared to be a trio of hunters running from a lone bear. They were scrambling, trying to weave between the trees to make things more difficult for their pursuer, but the bear was more nimble than its size would suggest.

Finally. Someone to press for questions. If these men were running about like this, more afraid of a bear than a Horror, then they—oh dear, the bear caught up with one of them.

Unable to wait much longer, lest the animal take the other two as well, I leapt from the clifftop and unleashed the javelin. Like a bolt of lightning, the wood struck the bear’s face, piercing and splintering with a tremendous noise. Such was the impact that the creature toppled violently off to the side rather than on the helpless hunter beneath it.

I sprinted over, careful to maintain a friendly appearance even as I did so, drawing on faded memories of good bedside manner. The two men were shouting ‘Peter’ over and over again, so I assumed that was the man’s name.

“Hello there, Peter. I’m a doctor. You have nothing to fear from me,” I said with a wide smile.

Oddly, Peter looked even more terrified when I smiled. Ah, of course. I was wearing no clothes. I must have appeared to be a lunatic.

Before I could say anything further, the other two men arrived, shouting something at me. I realised two things. For one, they were very, very tall. Easily as tall as I had been at the peak of my evolution. For another, they were shouting in a foreign language. I blinked.

If they didn’t understand English or Japanese, then this was all for naught. 

I briefly considered simply killing them and drinking their blood, but in the end thought better of it and wordlessly began treating Peter’s wounds. 

The men shouted further for a while, but they soon realised what I was doing and settled down.

After that I was treated to a significantly friendlier reception, even if I had no inkling of what was being said. A few minutes of charades later and they had handed me some trousers and indicated for me to follow them somewhere. They probably wanted me to keep an eye on Peter’s condition, I realised.

It was a simple enough matter to create a rudimentary stretcher from bearskin and some wood. I was reluctant to allow the man’s wounds to come into contact with the filthy fur, so we layered the duo’s jackets on top of it.

We had hiked through the forest for hours, the men looking increasingly concerned as the skies darkened. They appeared to be seasoned hunters, so I could only assume that the poor timing was due to the slowed pace of carrying a wounded man.

Still, we made it to the edge of the forest without further incident. By now the blood from the deer had soaked my new clothes red, and they were sticking uncomfortably to my skin.

If they were bringing me to a hunter’s cabin, I was hoping it had some water at least.

I was about to step out into the clearing when I was suddenly tugged back and forced down. I almost attacked, but I realised it was one of the hunters. Tybalt, I thought.

The man’s eyes were wide, and he was gesturing for quiet.

Bemused but compliant, I stayed hidden in the bushes while my companions held their breaths. It was only then that I noticed a group of shadowy black riders coming down the nearby road. Nine figures in black plate armour rode past us in the moonless night.

After they were long, long gone the men finally sagged with relief. I dearly wanted to ask for an explanation. This was all very different from what I expected of the lands beyond the Red Mist, but any satisfactory explanation would be too complex to explain with hand gestures.

When we arrived at a village an hour later, I was pleasantly surprised to confirm that they did indeed have water.

The tall villagers called me ‘misfarbe’. 

At first I thought it was the word for ‘doctor’, or perhaps ‘bald’ but over time I learned that I was mistaken. The word for ‘doctor’ was ‘leishe’.

‘Misfarbe’ actually translated to ‘faded’, or more pertinently, ‘stained’. I suppose first impressions really stuck in these parts, and I had certainly made one when I was led into the village barefoot and drenched in blood.

Typical of the less educated, really. Those who didn’t learn about their cognitive biases were infinitely more likely to fall to them. It was a very human trait, and one that I would force our kind to one day move beyond. 

One day we would evolve beyond such limitations of the human mind. Not today though. And not these villagers, because as many respected me as those that avoided me like the plague. One look in my eyes and they shied away like frightened serfs, nevermind that they were all taller than me. I was sure that my Japanese eye colour didn’t help either. Everyone around here was of European stock, and all shared fair hair and light brown eyes that looked golden in the light.

At least they appreciated my skills as a physician. 

By now I was no longer so sure that my situation was as simple as ‘beyond the Red Mist’. That much had been obvious since the skies finally cleared up on the third night and I saw the moon. I was no astrophysicist, but I was quite sure that a moon that appeared that large was either no moon at all, or on a collision course with the Earth.

Something much more fantastical than regenerating had happened to me. I didn’t know what, yet, but each day I was learning more and more. My status in Forkroads Village was solid, if controversial, and I was learning new words every day.

I still didn’t know the word for ‘bald’.

A few months later and I was finally managing some rudimentary communication in the local tongue.

I am ashamed to admit that it still took me weeks after that to finally realise where I was.

The War of the Ring, the Nine Ringwraiths, the inexplicably tall humans descended from what had to be Numinorian stock, it should have all clued me in. I had been thrown off by the large trees, honestly. It had taken asking the village chief where the hell I was before I finally figured it out.

‘Landa Amiddan’ - the Lands Amid. I was in Middle Earth.

Of note was the fact that I was not in the Middle Earth of the original Tolkien stories. Instead, it appeared that I was in the world of Suzukaze Hiyoko’s seminal work, ‘I Reincarnated in Middle Earth but My Hottie Emo Cousin Is in Love With Me?! ’, or ‘ Yubiwa Monogatari ni Tensei shitandakedo Daunaakei Ikemen no Itoko ga Atashi ni Koi wo Shichatta Mitai! (Yubikoi)’. Written after Tolkien’s writings passed into public domain, Yubikoi was a wildly popular romance that spawned four seasons of anime, five spin-off manga, and a whole genre of copycat novels.

As a young American youth whose parents were first generation immigrants, I had been encouraged as a child to ‘get in touch’ with my classical Japanese heritage. Reading light novels had been a part of that, and in my post-graduate years I had the chance to read Yubikoi myself after I imported the series.

The protagonist Itarille, elven Princess of Gondorin, had one day awoken with memories of her past life in Japan. After escaping her controlling father, she opened a cafe incognito and won the heart of Lomion, black-haired red-eyed cold duke of the North. From there, Itarille leveraged her knowledge of miso paste and cooking to revitalise the economy of Gondorin, whilst her modern knowledge of gardening combined with the magic greenhouse Lomion built her allowed the seeds of the Twin Trees of Valinor to germinate.

With the better funded Gondorinian Army, the strength of the Northern Duchy, the protection of the Twin Tree Saplings and ultimately the power of love and friendship, Itarille and her fiance were able to defeat both Melkor and his lieutenant-cum-lover Anna Thor.

All things considered, it was good that I hadn’t ended up in Tolkien’s originals. After all, I had never bothered to read them. That said, had I known that Yubikoi was a work of non-fiction, I might have better committed it to memory.

Admittedly, this was not how I might have expected things to happen. Although I had never entertained the idea of… of ‘transporting’ into a fictional world, by all accounts there was a certain way that it was supposed to happen.

Why had I not awoken as a rich, powerful, villainess character? That was how these things were supposed to go. The money and powerful family backing would have put me leaps and bounds ahead in finances for research, instead of living the life of a peasant medicine man.

Perhaps it had something to do with the when rather than the where. From what I did manage to recall, it was safe to assume that I was living in a time period long after the finale of her books. After all, none of the villagers had ever heard of the elves, regardless of how I described them. As well, what had once been a little sapling in the epilogue had grown into a tremendous glowing tree. It had even had glowing offspring, while its silver twin was nowhere to be seen.

What was also concerning was that another Maia had apparently descended to Middle Earth, and while Anna Thor—Sauron—had never created the One Ring, clearly another of his brethren had . Not only that, but she succeeded in founding a kingdom through conquest that had held dominion over the races of Men for longer than the villagers knew. The kingdom was only now declining due to the destruction of the One Ring centuries ago, and the war being fought over its pieces by her half-Maiar children.

I suspected that this was somehow related to the absence of the elves. Perhaps the warmonger Maia herself had destroyed them along with her other foes. If I was being spoiled, I'd have asked to come here earlier. An abducted elf or two would have proved an incredible test subject. Regrettably, I would have to make do with what I had.

I was reluctant to experiment too deeply on the villagers. After all, for all that they were hearty and hale, over the weeks that I had spent here I had observed no particularly interesting traits. They were a little larger than I was, being of Numinor originally, but held no further interest to me beyond a few samples of their blood to enhance myself.

What I was really hoping to get my hands on was the blood of more powerful entities. The half-Maiar. The Maiar themselves.

Wizards, angels, balrogs. Those would do.

I spent weeks biding my time and preparing. Playing the helpful, amnesiac doctor for the villagers. Slowly polishing my understanding of Common, what I could only assume was Westron. The villagers were illiterate, and thus I was unable to learn my letters, but word travelled so they had plenty of gossip to offer. Just as well, because I had apparently come to this world during a period of tumult, indeed.

A war in Kayllid to the east of the village was being fought between the most powerful of Marika’s half-Maiar children, Severed Lady Mallenia and Starcrusher General Radan. It was Lady Mallenia’s army that had marched past Forkroad Village just a few weeks ago, on her way to war with him.

Radan had besieged the Capital before this, and yet Taboo Lord Morgot held it still. Protected in the Capital, in Morgot’s possession was the largest piece of the One Ring. The Ringwraiths we had hidden from on the first day, the ones who had been riding up the same highway to Kayllid, were as I expected, servants of none other than Morgot, the villagers confirmed. If his Ringwraiths succeeded in their mission to obtain the Ring fragments, I suspected we would be crowning a new Lord of the Rings soon enough.

Closer to home, a descendant of Crown Prince Godwin, Golden Lord Godric, had once lived in the Capital. It was to Limgref that Lord Godric had escaped after fleeing Radan’s siege, the lands where Forkroads Village was situated.

It was said in whispered rumours that after escaping here, Lord Godric had challenged and insulted Mallenia, only to beg for his life after a brutal beating. Now he was holed up in Stormscleire Castle, hiding from further conflict.

As the closest being with Maiar blood, I had of course considered approaching the man myself. Yet it was only those who sought power that I any Faustian promises to offer. I had little of interest to a craven like Lord Godric.

I had been in the early stages of planning an introduction to General Radan, or perhaps Lady Mallenia, when an official had come to the village. Apparently Golden Lord Godric had gained word of a miraculous healer in this village.

I was being summoned to Stormscleire castle.

Chapter Text

Godrick threw another vase to the floor. One of the maids flinched.

These days even that was enough to set him on edge.

"How dare she? How dare that deformed upstart do that to me?!"

He was descended from Godwyn, the golden prince who had negotiated the truce with the dragons. From Godfrey, who destroyed the giants, and had claimed this very castle from the Storm Lord.

His was a glorious, direct lineage from those very greats, and not something to be challenged by the children of a mere lieutenant like Radagon.

Godrick eyed the useless, trembling servants around him as his irritation mounted.

"Get you gone, you snivelling things!" he snarled.

The maids and servants scrambled to leave his bedchambers.

Godrick smashed yet another worthless vase to the floor and roared.

Soon. Soon he would have the power to teach that blighted whore a lesson she would never, ever forget.

His ancestors had once gained unfathomable power through a technique called grafting.

Soon that power would be his. He just needed a servant with a deft hand at chirurgy.

And wouldn't one know it. The Greater Will had delivered one such servant to his doorstep.

“So thou art the rumoured physician. Lord Godrick hath honoured thee with entrance to his halls for one specific purpose,” the chamberlain said.

At the entrance to the humble village, the lowly Tarnished showed no outward reaction to this great honour, Chamberlain Gerion noted privately to himself. A demigod and Great Lord was personally summoning an outcast who would ordinarily be banished from the Lands Between. The lack of enthusiasm on this physician’s part could only be a result of the ill rumours of his lord’s timidity.

Unfortunately, Gerion knew best the rumours’ veracity. Lord Godrick had done little but destroy the upholstery and lash out at his servants since Lady Malenia had shamefully trounced him all those weeks ago. Even Gerion, as chamberlain, had not been spared.

The lord had spoken of lasting harm and pain, but the clergymen had done good work, and no such injuries could be espied upon his beautiful form. The expressions of the servants had only grown more queer since Lord Godrick’s orders to bring this ‘reknowned physician’ to him. Personally, Gerion suspected an affliction of the mind, but he dared not speak such thoughts aloud.

Regardless, Chamberlain Gerion unfurled the missive with all the required ceremony and continued the proclamation.

“Word hath spread through the lands of Limgrave of thy skill with chirurgy and the humours,” he said. “Thou wilt follow, and shouldst thy mastery be as rumoured, there shall be a great reward awaiting thee.”

Gerion had his doubts as to the veracity of these rumours of marvellous medicine—after all, this village was a filthy backwater within the greater backwater of Limgrave—but he would do as his lord had commanded and bring this man back to Stormveil Castle. Whatever happened thereafter was not his concern.

At least until the inevitable clean-up, and the foul mood of his lord that would follow.

The Tarnished physician simply nodded in demure acquiescence. ‘Twas good enough for Gerion.

With a dismissive jerk of his head, he returned to his carriage putting this fellow out of mind for the moment. Another, separate carriage had been prepared for the summoned.

He tried not to groan too outwardly at his lot in life.

The journey back had been smooth enough. The Tarnished had not caused any trouble, and had even struck a rapport with some of the soldiers. Grace only knew what common ground those of lowly birth had to chat about. All Gerion cared about was presenting this Tarnished before his lord, as ordered. He would have satisfied a demand or two, had the physician grown too arrogant for his own good, but the man had kept a low profile.

Whether it was because he knew his place, or because of the bearing of a healer, Gerion knew not and cared not. He simply counted his good fortune and hoped that the final stretch of the trip would go as smoothly.

There had been a few nerve-wracking moments when mercenary armies marched eastward towards the war in Sellia, but for the most part Gerion’s convoy had gone unnoticed. The few times a wandering detachment had passed by them scouting for food, the sorcerers under Gerion’s command had been enough to shield them from the barbaric northerners’ eyes.

Despite the delays, on the morning of the sixth day, the spiny walls of Stormveil Castle came finally into sight.

A year ago Gerion would have laughed at the idea that he would feel any measure of cheer at the sight of this rural military fortress. Then again, a year ago Gerion had been living comfortably in Leyndell as the chamberlain to the most eligible prince of the Golden Lineage.

The will of the Golden Order was a fickle thing indeed, Gerion thought wryly, if this reversal in fortunes was within its purview. These days, even that was up for debate, with the war between the demigods inciting faltering confidence amongst the mortals.

Gerion himself dared not think too deeply about what fate awaited him down this road. His days of living in luxury in the capital seemed to be long over. They had been chased like rats out of Leyndell, Gerion and his cross-dressing lord, while the real rat, some beast escaped from the sewers, sat upon the Golden Throne. Even if they returned there today, what lifestyle could await them after Leyndell had been besieged by its own brute of a protector, and then usurped by a deformed pretender king?

No, Gerion focused on the few steps in front of him. Hanging out of the veiled carriage window, Gerion watched the walls of Stormveil Castle approach. At least here, a warm bath and some servants awaited him. No Dominulan whiskies or dancing beauties fit for a chamberlain, but at least there was no grovelling to a beastly Omen.

His procession was stopped at the gates to the castle, but only briefly before it was waved through without question. The soldiers did not seem inclined to stop the Tarnished either, merely raising inquisitive eyebrows in curiosity.

A few more minutes, Gerion mused, until he would finally see his lord. Gerion ordered a few servants to draw up baths both for the physician and himself. Although Lord Godrick had been eager to see the physician, it would not do to present themselves in their current state of filth.

A single knock on the door announced an attendant with water drawn and heated. After a prompt but thorough cleaning, he chose from amongst a few small bottles of scented oil. The pickings were slim here in the countryside, but being seated between Liurnia and the wealthy sorcerers of Sellia meant merchants had passed through here with great frequency, at least before the war began.

Once he was as presentable as could be considered reasonable, Gerion moved to the throne room with long strides. Awaiting him outside the room was, thankfully, the Tarnished physician. The diminutive man had been dressed in a felt doublet, and looked at least of passing respectability. It would have to do.

Very soon, they entered.

"I have returned from Forkeyate Village, Your Highness," Gerion said after taking a knee. "By your orders, the rumoured physician is brought before you."

Lord Godrick sat on the throne, as resplendent as ever. Deep green eyes stared at them from behind a sheen of golden grace, while a large crown sat atop locks of Her Grace's blonde. Plump, pink lips always made him look like he was pouting in displeasure, but the spoilt, coquettish air simply enhanced his charm.

Even now, after so many years of serving by his side, a part of Gerion was awestruck by his lord's beauty. Had his face not been so recognisable there would have been no need for the mimic veil, for Lord Godrick could have passed for a maiden with ease.

Those full lips parted.

"So, the Tarnished Physician stands before me. They say thou'rt a peddler of miracles," Lord Godrick said with some mockery. "Come forward."

Chamberlain Gerion stayed put with his head down while the Tarnished physician stepped towards the throne. While he professed some minor interest in what this small Tarnished might offer his lord, the greater part of Gerion simply wished to be dismissed so that some comely young maids might help him recuperate from his travel fatigue.

It seemed as though Lord Godrick would give no such dismissal however, preoccupied with the physician as he was. In fact, it looked as if the Great Lord would rather converse with the physician than acknowledge Gerion at all. He certainly had not asked about the journey or how his chamberlain had fared, despite the war still going on around them.

Gerion sighed inwardly. At least the Tarnished did not seem overly arrogant. Gerion didn't have the energy for another of Lord Godrick's fits.

With an unvoiced groan and a stifled sigh, he mentally settled himself in the kneel to wait out whatever conversation was to come.

"What dost thou see? Speak freely thy mind," Lord Godrick said.

The physician only stared at him silently for several long moments before speaking.

"I see a young man denied his due, cornered by the black schemes of traitors and rebels. A man who could be an open-minded and wise lord, willing to push the boundaries of what is possible, if only he had men of the mettle and vision that he deserveth." The Tarnished physician's voice was as smooth as silk, yet it carried such conviction that Gerion shivered inwardly.

"And I suppose thou'rt a man of such mettle?" his lord sneered. "Thou art far too small and insignificant for my notice. Why should I take on a lowly Tarnished such as thyself as a retainer?"

The little bald physician wasted no time in his response.

"Because, my lord, I will prove to you my skill in person. It is precisely for this reason that Your Highness has called upon me, is it not?" he asked. His voice was strangely accented, yet its deep notes still carried an air of authority in his field that set Chamberlain Gerion on edge. For a moment Gerion had the illusion that one of the great sages of Sellia stood in this throne room.

It was wholly unexpected from the amiable little bald man who had rubbed elbows with the soldiery around the campfire.

Gerion shook himself out of the brief reverie brought on by the physician's speech. Eyes to the floor as he was, Gerion could not see Lord Godrick's expression, but after a moment melodious laughter filled the grand room, of the like he had not heard since before the siege.

"I hope thy skill with the healing arts can match thy tongue, Tarnished. Gerion, thou hast done well. Go rest for now, for I shall call upon thee at a later hour."

Finally.

"Milord."

With a quick bow, Gerion left the throne room. Mind already consumed with thoughts of disrobing buxom young maids, he was only a little curious about what talks might transpire behind those closing oaken doors.