The hallways flew by as he headed for the lower chambers, where the wounded were kept. Seregor walked with all possible haste, dodging servants in the busy corridors, bumping into one or two along the way. The entire trip made him feel like he was swimming against the river, not a single soul was going the same way he was. Everything was against him in this place, and it wasn’t hard to envision Rathernal as the driving force behind it all. He had tried to keep his mind off other things by counting the doorways that slid by in the dark passageways, but had lost count at forty-one. It had proven too tedious, and distracting enough to allow a near collision with a young servant carrying a stack of books. It was a near disaster, but he was able to notice her just in time to move out of her way.

His lower lip was sore by the time he arrived at the door that led to the area set off for the injured, as he’d been biting it the entire way through the castle. There was a slight feeling of sickness in his stomach, brought about undoubtedly by the anxiety associated with seeing his friend. He kept trying to tell himself that it was Dauth, the same person he’d grown up with. There should have been nothing at all to fear. Though, in the deepest parts of his mind, there was an uncertainty. Something did not feel right. He couldn’t be sure what it was or why he felt it, but it was most definitely there. With a sharp shake of his head he tossed the intuition out, discarding it for more pleasant thoughts. Pulling the door open, he stepped through it and began down the hallway to the room where Dauth was being cared for.

The sound of a door further down the hall being shut thundered down the corridor, causing Seregor to jump slightly. He pressed himself against the cold, hard wall, having been caught completely off guard but the sudden burst of noise. It still echoed in his ears as he swallowed, beginning to breathe through his mouth. His heart was pounding. There was a faint tingling at his side, the unexpected jolt making pain fade back into his wound. Shutting his eyes, he reared his head back, resting it against the wall. A droplet of sweat rolled down the side of his face. His chest heaved with each breath.

“It was just a door,” he muttered, hoping to reassure himself. He couldn’t quite figure out why he was so jumpy. The sharp pains were now biting at his lungs, however, growing more intense with each passing moment. His hurried pace must have agitated the injury. Breaths became shorter and raspier. Standing up was too much work. Gradually, he began to slide down the wall into a sitting position. It was unable to combat the dizziness that soon followed, his head spinning.

A door creaked open somewhere. He was unsure of its location, the sound came from all sides. Approaching footsteps. His eyelids were heavy, he couldn’t get them open.

“Are you alright?”

The footsteps grew louder. Somebody was coming. Finally, he managed to open his eyes, his vision blurred. A fierce bolt of pain tore through his chest. Immediately, his eyes shut. He sucked in all the air he could, clenching his teeth. Trying to bear it. It was a hurting that delved to the depths of his being, leaving no part of him unscathed. It was too much to take. He had to give in.

“Can you hear me?”

Yes, he could hear. But he wasn’t listening. The only thing on his mind, the horrible sensation that was eating through him, overpowered all else. This would be the one that killed him, the onslaught of pain that threw him to the ground and never let him up again.

“What’s going on here?”

Another voice. Another voice he didn’t listen to. They weren’t there, they were in another world. He was alone in his immense suffering. His eyes shot open as the head of the spear punctured his skin. The metal as cold as ice, he reached for it, struggling to pull it out. There was nothing for him to grab. Deeper and deeper, ripping through his insides. He inhaled repeatedly, but to no avail. His lungs had fallen victim to the bite of the weapon. It would not relent. Now he could feel it breaking through the other side. In an explosion of pain, it burst through his skin. His pupils contracted. Everything went black as his body slumped over.

“Get more help! Take haste.” He finally knew they were there. They were there to help. But what could they do? It was already too late.

*****

He sat up with the speed of a bolt of lightning, abruptly awakened by nothing. Sweat was beaded upon his body, just as it had been every time he woke up since he and Dauth nearly died at the village. Beneath him was softness, atop him warmth. He was in a bed. Everything had been a bad dream. All the pain was nonexistent, his death was obviously nothing more than imagined. Seregor was safe in bed. A bit startled, but out of harm's way nonetheless. Being somewhat comforted, he eased back onto the pillow, letting his eyes shut. He took slow, steady breaths. In a few minutes he would get up, but for now he’d rest a bit more, let himself loosen up and forget about what he had dreamt. It was then that he heard feet scraping across the floor towards him.

Letting out a soft sigh and wondering exactly why there was somebody else within his chambers, he let his eyes open once again. The footsteps grew closer with each passing moment. Seregor simply stared at the ceiling and waited.

“I see that you’re awake master. We were quite worried.”

Seregor blinked. In confusion, he continued to look up at the dark ceiling, shadows cast by flickering torches playing upon it. Lifting his head, he looked to the wall. Strong gray bricks. His eyes widened. It had happened. He hadn’t died, but he had passed out. Finally he turned to the voice, eyelids suddenly heavy. Another servant. Another plain person in a castle full of them. Simple clothing, a simple hairstyle, perhaps a simple mind as well. Seregor’s eyes shut. He was beginning to consider giving it up; the meaningless struggle for a meaningless life. The great importance that had been placed on him was fabricated. Should he die, none would mourn. Everything in the world would continue on as though he never existed.

“Yes, I am awake now.”

He couldn’t help but reply.

“I found you in the hall master. You looked as though you were on the verge of death! Thank the gods you are alright!”

Laughter echoed through Seregor’s head. The gods this young servant praised were the same ones that fueled the war. The ones that brought him his pain. The gods that brought nothing but death. What praise was there to be had for them? He had survived until that point, but it was most certain not because a god helped him along the way. He’d done everything himself, paid for being alive with his own blood and sweat.

His reason for having delved down into the depths of the castle in the first place quite suddenly arose. He’d come with a reason, a goal that was actually meaningful to him.

“I came to see a friend,” he said to the servant, his eyes now fully open. “His name is Dauth.

Would you perhaps know where he is?”

“Oh, master, I don’t believe you’re in any condition to go visiting anyone. You need your rest,” replied the young drow.

Seregor sat up slowly, biting his tongue to keep from showing the pain that shot through his chest. All at once he was aware of how sore he was, of how drained the episode had left him. He knew it was stupid for him to get out of bed. Despite being aware of it, he proceeded to swing his feet over the bed’s edge, onto the solid floor. This lowly servant would likely see it as strength; Seregor knew it to be foolish stubbornness. Through clenched teeth, he forced words.

“Do you know where he is or not?”

With a frown, the servant nodded. “Aye, I do master. But I really don’t think that you should be up and out of bed just yet.”

Seregor shut his eyes for a brief moment, swallowing. Then he lifted his gaze once more to the other drow, his crimson eyes dull. “I am glad that you are concerned for my well being, but this is something that I must do.”

The servant slowly nodded, his frown growing deeper. “As you wish master.” He stepped over to the bed, taking Seregor’s arm and helping him to his feet. The latter groaned softly as he rose, the pain that was formerly localized spreading throughout his whole body. He found himself gripping the servant tightly, as though the action would reduce his own suffering. It was a vain effort. Slowly they began off towards Dauth, Seregor feeling a shard of joy within the overwhelming tide of pain.

*****

Seregor had dismissed the servant upon entering Dauth’s private room. It wasn’t a large place, it was actually quite cozy. Nothing more than a bed, a chair, and a nightstand were inside. There was no source of light, as drow eyes could easily rip through the darkness. His body still aching, Seregor stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame. Upon the bed sat a broken figure, shoulders slouched and head hanging gloomily. Around him was an aura of sorrow, though Seregor could pick up something else mixed in with it. He couldn’t rightly place it, but it created a prick of fear in the bottom of his heart. Shadow seemed to emanate from Dauth’s body, creating a pocket of unnatural darkness around him.

At length, Seregor ventured forward, taking a single step closer.

“What do you want now?” hissed the voice of his best friend, little more than a raspy whisper.

Seregor was caught off-guard by the sound of Dauth, freezing instantly in place. His breathing grew heavier. “It’s Seregor. I have come to see how you are doing.”

The room was gripped by an almost terrible silence. Slowly, the figure on the bed sat upright, his back straightening. The head rose, twisting ever so slightly to the side, as though looking over his shoulder. The shadows around him seemed to lighten. Seregor dared to take another step closer to his friend. “So you are alive?” asked Dauth.

Seregor nodded, though Dauth could likely not see it. “Aye, I am alive. You did not know?”

“No,” he replied with an angry hiss. “They have told me nothing. All they do is continue to rant on and on about how the gods have been merciful to me, it is a blessing that I am alright.” Suddenly, Dauth turned with great speed, facing Seregor.

Seregor’s eyes widened at the sight of his friend. Most of his face was terribly burned, and would likely have been a mass of blisters were it not for the expert healers within the castle. His once smooth skin was no more, ravaged nearly beyond recognition. The eye that had been slashed by the elven maiden in the village was nothing more than an orb of white, half closed. The other eye shone with a dull red glow, almost seeming to pulsate with fury. His eyebrows had been singed off, along with much of the hair on the left side of his head. His left ear was nearly gone, no longer coming to a point but rather ending in a mangled mess.

“You too? You see what has happened to me and you have fear in your heart.”

Seregor shook his head. “I do not fear you, Dauth. I love you like a brother. I am sorry that this happened to you, that I could not save you sooner.”

“It is not your fault, Seregor.” Dauth turned his back to his friend once more, his head bowed. “We have the merciful gods to thank. For they allowed me to live.” Dauth’s tone of voice had become harsh, spoken through tightly clenched teeth.

Seregor moved closer to his dearest friend, his heart sinking to his stomach as it was overburdened by sorrow. His mouth in a frown, he bit his lower lip absently. He tried to search for something to say. Finally, words came out. “I am glad that you are alive.”

“Well I am not!” snapped Dauth. “Not like this.”

Stopping his slow advance, Seregor sighed softly and turned his gaze to the floor. “Dauth,” he muttered, but let his voice trail off with nothing to follow the single word.

“I am sorry, Seregor. Sorry that you have to see me like this. I am sorry that I did not die that day, but the gods, in all their mercy decided that I was to live.”

“And as well you should live. I will need your help to end this war, so we can live normal lives once more.”

“Normal? A normal life, Seregor? After what we have done? After what I have become? How can I ever lead a normal life?” Dauth asked, desperation apparent in his voice.

Seregor placed a hand upon his friend’s shoulder, letting his eyes close. “We will find a way, Dauth. That I swear to you. We have been through far too much together to give up now, to let us be torn apart by something like this. I will not sit idly and watch you become what you aren’t.”

There was no sound for several moments. The silence was broken by a shaky breath from Dauth. “It burns, Seregor,” he said, turning to the other drow. “Even now, it burns. The fires are always here. They cannot be extinguished. It burns my flesh,” he paused for a moment. “It burns my soul.”

“I know Dauth, I know,” Seregor replied, tightening his grip on his friend’s shoulder. “I know of what you speak all too well.” His mind suddenly drifted back to Rathernal, the utter disgust once again swelling in his gut.

“I will make sure they pay for this,” Dauth swore in his raspy voice. “I will fight with all my strength until they are destroyed. Every last one.”

Seregor’s eyes rose to Dauth’s back for a moment before sinking back down. He didn’t like the words just spoken. “We must end this before that can happen, Dauth. End the meaningless death.”

“Death, Seregor, is necessary at times. They have killed me. Why should I not return the favor?”

“There has been too much of that already Dauth.” Seregor could feel himself on the verge of tears as he said it. He had taken great part in that already. He did not want the killing to continue. But deep within, he knew that it was necessary. And this sad truth threatened to crush him.

“War has a cost, Seregor,” Dauth said quietly. “I have already paid a price. It is the price of war.”

The room was once again overtaken by silence. The two sat there together in the mist of sorrow, Seregor deep in thought. The price of war. A price that he would have to pay for the rest of his life, it seemed.