I awoke to find that my head had been propped up on Silveredge's lap. I couldn't move a single muscle, and found that instead of the chalky taste, there was a slightly sweet substance covering my tongue.
Silveredge gently opened my eyes for me, her own eyes two fascinatingly focused pools of concern. I couldn't move to protest my position, and in a few moments, I was glad that I couldn't, because she brushed the hair from my brow and- surprise of surprises- kissed it.
"No fever," she reported dutifully. I wasn't sure who she was reporting to, but figured it wasn't Syjen, since she sounded refreshingly normal.
And I realized at once that I'd missed the sound of her natural voice.
She put firm arms under my shoulders to push me up- I flopped a bit, unable to control myself, until my gaze was focused on Bahlzair. When she saw that I had no control of my body whatsoever, she gently brushed my eyelids up and down in order to keep my eyes from drying.
The alchemist's hair had been pulled back into a ponytail, but was still long enough to cascade down onto the floor behind him. His head was down and his eyes were closed, and as I watched him, I noticed that images began to appear on the bare wall behind him, just under his hard-working stone shelf.
First, pictographic characters that I could not comprehend appeared. Behind me, Silveredge peered at my face, then clucked her tongue. The characters disappeared, and were replaced by a sprawling, circular script. Again Silveredge clucked at Bahlzair. Had I been able to speak, I would have told them that I could not read at all, but I couldn't, and the pair of them cycled through a few more forms of written communication before they finally settled on full-blown images.
Apparently, Bahlzair had been here far longer than Aleksei, though he would not go into any detail about the Dragonborn at all. He served as the cook, and as a potions master when Uirrigan was unwell. This small bit of information took approximately fifteen or twenty minutes to relay in picture-form- I was able to sit up on my own at last when the last picture appeared. By the time Bahlzair was sure that I understood it all, Ylyssa strode into the room. Silveredge immediately scooted over to the other bed and laid down, back toward me.
"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded, pointing a fiery finger at me. I very slowly turned to look at her. Behind Bahlzair, whose head was still bowed, lean, angular characters appeared, quickly etching their way across the stone. "I see," the Eladrin responded, crossing her arms and turning her full focus on me. "Well, is she any better now?" More characters appeared on the stone, and Ylyssa crossed her arms. "Syjenge will not be pleased," she sniffed, turning on her heel to leave.
There was silence- only the soft padding of her leather-clad feet could be heard. I turned my gaze slowly to Bahlzair, and was shocked that the writing on the wall behind him had already changed to a graphic image of Uirrigan. According to the artist's rendering, the winged Elf had chains piercing through the joints of his wings as well as a spiked collar digging into his neck. The chains were embedded in the walls of a crumbling sanctuary, and the clearly recognizable images of Syjen and Ylyssa were standing on either side of the Avariel, arms crossed and noses in the air.
It was a completely comprehensible image.
It also conflicted with Uirrigan's own words.
Ignorant as I was then, I was more than aware of the Drow reputation for dishonesty.
But on the other hand, what ancient, once-powerful creature would admit that close relatives of his own race had enslaved him?
I laid down again and closed my eyes- this time of my own accord.
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