711492

Chapter 3 - Dream Your Life Away

Nobody woke Elbereth up the next day, for which he was thankful. He'd slept on his words thanks to Margoth's remedies. He'd been busy mapping all the caverns of his soul in his dreams. Upon waking, it still felt like a maze. Elbereth had always barely understood himself. Why would anyone else understand him through a story of his life?

He was brought breakfast by a servant. He was hoping for another dose of pain medication but the servant only gave him a meal. Margoth must've not been in the castle yet. After eating his fair share—which was hard with him being unable to sit up by himself—he placed the barren plate on the nightstand for collection and laid back down. 

He rolled the baggy sleeve of his servant robes up. On his left forearm was a tattoo of the number sequence 711492; or seven eleven four ninety-two as Elbereth pronounced it. A part of him hated it. Marginally despised it. He couldn't get rid of it no matter how hard he tried. 

Nobody in Ettrail knew what a tattoo was; or that it was a permanent thing. Ettraillians always referred to it as the numbers they were born with, never thinking much of it.

There was darkness in his mind. He never thought he'd have to explain in depth where he'd come from. Ettrail had been a place he'd fought so hard to forget. Now he was being forced into remembering it. Maybe he could put up with it long enough to erase it from his brain permanently after giving Valka and Margoth a story worth being turned into a book.

Another few hours passed and Elbereth sunk deeper into the tar-like substance of his mind created from all the words he could choose from. It pulled him down to the depths, not letting him write a plan for the phrases he wished to use in the upcoming narrative. He would pick his phrase and his mind would show him every possibility of why nobody would understand what he was saying. The darkest parts of his brain reminded him he'd never be a good acumen and suddenly he had a whole new set of worries. Another part whispered Don't worry, your time will come. 

Elbereth was ripped from the clutches of his mind when a knock came from the door, followed by Margoth letting herself in. She balanced a tray with more food and medication in one hand as she shut the door.

"Oh, thank Averis and Azriel," Elbereth swore in the names of the Elven gods that the rest of elves in the world worshipped. "I was beginning to think you people were just going to let me drown in my own mind."

"I apologize, Emerald." There was genuine apologeticness in Margoth's tone. She grabbed the breakfast tray from the nightstand and set it over his lap with her free hand. Then she put a plate full of eggs and mixed vegetables in front of him, along with a glass of orange juice. "King Valka, the rest of the High Council and I have been busy today." 

Elbereth remembered the rest of the High Council from his trial. He remembered their burning eyes and scornful looks. They all seemed to hate him—all except Margoth, who's eyes only shone with sadness. He had been the first person who'd been arrested since Valka took the throne and the first to receive a proper trial in thousands of years. Elbereth had been thankful to at least be given that much. And supposedly, getting a proper trial had been a real gift of grace. He hadn't been immediately sentenced to execution like most of the inmates in Arün's prison. 

As he worked off his sentence as a castle servant—per his agreement with King Valka—he saw more of the High Council. A few of them seemed to look at him with less hatred as time went on, but nonetheless, a couple of them still seemed to dislike his very existence. 

Elbereth propped himself up on his forearms, unable to sit up without assistance. Margoth took the rest of the items she'd brought with her to the desk, setting them down. There were the same things she'd brought yesterday and something else. A medical syringe, a few doses of liquid medication and a roll of medical bandaging.