Lionhearts ||Skephalo||

14

George could feel the difference in his dreams now. When they were around Bad, he could feel Bad's panic, and rarely he would see his terrified face by candlelight.

The other things he had seen in the cell horrified him on a basic level, one he couldn't put into words; bodies stacked away in the side of the room, Bad hugging his knees to his chest and rocking slightly, talking to himself, singing to himself, his voice hoarse and whispery.

Surely he needed to conserve whatever resources he had, didn't he? Talking would dry out his mouth, right?
But when the light went out, George understood why Bad kept talking.

And now, his dreams of Skeppy are back on the road, back in camps, dreams of sparring and shooting and careful tutoring.

He taps a pen against his desk and stares at the wall in thought. Dream places his hand on his shoulder,

"George? Hello?" George jumps, and turns to face him, "I called your name like twice and you just didn't respond. Is everything okay? Did I make you mad?"
George shakes his head, and stands, turning to hug Dream gently to reassure him.

"No, you didn't," he reassures him, "I was just thinking about Skeppy and Bad again. I wish there was something I could do to help them, but from here...I may as well be a pretty little bird in a comfortable birdcage. Useless, but appreciated."
Dream huffs softly, and pulls back, cupping the brunet's cheeks in his hands.

"George, you're not useless," he states, "You're still getting over the venom's toll on your body. I have a plan to help your friend in the dungeon, but it's rather convoluted, so presently we need you to recover fully and for me to get prepared to go to the Overworld again."
George's eyes widen slightly, and he raises a brow,

"The Overworld again? You're not?..." Dream combs his fingers through George's hair gently, and hums.

"...well, I have my own powers aside from my power as a leader. So..."
George catches the blond's hand in his, holding it gently. He meets his eyes, his lovely eyes that to George, are such a bright shade of yellow.

"Don't you fucking dare put yourself in danger, even for me or my friends," he murmurs, "I appreciate it, don't get me wrong. But you shouldn't feel like you need to put yourself in danger even though the situations are not...good."

Dream closes his eyes, and sighs.

"I know. I know. You want me to stay safe, but George- I know how I can fix this. Your friend Bad? He sounds like a very sweet but unrealized mage. Your friend Skeppy also has hints of abilities that could be helpful. So it's in our best interests all around to keep them alive and mentally intact."

George nods. In a way, it's relieving to know that Dream has an ulterior motive, that he isn't doing this all on George's account. But then the words that he said sink in fully, and he looks at him incredulously.

"Did- did you just say you think Bad is a mage?" His tone is almost mocking, the amount of disbelief in it is so concentrated. Dream nods, and tugs on his hand.

"Come with me to the library," he orders, and George follows, listening, "You've described Bad as having a way with people and animals alike, able to placate situations that seemed otherwise daunting. He has a healer's touch, and most people he healed were almost tiptop in a short while. He heals fast, and has a way of getting around without being seen. These are all traits that can easily point to a mage who hasn't been trained or told he's a mage. But I have another reason to think he's a mage."

They arrive in the library, and George marvels at it, turning around and around as he stares up the vast shelves, awestruck.
He's never, EVER, seen so many books in one place. Dream laughs softly at his marveling, and tells him softly,