"You will eat that, won't you?" He said, pointing to the food. "It will do you good. Will you be able to close the door?"
Again, Oliver nodded. He wasn't sure he could handle words now. He just needed sleep. Reluctantly, Verdant went towards the door. It seemed as though he was thinking of any excuse he could to stay, but didn't manage to land on anything appropriate. "I will come and check on you tomorrow morning, my Lord.
He closed the door behind him, so that Oliver didn't have to. Oliver stared at the key in the lock, half forgetting its purpose. After a few moments of staring, he finally turned it, and was almost stunned by the sound and sensation of the lock turning in the hole.
"Hm…" His mind was completely blank as he regarded his room. Dizziness had transformed it into a foreign territory. The walls moved as though breathing. Somehow he managed to disregard them, and return to his bed. His back was freshly bandaged, and all his wounds were cleaned and treated. All that was necessary now was to sleep, wasn't it?
Ah, but now that he was here, sat on his bed, with the warm smell of food wafting over to him, he couldn't help but glance towards it. Like a dog, he felt drawn to the idea of filling his belly. His rational mind was all but asleep by now, and his body didn't feel quite as bad as it did just half an hour ago. If anything, he'd settled into a steady lull.
He smiled. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad then. He might have already passed the worst of it. He drew the tray to his lap, and began to eat. The first bite of beef reminded him why the meat was his favourite. Then he sampled the pie, and it was just as delicious as the first time that he'd tasted it.
If only for the food, being a noble was worth it, with all its complications. As long as after a long day he could return home and eat food .
He chomped through the mound of beef far quicker than he'd intended to. Then he'd demolished the pie before he even knew what he was doing. Then he finished off the vegetables that the chef had put on the plate with it, and he began to tuck into the other little goodies that he'd put there.
Initially, in picking up the tray, he'd intended merely to have a bite to give his belly something to digest before bed. Something to refuel and recover on. But now that he was into it, that mound of food that was likely enough for two meals, it was all but destroyed. He finished up the last of the cake, and then leaned back with the last little heel of bread, and quickly finished that off.
He downed the orange juice in several quick gulps, suddenly aware of how thirsty he was, and then he did the same with the water, wiping his mouth with a satisfied smile.
He squinted at the wall. Indeed, the room was still swimming. His dizziness still had hardly abated, but there was a warmth in his stomach now, rather than that earlier pain, and he was sure that he'd feel better when he woke up in the morning.
He took off his trousers and his boots, and then set out his clothes for the next day, feeling a terrible sense of accomplishment at the small task. He'd come into this room all but prepared for death, after all, and yet here he was, able to accomplish small tasks that should have been beyond him. It felt like an incredible victory.
Even the cold soon abated, once he crawled under the many covers of his bed, and settled into the soft mattress afforded to nobility, leaning his head against the plump pillows. It was hard to imagine that he could be more comfortable.
Within a few moments, he closed his eyes, satisfied that he would be fine come the morning.
When he awoke, his room was once more returned to dark. The candle that Verdant had brought with him had gone out as he slept. He didn't know what indicator that gave him as to what time it was – the candle might have blown out with a breeze, after all. It was known to be drafty in his room, at times.
But the thought of a candle was the furthest thing from Oliver's mind. He clawed at his stomach with a desperate franticness, as he collapsed to the floor, wanting to howl with pain, but in too much discomfort to even attempt that.
He'd gone to sleep content, and he'd woken up, hours later, in the worst agony that he'd ever felt.
If a doctor had asked him what his symptoms were, the best he could give as an answer was a 'stomachache'. But this was no mere stomach ache. Every organ in his digestive system felt like it was tearing itself apart. He could feel his blood pulsing through each of them, and then he could feel them each individually contracting so hard that they seemed liable to tear themselves apart.
Never before had he been forced to have such an awareness of his organs. He could feel each kidney individually. He knew vaguely where they were on a body, but in that moment, he knew exactly where they were. He coughed, holding out his hand, expecting to see blood, but there was nothing. Nothing but more pain.
His head throbbed from the action. His brain felt like it was doing the same awful twisting and convulsing that his organs were doing. Terrible, in one word, that was what it was. But worse than that. It wasn't just illness, it was death. It was right there, in the room with him, with his hands around his throat.
Panicked thoughts flickered through his mind, as he attempted to find some sort of way out of the pain. He recalled his conversation with Ingolsol and Claudia, their warnings…. Had they given any advice as to how to get through it? Where were they now? He could feel their presence, but he couldn't hear their voices. Were there some sort of conditions that had to be active before he could hear them?
Claudia had said as much before.