Sometime in the Fall of 520 AV
"Here," said Markham, handing her the notebook. "Write it all down in here."
They sat in a plain room, bare walls, a few candles hanging from a ceiling. She was dressed in a cotton gown under sheets that smelled a bit musty. There was a freshness to her body though, as if she'd just been cleaned recently. As if there had been water and soap recently washed and dried off her skin.
Rohka blinked, staring down at her journal. She brought a hand up to tuck her hair behind her ear, scratching the back of her neck nervously.
"You can write whatever you remember, okay? The doctors said it would help with getting yourself back into the world. I need you to focus on this. You owe your father this. The more you write, the faster you can get whatever it is that you wanted." He paused, shifting the weight of his being from one foot to another as he loomed over her bedside.
"If you still remember what you wanted, that is," he said, softly.
Rohka felt her eyes water, as if there were tears that needed to flow. She held them, noticing them, before letting it go. They stained her dress with droplets of wetness. She saw this and felt herself become tense. It was hard to watch herself like this, hard to stay patient with the fact that she was now a patient in this place.
"When," she croaked out, before clearing her throat. "Can I leave?"
Markham closed his eyes. He knew she would ask this eventually. Rohka had only been awake for a bell, and already, the only thing she cared about was getting away instead of dealing with what was real right in front of her. It maddened him to see that she still hadn't learned, after all this time being out on the seas and in different cities, and travelling on a boat with the crew. It was as if her selfishness was just as thick, full, and flowing as the blood in her veins.
He opened his eyes and sighed, putting on a smile for her. "Soon enough. Based on what you write. We don't know how much damage was done, and whether you'll be able to work for a living. We need to know what you retained and what you lost. We need to know where you should be placed. You haven't walked for a long time now, so we'll need to take a look at that as well. All of that could take days. Start with this, and then we can go on from there. I figured this would be more helpful than having the doctors question you and you refusing to answer, like you've been doing. You wrote so much while you were on the ship, so maybe reading your past entries will help you too. Do you want me to leave the room?"
She shook her head. The journey into consciousness came with its questions, but she wasn't sure if it was the right time to ask them. Rohka hadn't seen anyone she recognized besides Markham since she'd awoken. She wondered what it was that she needed to prioritize. It didn't seem like writing needed to be the first thing.
She trusted Markham, though. If he says that's what she needed to do first, well then it seemed like that had to be true. Her head began to hurt immediately, realizing that there was something else she must have missed in this question he asked. Did she want him to leave the room?
"Can you come back in a bell or so?" she asked, looking away from him. She stared at the corner of the windowless room, seeing a crack in the stones of the wall. This unfamiliar space immediately felt cold to her as she shifted a bit more, pulling the sheets up. She brought her gaze back to the leather journal, closed and sitting on her lap.
Markham placed a quill and ink vial on the bed. It gave him confidence to hear her speaking and asking questions, if nothing else. "Give me a shout if you need anything. Don't strain yourself. This isn't a hurry. Whatever you're thinking about, just write it down. And if you have questions, write those too." He didn't know what else to say. The doctors had briefed her on her location. He wondered if he should be talking about her family.
Almost instinctually, as if she'd picked up something in his expression, she spoke up. "Where are my weapons?"
The sudden interrogation shocked him. Her tone was almost angry, as if she held blame. He tried his hardest to hide the pain in his face and voice, realizing at once that it had been his own influence that made her ask the question. "Your belongings are being held elsewhere. You will not have access to them right now. I need you to focus on your healing journey, alright?"
"What about my cards?"
To this, he sighed. This was a question he knew would come.
"No access. It took a lot for me to get you this journal, and that was simply because I'd convinced the people here that it would help you recall more of what you've been going through. So please, Seeker," he said, invoking the identity he knew would be inside of her.
"Okay," she said softly. She closed her eyes.
Her eyes stayed shut.
With a deep sigh, Markham left the room, the door shutting behind him.
WC = 924
