Radahn wasn't sure how much time has passed. He was drifting in and out of sleep, whatever the perfumers gave him for the pain must have been very strong.
But his dreams were far from peaceful. He remembered all now - and his memories tormented him. All the pain and loss of dignity, as the rot slowly drove him mad, until there was nothing left but a feral beast that attacked anything that came near.
And those dreams were the better ones.
The true dread came whenever he dreamt of Miquella. Trapped in a body that wasn't his, helpless under his god-husband's charm. He was a weapon, a trophy, a prized possession. Miquella, after abandoning his love and much of himself, was cold, serene, unfeeling. Not the kind-hearted little brother Radahn once cherished. He spoke of compassion and love, and his words rang empty. How could a god like him create a better world?
But Radahn couldn't even voice his doubts, couldn't reason with him. He could only obey, and fight whoever dared challenge Miquella.
Deep down, he knew this wasn't real. What he saw were glimpses of a future that never came to be.
None could stand before their combined might. They would be slain, or they would be charmed to forever adore their new god.
When he finally awoke from his nightmares, his wounds were almost completely healed, but he was exhausted, as if he fought endless battles.
He vowed not to sleep again. He refused the perfumers' draughts, claiming he was feeling much better.
Yet, he could feel the presence from his dreams, still lingering. Whispering to him. Lord Brother... I will always be with you.
Was he losing his mind again?
No, no... he just needed someone to talk to. That would bring him back to reality and silence Miquella's voice.
He asked the knights if Godwyn was doing better, and if he could go visit him.