Chapter Five: The Sand Pearl

All about them the city of Saffrom burned. Cecil had been to the city once before, as a boy of about eight years. His Highness had taken him along on a diplomatic visit to Damcyan, where he had encountered the royal family, the Muirs. Then, it had been a sparkling metropolis full of life. Beach white buildings extended to the ever-blue sky and the gold domed palace slept in the distance, keeping watch of the bustling desert city.

Though it had been very hot, everyone was hard at work, their skin tan and care worn, their smiles bright and their laughter infectious.

Now, Saffrom lay in ruins at Cecil's feet, wails of despair rising from the ruins of the city. Uncontrollable rage and sorrow gripped Cecil in its throes. Everywhere there was death; the stench of burnt flesh filled his nose, ash from once beautiful trees stung his eyes, and the taste that fire brought sat bitterly in his mouth. They stopped whenever they could to help the injured and dying, but Cecil did not step forward lest he be mistaken for an enemy.

It was nearly too much for the Dark Knight to bear.

First the raid on Mysidia, for which he had been personally responsible, and now this catastrophe. Cecil could not help but feel awash in his own helplessness, unable to do anything to save these people from the terror of a Red Wing's fire bombing.

Rydia hugged close to Cecil's side and buried her face in the armor of his leg, despite the fact that it was uncomfortable. He placed a hand on her head, knowing how the fire and the cries of the dying must remind her all too well of Mist, another one of his innumerable mistakes. Perhaps he was cursed; it certainly seemed that way, for many had suffered on his account.

The group scaled the charred stairs of the palace after what seemed an eternity adrift in a sea of flame. The doors had been blown off of their hinges by what Cecil could only assume to be magic and lay on the once fine marble floor inside. The corpses of the Damcyite Royal Guard littered the ground level, some bleeding, others burnt so badly the were beyond recognition as Human beings. Cecil pulled Rydia more closely toward his side as they climbed another flight of stairs to what Cecil remembered as the throne room.

Their footsteps echoed hollowly against the tile as they ascended, entering a room that must have once been very grand; though now the tapestries were ripped and bloodied, and a gaping hole in the ceiling allowed strands of feeble dawn-light to seep through.

The desperate sobs of a young man pierced the destruction. He was crumpled pathetically before the throne, grasping the corpse of a woman in a yellow gown, thought they were not yet close enough to discern the details of the heartbreaking scene.

Tellah, without so much as a whisper of warning, charged forward, brandishing his oaken staff as he rushed the young man. Cecil, taken aback, did not realize what was happening until the man on the floor had stumbled back, narrowly dodging the erratic downward blow of the aging man.

"You scalawag!" Tellah bellowed. "You killed her!"

"Please-!" The voice of the young man was pleading, a soft, almost melodic tenor. "I didn't-! You don't understand!"

Tellah struck at him again, and he scrambled to his feet, dodging the blow and holding up his hands. Tellah would have none of that, "you spoony bard!"

"Father ... Edward ...," Cecil, who had made his way to the side of the body along with Rydia, was shocked when its pale green eyes fluttered open and the seeming corpse spoke.

An arrow protruded from her stomach, restricting her speech. Cecil cast his gauntlets and helm aside, pulling her into his lap and brushing her thick, brown, tresses from her face.

"Stop fighting! This woman is trying to speak!" He commanded in a voice that filled the vacuous chamber with echoes.

Tellah and the man, Edward, if the woman's words were any indication, immediately dashed across the room and threw themselves to their knees to be at her side.

She peered at Edward through the haze of death, a haze Cecil knew all too well, and placed the fingers of a working woman on the side of his unblemished face. "Edward..." she turned her gaze toward Tellah, "I love him, father..."

"Anna..." Tellah's gravely voice caught in his throat, filled with a sorrow that Cecil could not begin to fathom; the sorrow of a parent losing their child.

"He's the prince of Damcyan," she explained, her other hand reaching to touch the side of her father's face. The man had removed his spectacles to reveal the same green eyes, shining with tears. "He's ... a good man."

Her words were growing weak now, and Cecil knew it would not be long until she slipped into eternity. Her breath rasping, she turned to Prince Edward at once more, using the last of her strength to speak. He was clutching her hand to his face, and Cecil could see how difficult it was becoming for him to hold back the flood gates of his sorrow. 'Edward ... I ... love ... you..."

With those last words she fell still and breathed no more.

For a moment, Prince Edward did not move, as if he could not fully process that his beloved had left this world, but the Dark Knight soon detected the tell tale trembling of grief in his hands.

"Who did this?" Tellah demanded of Prince Edward tactlessly, awash in his own grief.

"A man named Golbez stood at the helm of the attackers," Prince Edward said in a voice so soft that it was a wonder Tellah, who now stood and was pacing, his footfalls echoing in the cavernous rooms, could hear it.

"My parents and Anna both sheilded me from their arrows."

"Golbez," Tellah growled, spinning about. "I will have your head!"

"Wait," Cecil ordered, laying the woman's head down upon the tile and respectfully closing her eyes before standing. "This man ... I do not know much about him, but I do know that he is ruthless. You cannot possibly hope-!"

The fury in Tellah's eyes and the tears burning there silenced him more than the Sage's furious shouts.

"Silence! She was not your daughter! You do not know my loss! I will do this alone or not at all!"

Then he was gone, and Cecil could not find it in his heart to pursue the grieving father and stop him in his quest. Instead, he turned to Prince Edward, whose eyes were now freely flowing with tears, his head buried in the folds of his beloved's skirt. Much to Cecil's surprise, it was Rydia who spoke, "coward. Stand up. Grown men shouldn't cry. If I've stopped crying, so should you!"

"You're right, of course," the Prince looked up, and Cecil was stuck by the color of his eyes, as warm and golden as honey. He was reminded that he knew this Prince from all those years ago, from when he was but a child; though admittedly not well. "I am a coward, so I will not face my life without her. I will stay here and I will die."

Rage gripped Cecil once more. If he were to die, he would not want Rosa to follow him. He would want her to live on, to find light and love without him. Taking only a few strides, he grabbed the man by the scruff of his tunic and hoisted him to his feet.

Slapping the man in the face and pushing him backward in release, he found himself moved to the point of near shouting. "Wake up! Do you sincerely believe that she would wish you dead? You must live for her!"

He ran his hands through his hair, looking away from the Prince and sighing. Exerting control over his emotions, he turned his face back toward the Prince and spoke again, " in any case, I have need of your help. A friend of mine has fallen ill with Desert Fever, and you are the only one who can assist me in retrieving the Sand Pearl I need to save her."

"This person, you love her," he touched his cheek where Cecil had slapped him, and looked into the Knight's eyes unflinchingly. "I will help you. No one should have to suffer the loss of their lover." He turned around, his bard's cloak billowing. "If you follow me, there is a hovercraft in our underground hangar that we can use to cross the shoals."

Cecil took Rydia in his arms, realizing that she certainly must be overtired. Prince Edward, who was quiet as a mouse, gathered Cecil's forgotten helm and gauntlets in his arms, and they set off down the left corridor.

The Prince cast one last, longing, look at his beloved before he lingered no longer.

The Prince and Cecil fell into step beside one another, and Cecil noticed after awhile that the young ruler continued to cast him sidelong glances.

"You are aware that I do not bite?" Cecil asked, more lightly than he intended, but the bard Prince smiled and replied in his tuneful voice.

"I'm sorry, but is your name, perhaps, Cecil? I knew a boy named Cecil once. He was from Baron, as your accent dictates, but I can't see him having become ..." the Prince trailed off. 'Well, you don't act very much like a Dark Knight, do you?"

Cecil ignored that last comment, as he knew opinion of Dark Knights outside of Baron was not high. It seemed as though the rest of the world thought they were monsters, though a the majority of them were simply men who had been forced into their positions by circumstance. The Dark Blade captured those who had the right disposition in its throng, and it was wont to release its victims, even onto death. As a whole,

Dark Knights were remarkable individuals who had the mettle of champions, but were held captive by the Darkness, oftentimes against their own wills. They all lived with the solemn knowledge that they would one day either be killed by the Darkness or dominated by it.

"I was wondering if you remembered me," he mused instead.

"Who could forget a lad with your particular features?" Edward laughed, a musical sound, though it was still haunted; as it rightly should be. "You were so kind, as I can tell you still are. what drives you to the desert, Sir Cecil? Surely, you're not chasing after this Lady of yours?"

Cecil hesitated for a moment before replying, unsure of what he should say. At last, he settled on the bare truth. "I am a fugitive," as he would be. Golbez would not allow resistance if he controlled Baron; and he must, for the King would never authorize this were he in his right mind, nor would he allow Golbez the use of his Red Wings. "I led the raid on Mysidia and burned this child's home to the ground under orders." The young ruler looked shocked, and Cecil would be lying if he said that disbelief did not flatter him. "I could no longer live with myself, so I set out to treat with other nations in order to preserve their crystals. I seek to stop my country so that she may maintain a shred of her honor."

"Then you have my help, any I can offer," The Prince offered.  "A man who makes a mistake should always be given a chance to correct it. It is true that I remember you, and I know you're a good person."

"Your words, milord," Cecil turned his eyes away from the monarch, "I am not sure deserve them. I was only eight last we met."

"That may be true, Sir Cecil," replied the bronzed young man, "but you showed such respect to Anna." Cecil hadn't even been aware that the bard prince had noticed how he'd laid her body. "I have a hard time believing that someone who is so reverent of the dead could ever be evil."

They passed trough a pair of heavy wooden doors at the end of a deep staircase, delving ever deeper into the darkness.

The conversation died, leaving Cecil time to think. That Prince Edward believed reverence of the dead guaranteed his innocence proved his naivety, but Cecil did not say anything to him. Cecil had long ago stopped believing in people based off how they treated the dead. The only true judge of character was how one treated the living; something Cecil had experienced first hand five years ago.

He shifted Rydia in his arms, finding that she was sleeping despite being held against his hard breastplate. It was the deep sleep of exhaustion and he was grateful that she was able to find it, though he could not yet bring himself to sleep; not until Rosa was safe.

"Here we are," announced the Prince after awhile steeped in silence. He motioned toward a sleek, yellow blur before him, standing out against the blackness. "I'm quite certain you've never seen a hover craft before. They're fairly rare and difficult to manufacture." Edward ran his hand along the front end, and then moved toward the back, opening a storage compartment Cecil would not have noticed existed otherwise. He stowed Cecil's gauntlets and helm inside of it, turning back the Dark Knight, "each and every part must be enchanted by a White Magi with a specialized 'Float' spell, or it is unable to hover."

Cecil had never seen a machine like it before, of that the young ruler was correct; though Cecil had no idea what Prince Edward was explaining when he spoke of the 'Float' spell. The Dark Knight had never been particularly adept at Magic, so all talk of it was lost on him. The machine itself stood up to his waist and was a horse and a half in length with deep, brown leather seats, and a rounded front.

The Dark Knight looked at the bard prince, whose brow was now creased in sorrow. He was leaning over a panel on the wall, tapping at a series of buttons. Cecil did not realize that Damcyan was in possession of this level of technology; he supposed the panel had been installed when Damcyan had purchased the hover craft and was also enchanted.

A moment later, the north wall rose, letting a few streams of early morning light into the dark room. It had grown stronger since Cecil had last seen the sky, back in the throne room.

"Put the young lady in the back seat," the Prince advised. "You may sit up front with me."

Cecil lay Rydia where the Prince had directed, brushing her green hair from her face. He then easily jumped the side of the hover craft to sit next to Edward, who was playing with the dials on the wheel in front of him.

The hover craft lurched, and Cecil braced himself against the sides, cursing as he found himself floating several feet off of the ground. Though he'd flown miles above the earth, there was something different about this feeling of weightlessness that he found unsettling. The machine itself ran silently, so Cecil could still hear the bard prince's soft chuckle at his reaction as they took off into the desert heat.

It was a shockingly brief trio across the burning sands; though Cecil found himself dozing off to the feeling of warm air rushing past his face. He must be truly exhausted to be able to sleep in his armor while sailing across the blazing desert. Before he knew it, they were skimming across the watery shoals toward a distant, mountainous, landmass. Behind them gushed an enormous jet of water created by the pressure of the spell against the waves (as the Prince explained conversationally). Before long, they set down upon dry land, only a few yards from the gaping mouth of a cave.

It was not a limestone cavern, wet and cold, like the cave Cecil and Rydia had just barely left. Rather, it was a cave of warm, red earth, stuffy and musty (if the Dark Knight had to wager a guess), more like the den of a beast.

Prince Edward was already out of the hovercraft and moving about. He had removed Cecil's gauntlets and helm from the storage compartment, and had somehow scrounged out up a torch and what looked like a satchel of supplies. Shaking himself to wakefulness, Cecil himself exited the hover craft and strapped on his equipment. Sighing, he woke Rydia, who stared up at him with sleepy eyes, "papa?"

Cecil shook his head, "it's me, Rydia, it's Cecil. We're going to get the Sand Pearl now."

"Oh," she blushed and rubbed her eyes; Cecil couldn't help but feel a pang at her tired mistake, reminded of all he had taken from her. "Okay, Let's go."

There was a 'whoosh' as the torch set ablaze, and Cecil turned to look at Edward, who as staring at the cave mouth as if it nauseated him. Cecil walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, "relax, Prince Edward. I promise you whatever monsters we meet within will not harm you."

"It's not that," Edward assured him, "it's only that I have not been into the Antlion's Den in a long time. I am not sure that I remember the way to the nest."

"Beasts usually burrow in a straight forward manor," Cecil assured. "I am sure finding the way will not be difficult."

Edward gave him a strange look as the three companions plunged into darkness every bit as stagnant as Cecil had imagined.

"Do you hunt?" the bard prince asked, his face unsure; Cecil could tell the idea made him uncomfortable.

"My friend Kain hunts," Cecil explained absently as he examined the surroundings. "I simply tag along on his expeditions in order th spend time with him. Our duties often separate use, you see."

The cave itself was made of tightly packed dirt that stood no chance of collapsing, fort it was held together by a hard, transparent material that Cecil assumed had once been the burrower's saliva. It made the glow of the fire against the walls strangely bright as it was amplified by the reflective surface.

"The life of a Knight, is it difficult?" queried the Prince as they traveled down the strangely vacant corridors; perhaps the Antlion was a great predator to the smaller beasts.

Cecil noted that Rydia had taken the Prince's hand, though they had barely spoken a word to one another.

"Is it a different sort of life, one that requires stamina and dedication. I am afraid it isn't as romantic as the ballads make it out to be, however. There is a great deal of hard work and training that goes into the craft, and it does not pay very well. On the other hand, being a Knight means that you have been elevated to the level of a Lord, and have secured your family a place in Baron's history. The future prosperity of a Knight's family is practically ensured, as any son of a Knight is permitted to marry a high dowered Lady."

"But isn't your situation unique? You visited us with Lord Thomas Harvey and he introduced you as his Heir," Prince Edward led the way through the shadows, his arm held high.

"That was a mistake," he replied, frowning deeply at the memories that came. "The Nobles would bar any such action. Succession will be decided when His Highness passed away."

It was silent for a very long time, as they continued to weave through the shadows. They eventually reached a large chamber with a sandy, loose floor and a sloping descent into what looked like a nest. The Prince and Rydia descended, and Ceicl followed.

Releasing Rydia's hand, the young ruler leaned down in the sand, "Antlion's are harmless. We should simply be able to take the Sand Pearl from her nest; it is not her egg, after all, only formed of the fluid she secretes when-!!!"

A great screech caused the Prince to yelp and jump backward, his torch falling onto the ground as a pair of scissors sharp pincers rose from the sand.

Cecil sprang, almost automatically, to the bard prince's defense, his blade already burning with the Dark Fire he utilized so often these days. When he struck the beast, however, it lashed out and cut through the metal of his breast plate as if it were lard. Luckily, it did not hit him, and he was able to get away with ruined armor.

Hissing, Cecil decided to try a different approach.

Dropping his hand to his side, he channeled the Dark Fire from his sword into the surface of his armor; manipulating the Darkness with all the skill of a seasoned veteran. Saturated by the Darkness itself, Cecil sent an arching wave of Dark Fire toward his target in a violet blaze.

It screeched and recoiled, but did not attack him with its pincers, seeming unable to determine where the attack had originated from.

"Magic attacks are effective," he muttered, then motioned to Rydia, who began to cast.

Looking for the Prince, Cecil found him, unhooking something from his belt clumsily. He pulled a traveler's harp from his side and began to strum, at first a bit shakily, but when he closed his eye, his song became loud and confident. The bard’s lips parted in song, and his voice was so angelic Cecil nearly forgot himself. Yet there were many things in the Knight's mind that drew him back to the battle, though he resolved to ask Prince Edward for a song later.

He was surprised to see that the beast was slumbering, and attributed it to the Prince's song. Looking at is as he channeled the Darkness once more, he saw that 'Antlion' was an appropriate name for a beast with the pincers of an insect and the fur of a feline.

Lightning stuck the monster and it hissed in confused frustration, rearing back so it stood on four of its six legs. A moment later, Cecil's arrack landed and it recoiled, slamming into the wall and dislodging chunks of dirt from the ceiling.

Cecil rolled and grabbed the forgotten torch, still burning, and waved it in front of the Antlion, who backed away, shouting. "Back! Get back!"

Having taken a beating, the creature burrowed back beneath the sand. A chord resounded before falling silent, and Cecil kneeled in the dirt to pick up the milky, opaque orb that glowed ever so slightly in the darkness. Standing, he found himself staring into the eyes of the Prince, who was smiling sheepishly at him, "let me take you to Kaipo."

"I was going to ask," Cecil looked at the pearl, still in his hand, and was amazed at how it stood out against the ebony of his armor; it reminded him of Rosa, pure and bright. "I will never reach her through the cave in a little over a day."

"Then we must hurry," the Prince went to his belt once more and removed the item satchel.

He took out a small vial filled with glowing powder and motioned for Cecil and Rydia to father near.

Uncorking the vial, he sprinkled it in a circle about them and dropped the vial on the ground. A moment later, Cecil's stomach lurched and his vision blurred a tingling spreading over the surface of his skin. He found it difficult to breather, and just when he thought he would pass out, his vision cleared and he found himself standing in front of the hovercraft.

Rydia and the Prince were both staring at him in concern, and after a moment he realized he was hunched over, wheezing.

"Sir Cecil?" the Prince asked, placing a hand on his back, but recoiling when the darkness crackled up to him. "Ah!"

Cecil un-strapped his helm and dropped it to the ground, "I ... am ... fine..." he panted, beginning to pull off his armor. Straightening his back, he turned to the bard prince, "help me burry this armor."

"What happened? You sound as if you've recovered."

Cecil dug his hands through the dirt, but the Prince stopped him, "we'll throw it into the sea."

"Yes," Cecil nodded, stowing away the armor in the front seat and pausing to lift Rydia into the back. He turned to the Prince and at last responded, "it was the spell. I ... I had some sort of reaction to it."

"That's normal," the Prince replied, looking oddly relieved. "I learned from my tutors that certain people are particularly sensitive to Magic, even if they are not Mages themselves."

With that settled they set out for Kaipo.

The journey seemed far too long for Cecil, who sat with the sand Pearl clutched in his hands. Rosa seemed so far away, and as the day waned he grew even more anxious. True to his word, the Prince threw his armor into the sea, through Cecil was so preoccupied he barely noticed.

They spent a majority of their day on the water, eating the rations that the bard prince had in his satchel. Rydia and the Prince talked a blue streak about Magic and other things that she had been learning about in school, and Cecil gathered that the Prince was a very educated man. Cecil himself was not. All he knew was that knowledge required from him to be a Knight, and though reading and writing were included, Cecil had never taken the time to enjoy them, as Rosa had.

It seemed to the Dark Knight an eternity until they reached the Kaipo Desert, the white moon full, and the red moon but a crescent, but he was relieved when they did. Never before had he wished so dearly to have an airship, which would travel much faster across the sand. When he saw Kaipo's burning torchlight on the horizon, time seemed to slow, and he clutched the dashboard eagerly. At this point, Rydia had fallen asleep, and he and the Prince flew on in silence, so Cecil could clearly hear the thundering of his own heart.

Before the hover craft had even landed, Cecil had jumped the side and was stumbling across the sands and through the gates. It was quite awhile before Rydia and the Prince caught up with him, and they may not have if he hadn't been halted in the market place by the press of bodies (how was it that it was still so busy this late at night?!).

He made it to the mansion where he was admitted by a frazzled maid who was wearing her nightcap slightly askew. He walked past her was quickly as he could without pushing her aside and proceeded into the foyer. The way to the room was not forgotten to him. Soon enough he entered and threw himself at the bedside, startling awake the old man, who had been slumbering on a chair he had set up at the foot of her bed.

Cecil was unsure of what to do with the pearl now that he was staring at Rosa (who looked far worse than when he had left her), could do nothing other than hold it lamely over her face.

When she opened her eyes to stare at him, however, he realized that simply shining its light upon her was the cure.

"Cecil," she whispered, her aquamarine eyes brimming with tears as she blinked them open. "Cecil, you're alive..."

Now that she was safe he could do nothing but nod, awash in his joy and the sudden buoyancy of relief. Instead, he placed a hand on the top of her head, which she took in both of her small hands and moved to her cheek; heat still burned there, though it was not a fatal heat.

"I told them you were alive, Cecil, I told them... I told them you couldn't possibly be dead," she choked, and Cecil pulled her into a one armed hug, placing himself on the bed beside her. "I just ... I was still so afraid that there was a chance... They were right."

"Shush, Rosa, it's all right," he brushed her thick hair from her face and smiled at her. "We're here now, and we're both fine, so stop your fretting"

Rosa's eyes lighted on Edward and Rydia, who stood awkwardly in the doorway, and she smiled beckoningly, "who are your friends, Cecil?"

"This is Rydia of Mist," Cecil held out his hand and Rydia, who rushed forward and took it, smiling up at him; releasing Rosa, he pulled Rydia into his lap, "and this is Prince Edward von Muir of Damcyan."

The old man blanched, and a flustered Rosa hastily straightened up and smoothed out her clothing, only to relax when she saw the Prince's easy going smile.

"Hello, it's a pleasure to meet you," he bowed ever-so slightly at the waist. "I'm glad to see you're feeling better."

"Rosa," Cecil said suddenly, his face serious, "I have to go to Fabul."

"I'm coming with you," replied the White Magi, her eyes full of fervor. "I'll get my bow, we'll-" a spasm of coughs interrupted her speech, causing an anxious Cecil to grab her wrist.

"No, Rosa you're not well," his tone was insistent.

"Cecil," a hand on his back caused the Dark Knight to tense; the tone of voice was not one he had ever heard the Prince use before. It was firm, but with a note of pleading to it. "Rosa wants to be with you."

"Very well," Cecil resigned after a long moment of contemplative silence, "but we will rest first."

"You may stay here for the night, Sir, Milord," the elderly man humbly offered.

"Thank you," the Prince smiled, "let us go outside to discuss sleeping arrangements. Rydia, come along."

Rydia looked between Cecil and Rosa, grinned as if she knew something, then slipped from the bed and dashed after the bard prince and the man.

"She's darling," Rosa commented, and Cecil stood, to pull up the chair and sit at her bedside. there was a brief, hesitant, pause. "Cecil, did you really ... Did you really burn Mist to the ground? Kain said ... He said that you killed the people there, too?"

Cecil could not bring himself to look at her as he spoke; he stared at the headboard instead, "it is true. We massacred those people. It was the ring his highness gave us. It burned down the village."

"Oh, Cecil," Rosa sighed, drawing their hands together and staring at him with her big sea-foam eyes. She suddenly frowned at him, "you look terrible; when did you last sleep?"

"A full night?" he asked tentatively, and her frown grew.

"Cecil, why haven't you slept?" she scolded, "and what of your armor?"

He knew that she was not really upset about his armor, and that her displeasure was at the sword that still hung at his side, "I had to save you, Rosa, and you know all too well why I cannot forsake this blade."

"I wish you had never picked up that cursed sword," Rosa murmured.

Cecil did not say it out loud, but he did agree with her. Instead, he leaned back and stared at the ceiling, breaking their contact, "how are you feeling?"

"Tired," she replied, "but I'm fine now, thanks to you."

He extended his hand, and she took it, smiling up at him. "I'm so relieved," he muttered, "I thought you were going to die."

"Oh, Cecil..." she sighed, placing her hand on the side of his face. He closed his eyes and allowed himself the
pleasure of leaning into her touch; it was an indulgence he surrendered to only because of his relief. "You have such a large heart."

The door opened and he pulled away, inclining his head only to hide his burning face. Rosa, he noted, was not flustered at all. "Yes?" she asked, facing the doorway.

"Our rooms are ready. I've come to get Cecil," the Prince announced.

Cecil stood, bid farewell to Rosa politely, and stumbled down the hallway, the weight of his exhaustion finally crashing down upon him. He was only vaguely aware as he crawled into bed, and fell asleep before his head hit the pillow.