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tedekhi saves the day and it's what he deserves
Tedekhi comes home with some news
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Tedekhi’s heart rate hasn't gone below 100 beats per minute in seven days, and he would be concerned if he had any ability to focus on something other than piloting this crappy little ship he’s stolen from a deep-space port. 

The engine whines incessantly and he closes his eyes against it, his ears flat against his head. The front screen is white as he moves through hyperspace, and the sensors and controls blink on and off. Tedekhi tried to repair them as best he could, but he had no supplies. He's piloting half-blind. But he's almost home, almost almost almost. Just a little longer. A few more hours. 

He's so tired. He's so thirsty. The burning wounds on his thigh and stomach left by a soldier’s blaster during his escape send angry stabs of pain through his body — he has no medical supplies. He'd dabbed the wounds with sanitizer and wrapped them in strips torn from his shirt — not proper burn care, and he worries they're infected.

The display blinks off. Tedekhi whacks it until it comes back online, and then leans back in his chair and groans. His head is spinning, and spots dance in his vision — his food and water ran out two days ago. This ship is too small to store much, and it wasn't made for interstellar transport; it's a glorified taxi. There isn't even a bed. That is probably why it had been so easy to steal — that and the fact that it's falling apart. 

Only a few more hours of hyperspace, Tedekhi tells himself. Just hold on until then.

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He barely can keep his eyes open, and has to desperately fiddle with the dashboard several times, until finally, finally, the sensors read that he was in range of home. Tsaidam

He weeps in relief, not realizing it until tears land on his hands and the controls. He wipes them away, braces himself, and prepares the ship to exit hyperspace, activating his shitty cobbled-together helmet and the stabilizers in his much too big and rusted suit. There's always a danger with ships like these that the transition out of hyperspace will break them apart, but hopefully if that happens Tedekhi’s life will be preserved long enough for him to send out an emergency flare and be rescued by the small cruisers in orbit. If worse comes to worse, he has detailed notes and messages on his person and in the nearly-indestructible black box. Someone will find it and get it to Findei. And then Mehtien will be rescued, and Tedekhi will recover his honor and save his friend’s life. 

The entire ship shudders and hisses alarmingly as it comes out of hyperspace, and the blinding white showing from the windows abruptly turned into black nothingness. Tedekhi’s head swims alarmingly and he only just manages to jerk the helmet open and grab an empty cup before he throws up, gagging on bile. 

Fuck,” he groans, wiping his mouth. His vision dances with colored spots, and his entire body shakes. “Fuck.”  That hasn't happened since he was thirteen and traveling interstellar for the first time with his mother. He’s always been proud of his ability to endure the stress of coming in and out of hyperspace with no side effects other than a little dizziness here and there; it's part of what had made him a distinguished pilot. He's in worse shape than he thought. 

But he's almost home. Almost, almost, almost. He manages to flick on the engine controls again and put his helmet back on, holding the steering toggle in weak and trembling hands. He is almost out of fuel.

He pushes the toggle as far is it will go and groans as he is pressed back against the seat.

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The blackness in the window has resolved itself into familiar, beloved starscape, and the blue-green-white marble of Tsiadam in the center of his field of vision. The only thing stopping Tedekhi from crying more is the instinct to conserve all water. 

Tsaidam grows and grows and grows, until Tedekhi can gleefully pick out the continents and mountain ranges and then the steppe. Home, where he was born. No clouds. The sky must be so so blue, looking up from that sea of gold and green, the white-capped mountains at his back. 

He's close enough now to see the haze of atmosphere above the surface of the planet, and then he is close enough to feel it slow his ship down. At this height, leaving a ship without gear would mean instant death, but there is still enough gases to impact a moving ship. 400 kilometers; he needs to get ready for landing. 

He forces his trembling hand to switch the necessary controls on or off, retracting anything unnecessary into the ship and sealing it over. The windows darken to protect Tedekhi from the intense light that moving through the atmosphere would generate, and then he accelerates forward, forward, forward, until the only thing he can see is blue and green and white, and he feels something pulling on the ship, pulling them faster than the engine could. He shuts off the engines and takes a deep breath, running through everything in his head. 

He's done all he could, prepared all he could. Now he just has to hope that he doesn't burn to ash or crash into a mountain and die. 

Tedekhi doesn't remember much after that.

He remembers the shaking and the screaming of metal, he remembers the blaze of incandescence around the ship as it falls, he remembers the heat of it. He remembers pain, searing pain in his leg and his side. He remembers the feel of the steering toggle in his hand, jerking it back with all his strength.

 

And then, nothing. 

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Jizhu has just finished cleaning the barn when she sees — well, first she hears the ungodly screeching, and then she turns away from the barn and looks up and sees the ball of metal fall out of the sky. It is approximately the right size and shape for a ship, but never in her life has Jizhu seen a ship so misshapen, nor has she witnessed such a bizarre and incompetent landing.

Nothing is on fire, which is good.

“Saki!” she hollers in the direction of her house. A few minutes later her wife appears coming down the path between house and barn, ears pricked with curiosity. 

What? What’s wrong!” calls Saki, jogging up to her, her scent washed with protective concern.

“Nothing, maybe,” says Jizhu. “Well, probably something, just not necessarily for us -- something just crashed over there, beyond the sheep pasture. Nothing’s burning, so the farm’s safe, just. We should probably check it out.”

“Something? You mean a ship?”

“Gods, I hope not,” Jizhu mutters. “If that was a ship then it deserves to be burnt. It was the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen fall from the sky in my entire life.”

Saki shakes her head fondly. “If someone might need our help, we should go right away.”

“Yeah. I’ll grab our gliders, you get — water, I guess? The medpack?”

And fifteen minutes later, they touch down in front of a very tiny, ugly shipwreck.

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Tedekhi can barely see, can barely stand. The fucking door is melted shut, because of fucking course it is. He has a blowtorch and a blaster, and he finally breaks through the metal shell with a horrible crack.

The light from outside is blinding, but he manages to stumble through the hatch, his eyes squeezed shut. He slides down the hull and lands on glass crystals and ash that the impact created from the rocks and grass. He takes two steps and then collapses, his knees buckling. The glass granules crunch as he lands face-first. 

“Ouch,” Tedekhi says, but it sounds more like. “Hhngnfh.”

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There are vocal exclamations, and footsteps, and then — hands, sturdy but gentle, turning him over — and then the voices are easier to hear.

“Holy shit,” says Jizhu. “How is he alive—

“Shhh,” says Saki, flapping her hand at Jizhu. “The medpack, hand me the medpack — sir, can you hear me? You’re alright, you’re safe, we have medicine — just relax and keep breathing okay?”

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They're speaking his language, his language. Even with blurred vision and an awful ringing in his ears, hearing Siung-yi feels like clarity. Tedekhi groans, trying to raise his arm to open his helmet. He tries and tries, but he can only raise it an inch or so. 

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“Hey, hey hey, it’s okay, I can get your helmet,” says Saki, hurrying to do just that. There is a low hiss as the helmet unsealed, and then his helmet is open and he can taste the fresh air. “Just relax, okay? Don’t move. You’re really hurt. I’m going to scan you now for injuries, okay?” There was a soft beeping between as she prepped the handheld medscanner. 

“Oh, fuck,” she says a moment later.

“What’s —”

“He’s — I don’t even know where to start. He has fresh blaster wounds, there are burns -- and the readout for his signatures is all off, I mean there can be error with the vitals on scanners like this but when it’s this extreme… he — I think he’s concussed, there’s a bunch of red flags going off around his head on here.”

“Fucking hells — do you think the concussion is from the crash, or before? Whatever sort of fight he got himself into?”

“I don’t know, Jizhu, I barely know how to read this scanner! We need to call into town for a real medic, can you?”

“Yeah, I have my pager.”

Saki crouches by Tedekhi’s head, her voice quiet and soothing. “Sir, can you hear me? Don’t worry, we’re getting you help. I think you’re concussed. Do you understand me? Can you tell me your name?”

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Tedekhi forces his eyes open and groans, closing them immediately. “T’d’khi,” he mumbles. “I need…” He needs to get to Findei. He has vital information, this is an emergency. He tries to say those things, but cannot move his lips. 

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“I know. It’s okay, the medic is coming. We have some water, do you think if we propped you up you could drink a little?”

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“Mhm.” Water, water! Yes!

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“Great.” She scrambles around his head so that she can very, very slowly lift him up. “Let me know if I’m hurting you too badly, okay?”

Together she and Jizhu manage to feed Tedekhi some water without drowning him.

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Tedekhi gulps the water desperately, shuddering with the relief of it. “More, please,” he manages to whisper. 

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“Yes, yes, of course!” says Saki, pleased and relieved that he's able to talk. They give him the whole canteen, very, very slowly.

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“Thank you so much,” Tedekhi gasps, leaning back against them. “Thank you, thank you. I thought — would die, I thought… I have a message, important, please.”

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“A message?”

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“You’re welcome. The medic will be here soon, I’m glad that you’re okay. What is the message?”

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“For Findei. Mehtien — alive. Immediate — emergency. Need to know. Everyone.”

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What?” Both of them are staring at him. They look at each other in shock, and then back down at Tedekhi. “That’s — prince Mehtien? He’s alive?

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“Yes,” Tedekhi whispers, trying and failing to open his eyes. “Captured — both of us. The ship… We survived. Need to tell Findei.”

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“Oh fuck.”

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“Fuck. Okay. Okay — okay. We’ll send a message right away. Stars. Okay — Jizhu, you go back to the house and get the satellite phone, I’ll stay here with him until the medic —”

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“Yeah, on it,” says Jizhu, already hopping to her feet. She dashes away towards the house.

“It’s okay,” Saki whispers to Tedekhi. “We’re going to tell Findei, it’s okay. You did really, really well.”

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Tears drip down Tedekhi’s face. “Thank you, thank Tengri,” he chokes out. “He’s hurt. My friend —”

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Saki’s eyes fill with tears in sympathy, and with bewildering, overwhelming shock at their prince still being alive.

“They will help him. I know they’ll help him. They’ll send people here to ask you questions and then they’ll - they’ll go get him. It’s okay. Do you know where he is?”

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“Han. Chang’an. Th’ palace. Please, please, they’re hurting him.”

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Jizhu fumbles with her phone, attaching it to the satellite clip in such a rush that sparks spray reproachfully at her from somewhere. She curses and readjusts the clip, checking all the wires — they never considered it a priority to have the most streamlined communication tech installed in their little farmhouse, and that had never been an issue before now — and then she is on the line to the office of the shanyu, her king, the most important person on the planet. Even the dial tone sounds surreal.

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Hello, you have reached the office of the Shanyu Findei, the second king of the Xiongnu. Please hold.”

There is a soft click, and then staticky silence. And then “Hello, this is the calling office of the Shanyu Findei so that his people may notify him of their troubles and delights. May I ask the reason for this call, and your name?”

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“My name is Qri Jizhu. I’m calling because of an emergency, I have a message that needs to get straight to Findei right away, can you do that?”

She has started running back out to the pasture as she waited on hold, her phone and its satellite accessories in hand. Saki waves at her when she sees her approach.

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“May I ask the emergency? Our Shanyu Findei is a very busy man, with limited time.”

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Jizhu very narrowly avoids swearing at the office of the Shanyu Findei, second king of the Xiongnu. “He has time for this. His grandson is alive, Prince Mehtien is alive, that’s the emergency.

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“I-I’m sorry, what did you just say?”

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“Someone, I think a member of Prince Mehtien’s crew, just crashed a ship into our sheep pasture. He said his name was — Tidakhi, I think? He was slurring a little, he’s concussed, he’s in real rough shape. He said that Mehtien’s alive. Somehow the two of them survived the explosion, they were captured. Is that enough of an emergency for you?

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“Oh Gods,” The operator whispers. “One moment. Hold on.” There's vague silence again, barely-audible commotion in the background.

A few minutes later, a new voice comes on the line, deep, resonant, and musical. “This is Findei. You said my grandson is alive?

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Jizhu sits down very suddenly, still a few paces away from Saki and their guest.

“Y- your Majesty,” she says hoarsely. “Yes, that’s what we’ve just been told. A shipmate of his is out in our pasture, badly injured — he says that he and Mehtien both survived and were captured.”

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Findei is quiet for a moment. Then there is a tingling warmth and light onto the three of them, a face and shoulders coalescing out of the sunlight. A man, with long wavy dark hair and a thick beard, the corners of his eyes creased with smile-lines, though his face is deadly serious.

“Hello,” he says, in that same rich voice. “I know this must be quite shocking, but I assure you it is as just as shocking for me. Please tell me everything you know.”

His projection looks past Jizhu at the rest of the pasture, the smoking wreck of the ship, and then at Tedekhi, lying prone in Saki’s lap. “Tedekhi!

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“My lord,” Tedekhi croaks. He starts crying again. “My king. ‘M so sorry. S’sorry. I tried — I tried. Couldn’t get to him. They took him. Please.”

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Hush, child. Don’t strain yourself. Rest, now. I know that you did your best. Now will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?

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“Your Majesty,” says Saki, her eyes lowered respectfully. “Tedekhi crashed a ship on our property. It was a tiny ship, in very bad shape, and Tedekhi is — ah, he appears to be injured from a combination of that and wounds he must have sustained while he was escaping? There are blaster wounds. He told me that —  that.”

Her throat feels very dry; she clears it. “That Prince Mehtien is alive and a captive in Chang’an. Is that right, Tedekhi?”

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Yes. They’re hurting him. The Emperor is — hurting him.

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Saki’s eyes flick between him and the projection of the king, unsure if it's her place to keep asking Tedekhi questions when the king is right there. The king's own questions would surely be more valuable. “That’s —  that’s all the two of us know, Your Majesty,” she whispers.

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Thank you for all your help,” Findei says, his face stricken. “This is both extremely relieving and extremely concerning. Is there a medic coming to treat Tedekhi? His life is the one who seems to be the most immediately threatened.

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“Yes! Yes, we called a medic right away, they should be here soon. When, uh, once the medic’s patched him up, should we help send Tedekhi to the capital?”

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Yes. Please do that. I am very eager to speak with him when he is well. I’m sure everyone will be. Tedekhi, our tribe is forever in your debt for bringing this news to us.

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Tears pour down Tedekhi’s face. “I couldn’t protect him,” he sobs. “I’m so sorry, I tried, I tried, I couldn’t — they hurt him, they hurt him so badly — the Emperor is — the guards, they — I couldn’t stop it, they made me watch —”

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Saki looks so stricken that Jizhu puts a steadying hand on her shoulder. Both of them look at Tedekhi with great concern; Saki is trembling. “They — what did they make you watch? What is the Emperor doing?”

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Tedekhi, please tell us. I do not blame you, not at all. But I need to know what has happened to my grandson.

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Tedekhi sobs again. “They raped him,” he cries. “They raped him. The guards — they made me watch. The Emperor was going to — to — I couldn’t stop it.”

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Findei’s projection flickers in and out, his face stricken with horror. His eyes are wide and wet. “Oh Gods,” he whispers. “Oh Gods.”

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Jizhu has the abrupt and overwhelming sense that she shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be hearing this, shouldn’t have heard that —  she feels like she's going to be sick. She can't stop picturing the prince as they’d seen him visiting out in the country, bright and passionate and sincere, and she can't stop imagining —  

Jizhu hides her face in Saki’s hair. Saki is stifling a sob into her palm. “I’m sorry,” Saki weeps, “That’s so terrible, I’m so sorry.”

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Findei’s projection reaches out and touches both of them on the shoulder, and the warmth and weight of his hand feels real. “You have nothing to be sorry for, but your sorrow is appreciated. I assure you that I will do everything in my power to bring Mehtien home, even if that means storming Chang’an and killing Lu Qing myself. You have honored yourselves and our people by helping this pilot.

His projection turns to Tedekhi. “Tedekhi, I remember you as a trainee, coming home with Mehtien and getting into trouble. I am grieved for what you have gone through. Sleep now, and recover your strength until you are healed enough to come to council.

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Tedekhi’s sobs stop abruptly and he slides into deep sleep, the stiff tension ebbing from his body. He sighs softly, the pain easing from his face. 

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Saki shouts in alarm, for a moment thinking that he's dying on the spot, but then she realizes that he is merely asleep and claps her hands back over her mouth. “Sorry!” she gasps. “Sorry, sorry. He’s just sleeping. He’s sleeping and the medic will be here soon, and —  it’s okay. He’s okay.”

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No fear. He is just asleep. His body is under incredible stress, but he will be fine, largely thanks to the two of you. I thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

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“It is our honor, your majesty,” says Saki earnestly, bowing her head. Jizhu does the same. “We will continue to take care of him.”

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I will send someone to keep you updated on Mehtien’s situation. I understand that this is extremely confusing and distressing. I implore you to keep the truth of Mehtien’s torture quiet for now, until he is home and can decide how much to divulge.

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“Yes, your majesty,” say both women fervently.

“We’ll keep quiet about all of this, your majesty,” says Saki. “We understand. I hope that Mehtien will be home soon.”

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Findei smiles, looking a little troubled. “I hope that as well. Thank you both for your understanding. May you both have a more peaceful afternoon than morning.

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Finaki tilts his glider down towards the white sprawling complex of the hospital. He's wearing a flying cap and visor, to protect his face from the cold thin air at high altitude, and tears keep filling up the mask. They've frozen on his cheeks during the flight, and now are melting as he descends, dripping down his face.

His stomach drops out as he swooped down; a feeling he normally delights in, but now he barely notices. Everything in him is focused only on MehtienMehtienMehtien; he's flying on autopilot.

He's close enough now to pick out leaves on the trees and shrubs, and ripples in the fountain in the courtyard of the hospital. He circles in one loop and then lands, swinging down from the glider and skidding to a stop in the grass. He barely slows down enough to park the glider properly before he is running, letting the momentum carry him through the double doors.

He hits the front desk with a soft oof, pushing the visor out of his face. 

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The receptionist stares at him in naked shock. “Sir, please! This is a hospital, you need to —”

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I need to see Tedekhi. Please, I need to see Tedekhi, he’s here isn’t he?” 

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“Tedekhi, Tedekhi...”

The receptionist scrolls through the computer logs. “I’m sorry sir, you need special clearance to see that patient, I’m going to have to ask you to lea —”

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Finaki hisses and unbuttons the top of his shirt enough to yank out the thick beaded necklace and amulet, flashing blue and gold with the emblem of his father. “I need to see Tedekhi,” he says. He feels a small twinge of guilt for his rudeness, but this is a fucking emergency. 

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The receptionist stares, her eyes popping out of her head. “My prince,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry, I — of course, of course, he’s in room 206, it’s just over there —”

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“No worries, sorry,” Finaki shoots out over his shoulder, taking off running down the hallway, shoving the amulet back into his shirt. He doesn't like flashing it around like that. Mehtien didn’t either. Mehtien always said he wanted to be recognized for his own merits, not honored because he was lucky enough to be born to Fanur. Thinking of Mehtien hurts, and Finaki bites his lip so he won't cry again. 

Room 206. Room 206. Where was it — there. Finaki skids to a stop, sliding awkwardly on the tile floor, and shoves the door open. 

The room is white and blue and green; a sterile room, smelling of disinfectant and linen. The hospital put effort into adding color: blue charms on the walls, plants by the windows. The curtains are drawn, and the room is dim. 

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In the bed is Tedekhi, his eyes closed and his hair limp and loose on the white pillow. The sheets are tucked up to his chest, his arms above the blankets. An IV leads into his left hand, and electrodes are taped onto his chest under the thin medical robe. A monitor beeps quietly with his vital signs.

His face is thin and waxy. His cheekbones stand out sharply, and his skin is pale and tinged with grey, the color washed out. He looks small and frail, lying unconscious, tucked into bleached sheets.

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Finaki closes the door behind him and sits quietly in the chair next to Tedekhi’s bed. He sighs heavily and puts his head in his hands, feeling profoundly useless. 

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Tedekhi’s eyes flicker open. He blinks, waiting for his eyes to focus on his visitor. They don't focus, not completely, but his vision sharpens as much as it is going to, and that's enough to recognize —

“M’prince,” he croaks, trying to sit up. “Finaki, ‘m so sorry —”