Timothy had no idea how much time he remained with his back at the door and his head between his hand, agonizing over his situation.

Eventually, a lament coming from his room broke him out of his reverie.

Timothy realized with a start that Lare may very well still needing his assistance.

Concern rising, he started at his feet and ran into the room.

A pair of confused grey eyes welcomed him.

“Lare!” He said with a rush of relief.

The little girl was awake, sitting on his bed.

Lare could have been a pretty little girl if it wasn’t for the sickness that had been following her from her birth. Her baggy clothes fell on a skeletal frame, barely hiding her protruding bones. Straw-like short hair fell like a curtain around her face, from which two very large, grey eyes peered out thoughtfully.

“Timothy…”

The apprentice was at her side in a moment, hesitating only for a split second before taking her hand to check her pulse. Thankfully, much of the Black Worms were gone, disappeared altogether or sank back in the skin, faded into a faint web of black signs.

Timothy felt like he could cry. She was better! Thank the Gods! Thanks!

“Why am i…”

“Y-yes! Just… just give me a moment, alright? I need to check your mana flow.”

Lare blinked and didn’t answer.

For a few agitated moments, Timothy busied himself with checking his little patient’s conditions. The more he controlled, the more he was delighted. The Black Worms were still there, yes, but the little girl was already well in the way of recovering from her crisis. Her Mana was back under control.

It was such a relief for him after what happened that only with a kind of sad resignation he turned away from it.

Lare was watching him, large grey eyes calm and pensive. It looked like the little girl had overcome a part of her confusion.

“Where am i?” She asked.

“In the tower of my Master,” Timothy replied quickly. “Your father brought you here after…”

He caught himself, the gravity of the situation hitting him like a punch. Alphonse had been brought away and who knew where they had taken him, or what they were doing to him… people had been talking of stakes and burning!

Timothy felt a knot forming in his throat. What the hell was he supposed to tell her?

The little crease that formed on her forehead told him of the mistake he had just made. Lare had always been far too quick to understand for a kid her age. Timothy always wondered if it had been her sickness to push her to develop that spirit of observation, or if it was a natural gift.

Whatever it was, now he was sweating.

“We were out of the house… people from the temple were rustling about…” the little girl said quietly, looking like she was talking to herself. “Then... I can‘t remember... “ She watched him. “Where’s my dad?”

Timothy felt the inside of his mouth go barren as a desert.

“He’s… he’s gone back to your house… to take a thing he forgot.”

The crease deepened and Timothy had to repress a grimace. She hadn’t believed him, of course. Hell, he wouldn’t have believed himself if he was the one listening.

“Where is he?”

Timothy felt a surge of anxiety. Lare just watched him, large grey eyes fixed on him.

“It’s… just a moment, there’s, there’s a thing i must do…”

Quickly excusing himself out of the room, he threw his back against the wall.

Mind racing, making his best to ignore the fact he was hiding like a scared rat from a kid, he fumbled for an explanation, anything to say that could put her mind at ease.

Nothing came.

What the hell do i say to your kid, Alphonse?

Timothy tried. He brought her a meal, tried to distract her with a story, with makeshift toys he hurriedly put together in the workshop, with his books; he even took out his prized collection of preserved insects to try and take her mind away from thoughts of her father’s whereabouts.

It wasn’t just for the child’s benefit: he wanted to distract himself just as much. The anguish for Alphonse’s fate gnawed at him.

All for nothing, the little girl was a brick wall.

“Where’s my father?”

“I-i told you! He went out to your house to… to get a thing.”

“Why won’t you tell me, Timothy? What happened to him?”

“I… o-oh! I have this! I-i am sure you’ll like it!”

The little girl didn’t cry or scream but Alphonse almost wished she did. Those large, pensive eyes of hers felt as accusing as a pointed finger.

Eventually, his gut churning with self-loathing, he couldn’t take it anymore.

“J-just a moment. I.. i’ll be back!”

She barely watched him leave in a hurry as, face scrunched into a pout, she methodically demolished a collection of his sketches.

Getting out of the room felt like being able to breathe again, but the problem hounded him. He couldn’t tell her but couldn’t keep up with this either.

Pacing, anxiously wringing his hands, he raked his brain for a solution.

A crazy idea hit him. He wouldn’t dare something like that normally, but this was an emergency.

He cleared his throat.

“Here goes nothing...”

Heavy, stomping steps resounded in the corridor as he pumped Mana in his legs.

Then, trying his best impression of a surprised voice: “Master! I didn’t expect you here!”

A small influx of breath, low but not enough to escape his ears, resounded from inside the room.

Timothy was so encouraged by it that he didn’t even feel like a fool as he put out the deeper, incomprehensible angry mumbling he could muster. Not too much at least.

“Yes, Master, of course, Master,” he said. Thankfully, and a bit depressingly, the part of the fretting apprentice didn’t come hard to him. “I am sorry we disturbed you. It won’t happen again!”

He put out some more grumbling, then stomped down the corridors, making sure that his steps were well heard.

He tiptoed back at the door, waited for a few moments with bated breath, then peeked in the room.

Lare had stopped her despoiling to gaze at the door, large eyes filled with what could have been consternation.

Timothy felt tentative hope. “We… we should keep it down if you don’t mind. Master is busy.”

The little girl pursued her lips, then nodded solemnly.

Timothy tried his best to not let his delight reach his face as he smiled tentatively.

“Do you… do you want something to eat?”

Lare nodded again, then turned to grab the cookies waiting on the platter he had brought her.

As she set off on munching quietly, Timothy felt a mix of exultation relief and self-loathing.

Let’s hope Master never discover it. He would never make me hear the end of it.

He absolutely sucked, but at least she was fine, at least for the moment.

Some time later, Lare, probably still tired from her crisis, dozed off, and Timothy was left alone with the gravity of the situation.

The apprentice paced around the corridor, wringing at his hands, stopping often to look at the door with concern. He half-expected for a mob to throw it down at any moment and the prospect terrified him. What would he do then? Forget that, what did he do now?

He had set his mind on not calling the Master - there was too much of a risk for the confrontation to turn bloody if he did so, and who knew what retaliation the people could bring on the Tower -, but then, what could he do? Alphonse, the other mages down in town; he needed to save them, he needed to do something to resolve this crisis. But how? The priests should have made to listen to reason. The only thing he could think of was trying to explain that the medicine only seemed to be of necromantic origin but it wasn’t really. But the priests had been biting for an excuse to bring down the hammer on the mages, with the Sun Temple at the head of that. If An-Helios was in charge, he could very well be offering his head on a silver platter instead of setting the pace.

Uncertainty tore at him. Try his luck and mediate? And with what assurances that it wasn’t suicide? Who would look at the Tower if he wasn’t there? The idea of people invading the place horrified him.

But then, what could he do?

Those weren’t pleasant hours for Timothy. The apprentice dithered, hesitated, unsure of what to do and terrified of making a terrible mistake, jumping between ideas and rejections, hope and despair.

And so, without him even noticing it, time passed.

He was slumped on a chair by the door, looking at the wall in a daze, when something new happened.

BAM BAM BAM

Timothy jumped at his feet with a yep. For a mad moment, he thought that it was Alphonse returning, but then reality reasserted itself and he blanched.

A day hadn’t passed!, he thought in terror. Why are they here already?

He thought of running away, taking the girl and make a run for it in the bowels of the Tower, where golems would protect them; of unleashing golems on the crowd and push back the priests. But then the violence! There could have been wounded! Dead! And then the Tower could well end up razed to the ground by the citizens!

Apocalyptic scenarios played across his mind. His knees jerked and he almost slumped at the ground

BAM BAM BAM

He jumped, a yelp escaping him. He grimaced painfully, wringing his hands. Talk maybe? Maybe… maybe they could still fix this. If they talked… if only…

Nursing those desperate hopes, he tottered at the door and, with trembling hands, opened it.

What, or rather, who he found was completely different from what he expected.

“Timothy, my boy! Hail and well met!” said with enthusiasm the man at the door.

He was incredibly tall, enough that one could very well imagine him having to bend to enter into people’s houses. Simple clothes worn by the road covered a brawny frame that not even the man’s height could make look anything but massive. A hand as large as a shovel held a sack the man carried slung on a shoulder, while the other clutched a pilgrim’s staff that could have very well been a young tree just ripped off from the ground. A large leather hat shaded a sun-burnt face where bushy sideburns joined with a big beard, long mustaches and a disordered mass of hair to form a great red mane. The man had a large, protruding jaw, with his mouth curved into the friendliest of smiles. His eyes were twinkling red gems socketed deep in his craggy features.

“Lord Lazslo…” Timothy said, at loss.

“How are you, you young fella?” Lazslo greeted energetically, his voice as loud as his frame was brawny. “Here, let me in.”

Without waiting to be ushered in, Lazslo pushed his way in.

Sack in hand, looking very well like a mountain bandit, the big man looked around with a smile.

“Helios’ sweaty balls!” He declared. “This place is still a tomb! How the hell you guys live here is beyond me!”

Timothy just watched him in a daze.

“Uhm? What are you doing there, young man? Come, offer me something to drink! The road put one hell of thirst in me, you know?”

And, once again, without waiting, he stomped down the corridor.

Timothy just meekly followed.

There was a small kitchen close by, - the Master said that it was for “guests” but since nobody ever came, Timothy had long realized that it was just for Lazslo -, where the duo went to, or, well, where Lazslo went to. Timothy just followed.

The big man went to work right away, opening drawers, lighting the fireplace and filling a pot of water, everything with the smooth gestures of someone that knew exactly where everything was. Timothy sat at the table, mind struggling to keep up.

“Being walking fast to get here,” the big man said boisterously, letting a bunch of dried leaves that could or couldn’t have been tea fall in the water. “Didn’t even bring a pot! Can you imagine? That’s no proper way to walk around but had to be here fast. That old marmot! He could have told me he was starting the Greater Rites! He knew i still needed his answer for the Conclave! Ah, he never changes, does he? Once an asshole, still an asshole!” His laughter was raucous, filling the kitchen with its racket.

“Master has already started his works…”

“Ah, don’t you worry, lad.” Lazslo shrugged, a smile on his face. “I felt it as i came here, all that noise he does in that cave of his. Can’t disturb him now. Maybe in a month or two. Eh, what the hell. His loss, that’s what i say. This time the conclave is going to be funny business. Funny business, let me tell you. We even have a Dragon Queen this time, ah! Food for the soul!” He laughed again, as he had just made a hilarious joke. “Yet again, i suppose i could have spared myself the trouble to come but once steps start they don’t stop very easily, don't they?” He glanced at him with a knowing look.

Timothy had no idea what he was talking about, just nodding numbly.

Whatever it was boiling in the water was ready in no time. Lazslo used a ladle to fill a cup for himself and one for Timothy.

The apprentice received it with some wariness. The mixture inside was a lucid shade of green, he saw, and steamed slightly. He sniffed it. Did it smell a bit like… herbal? Ginseng? He had no idea.

“And let me tell, i bet my beard he hurried to start only to leave me hanging!” Lazslo sat in front of him, cup in hand. He didn’t look angry at all for that business. If anything, Gorren’s grumpiness only seemed to amuse him a lot. “Old asshole! I bet he told you to syke a golem on me if i showed my ugly mug, hadn’t he? Oh, i know i know, you wouldn’t ever talk shit about that badger. That’s a good apprentice. I’d tell you to leave that marmot and jump on my ship, i’d teach you the secrets of the road and how to club your enemies with the staff real good. But the path is a harsh mistress, you know. No place for two sets of feet, and this old bear is far too young still to give up the boots.” He topped his torrent of words with a raucous laugh.

The big man took a swig from his cup, letting out an aaah of satisfaction. “Nothing like a good drink after the road. Food for the soul, i tell you, this one and the Dragon Queen!“ He snickered.

Timothy smiled timidly. He had a vague inkling of what he meant.

“Ah, but this talking of golems makes me think,” the big man resumed, barely letting a moment of silence pass. “Did i ever tell you how strange is for your master to have so many of those walking rocks? Sure, i can build one myself but it’s gonna be a bulky thing, good enough just to smack people around. If i want for it to be able to do anything useful, i’ll need to control it directly. That old badger doesn’t need that. His golems walk and do stuff like it was nothing. Do you know why?”

“I know it’s about mentalism…”

“That it is!” Lazslo slapped a big hand on his thigh. “Mentalism and all that crap. Terrible stuff, you know. The most forbidden after the most forbidden. Minds are strange things, kiddo. You can unravel one if you bumble about and yours with it. That’s why we keep the knowledge to ourselves. I had enough a fill of brain-dead young for myself. Well, that’s the deal. If you’re good, and i mean really good, you can take a bit of your mind and put it in a golem. Paf! That golem is good to do more than picking his nose now. Not an intelligent thing, mind you, but good. Well, i don’t need to tell you that there’s a limit. A good mentalist can do this trick only a limited amount of time before he runs out of mind. Then you’re gotta start to reclaim what you’re given if you don’t want to end up like a dead fish. That badger over there seems to have little of these limitations. He had, i am sure of it, but heck, i still need to see them. His golems are all mind-enhanced. Ah! I still remember when I and the others found about it. What a hornet’s nest that was! We thought he had found a new method! The only time i hadn’t to hound him for years for an answer. He told us straight that it was him and him alone that could do that. No method involved. I saw it myself, so no lies about it. And he wasn’t going to do anything like an army, not of a long shot. What a disappointment for some of the guys! Imagine, an army of golems, all for the Conclave. But is probably better like that.” He took another swig, drowning his smile in the liquid. “Whatever that marmot ever tell you, let me tell you this. It’s not in elementalism that he truly shines, nor in whatever crap he’s working on. It’s in mentalism. In that, i am pretty sure he’s unmatched. He can’t go around breaking and controlling minds, mind you. That’s too much for him too, but heck, if you ask me who’s the greatest mentalist of them all, i’ll say it’s him.” His expression brightened. “Can’t hold a candle to me when it comes to elementalism though, so laugh at that! Ah!”

Timothy took in that speech like he would have taken a river. He barely understood two words and by the end of it, he was more confused than he was at the start.

Even Lazslo finally noticed that there was something wrong with him. That was one of the few moments he left the floor to his interlocutors to voice their comments. That Timothy said nothing attracted his attention.

“What’s the matter with you, young fella?” He asked, the smile remaining even as he frowned. “You look like you swallowed a frog.”

Timothy watched him, still dazed. The mug in his hands was starting to turn cold.

For a long time, he had known nothing about the man in front of him, apart from his being the always smiling man as large as a bear and as noisy as a bell that dropped by from time to time to quarrel with his Master and bring him a little gift from his journeys.

Now, he knew that he was Lazslo the Wanderer, Lazslo the Pilgrim, Lazslo the Great Wizard of Risalba; a legendary mage whose fame spanned the continent, a powerhouse whose knowledge and power was in the same ranking as his Master, not to speak about his age. Nobody could remember a time when Lazslo didn’t walk the land, his boots worn out by the path.

Timothy felt the need to start crying, for the relief and for how scared he still was he didn’t know.

“Lord Laszlo…”

“Hey now, what’s gotten into you? Are you crying?!?”

“I… i have a problem…”

Explaining everything took longer than it should have, especially because Timothy kept tangling words and had to start again.

By the time he had finished, Lazslo’s smile had turned into a large, toothy grin.

“Nessa’s fuzz, boy!” The big man laughed loudly. “Five minutes without your master and this already happens! You’re a son of luck alright!”

Timothy took it with resignation. Irrationally, he felt that it was somehow his fault things had turned so bad. Nothing like that ever happened when the Master was around.

“Can you help me?” He asked, hopeful.

“To get a chance to pull a fast one on that An-Helios? Ah!” The slap Lazlos gave to his shoulder felt to Timothy like a bear’s swipe. “Might as well ask me if i want a beer! Of course, i’ll help you!”

The surge of relief made Timothy’s knees wobble.

“Thank you…” He breathed, barely believing it. He felt like a great weight had been taken from his shoulders.

The big man’s laughter was almost a bellow. “Scared, aren’t you? That’s just right. A man with no fear is just a stupid man. But don’t you worry now. We’re gonna set it all right.” His grin turned sly. “And i think i have just the right way for it.”

Timothy felt a small jolt of concern, but he repressed it. Lord Lazslo was a great mage. What could go wrong?